delighted that was not what her family did. She reassured herself that all nature was her church. God didnât want people closed in, speaking to the floor, the roof, themselves, to no-one in particular. The shack is a better church than that, she thought. She liked the way light found its way through cracks, the way the sea breeze curled up under the roof. That seemed more in agreement with God as she understood him.
And back at her towel, reaching down to pick it up but catching sight of something, someone in the hills, someone bowing down on a blanket and speaking to the hills, she thought of that God. The outdoors God. Whenever the minister did his performance , his song and dance in the pulpit, as Grandpa termed it, Emmy thought it a great performance. The best part about church. The man she saw in the hills reminded her of this, though he was so different. But was it a performance or prayer? She was mesmerised.
Adding to her intrigue, the man was black. Black people worked on the farm but she was never allowed near them. Nor in town. Keep to your own people, her parents said. And youâre a girl, they added, for no reason at all. She asked Peter at the time why they said that, but he just turned his back on her and walked away. She wondered what a black man was doing on the coast. It was a long way from the farm to the coast. She wasnât sure what she was thinking. And he was dressed in a way sheâd never seen before. She wondered if he was wearing a dress. Part of the performance, no doubt.
She stood there, towel half in the sand, poised midair. The man in the hills was crouching and muttering or speaking or praying. She was suddenly certain it was praying. It wasnât a performance â the man seemed alone with himself and nature. And God.
Her skin tingled as it dried in the sun and she became aware of that salty, cracking feeling. Her shins and her forearms and her face glowed white outside her bathing suit, and she felt uncomfortable. Was this why Peter had turned away? She was confused and couldnât make sense of what was happening, but couldnât stop watching. The man was a way off but not too far off. He seemed to be facing nothing in particular â not the sea, not inland to the farm. Maybe just a sand dune. He wasnât aware of her presence. She followed the ripples of sand the breeze had cut like mirages into the dunes, up into the strange wet-looking though dry vegetation that clung to the peaks. Thatâs what holds this whole place together, Pete had told her. She liked Peter. She knew Peter thought she was smart, and she liked that a lot. Emmy knew that she loved what this man was speaking to ⦠what he was praying to ⦠and she knew that one day she would know its name.
Sensing the man had finished and was about to roll up his blanket and vanish, Emmy quickly turned away so the moment would never be complete or forgotten. She wasnât sure if this was what her mother called a womanâs intuition, but she didnât really think it had anything to do with being a boy or a girl. Itâs to do with the storms. Itâs now and itâs tomorrow, she said to herself.
Without thinking, Emmy looked straight up into the sun and stared until everything lost colour and the world became black and white. Giddy, she ran back to the water and plunged in. Her younger cousins called out, Emmy! Emmy! And Emmy, seeing the world clearly again in its bright array, and looking further out to sea than she ever had before, began to perform for her cousins, hooting and shouting and splashing, sensing them coming up behind her. And the louder she got and the closer they came, the quieter she went inside. One day I will know its name, she thought amid the noise. One day.
MAGAZINE
That section of the beach and all the area behind, which was sprawling sand dunes and scrub, had been closed off from the public for forty years. Now, looking at the mansions nudging the sea,
And back at her towel, reaching down to pick it up but catching sight of something, someone in the hills, someone bowing down on a blanket and speaking to the hills, she thought of that God. The outdoors God. Whenever the minister did his performance , his song and dance in the pulpit, as Grandpa termed it, Emmy thought it a great performance. The best part about church. The man she saw in the hills reminded her of this, though he was so different. But was it a performance or prayer? She was mesmerised.
Adding to her intrigue, the man was black. Black people worked on the farm but she was never allowed near them. Nor in town. Keep to your own people, her parents said. And youâre a girl, they added, for no reason at all. She asked Peter at the time why they said that, but he just turned his back on her and walked away. She wondered what a black man was doing on the coast. It was a long way from the farm to the coast. She wasnât sure what she was thinking. And he was dressed in a way sheâd never seen before. She wondered if he was wearing a dress. Part of the performance, no doubt.
She stood there, towel half in the sand, poised midair. The man in the hills was crouching and muttering or speaking or praying. She was suddenly certain it was praying. It wasnât a performance â the man seemed alone with himself and nature. And God.
Her skin tingled as it dried in the sun and she became aware of that salty, cracking feeling. Her shins and her forearms and her face glowed white outside her bathing suit, and she felt uncomfortable. Was this why Peter had turned away? She was confused and couldnât make sense of what was happening, but couldnât stop watching. The man was a way off but not too far off. He seemed to be facing nothing in particular â not the sea, not inland to the farm. Maybe just a sand dune. He wasnât aware of her presence. She followed the ripples of sand the breeze had cut like mirages into the dunes, up into the strange wet-looking though dry vegetation that clung to the peaks. Thatâs what holds this whole place together, Pete had told her. She liked Peter. She knew Peter thought she was smart, and she liked that a lot. Emmy knew that she loved what this man was speaking to ⦠what he was praying to ⦠and she knew that one day she would know its name.
Sensing the man had finished and was about to roll up his blanket and vanish, Emmy quickly turned away so the moment would never be complete or forgotten. She wasnât sure if this was what her mother called a womanâs intuition, but she didnât really think it had anything to do with being a boy or a girl. Itâs to do with the storms. Itâs now and itâs tomorrow, she said to herself.
Without thinking, Emmy looked straight up into the sun and stared until everything lost colour and the world became black and white. Giddy, she ran back to the water and plunged in. Her younger cousins called out, Emmy! Emmy! And Emmy, seeing the world clearly again in its bright array, and looking further out to sea than she ever had before, began to perform for her cousins, hooting and shouting and splashing, sensing them coming up behind her. And the louder she got and the closer they came, the quieter she went inside. One day I will know its name, she thought amid the noise. One day.
MAGAZINE
That section of the beach and all the area behind, which was sprawling sand dunes and scrub, had been closed off from the public for forty years. Now, looking at the mansions nudging the sea,
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