Read The Apex Book of World SF 2 Online
Authors: Lavie Tidhar
The Apex Book of World SF 2 (6 page)
When his father and
the other men had left, Katulo sneaked out of the village and followed them. He
stayed distant enough that he was not seen. He was a good tracker. He shadowed
them for over three hours until they reached a small primary school. Its faded
sign depicted a laurel wreath wrapped around a shield and words that were too
rain-washed to read. Katulo hid amongst some bushes and watched the adults go
into the school.
Waiting was boring.
This entire escapade had been far less exciting than Katulo had hoped.
He waited for twenty
minutes, passing the time by counting how many bugs and birds he saw. He
created an imaginary conflict—birds against bugs. Every bug he saw gave the
bugs ten points and every bird he saw gave their side the same. A clumsy
ladybird that had tumbled from a leaf had just put the bugs sixty points ahead
when he heard a loud bang. He heard three more abrasive explosions and knew
they were gunshots. His father and the others had probably been ambushed.
Katulo ran forwards instinctively. He advanced with no thought for how he
planned to defend his father. He just couldn't let it happen. When he reached
the school, he pushed open a set of double doors and ran in. Inside, he heard
terrible sounds.
The noise woke him
up. This was the point where the nightmare usually ended. Sometimes it would be
later. He had not had the dream in a long time, but Osati's rage had brought
the memories back.
It was those Hutu bastards. I swear by my ancestors they
will pay for this.
"It cannot happen again," Katulo said aloud. Afterwards,
he was unsure whether he'd said this to reassure himself, or as a prayer.
3
Gomozis were a wealthy family so the wedding was even grander. Celebration
began at sun up and would keep going through the night. There was loud music,
hot-blooded dancing, and the smell of roasting meats saturated the air. Freshly
baked pastries and honey-dipped treats were pulled out of ovens and children's
faces were soon coated in sticky syrup. There was much laughter and boisterous
jesting. The most acclaimed storyteller in Burundi told a wild tale of Hyena
the trickster. It had no moral; it was simply for enjoyment. The couple wore
costumes that were dyed in multiple colours. Dozens of well-wishers surrounded
them.
Normally, Katulo was
in the midst of any celebration, pushing his antique body to the limit by
asking pretty young girls to dance. If necessary, he would dance using his
walking stick for balance. But today, even with all the pomp and energy, it was
impossible for him to relax and enjoy himself. His mind was with the wounded
youth in his clinic and his eyes were drawn to things he would not normally
have noticed. The Marulas, a family with Hutu blood, sat separately from the
rest of the guests and nobody approached them to give greetings. Also, Osati,
Dengo and a group of their friends walked around pulling people aside and
talking in whispers. After the whispers, nods of agreement would follow. Even
people who usually had no time to listen to Osati's denunciations of the Hutus
were moved by his words. Chama's injury had made his solicitations much more
persuasive.
Katulo was tempted
to leave but he was the last person in the village, in all Burundi, actually,
who could perform the Waking ceremony. He had tried to teach many of his
apprentices how to do it but had been unsuccessful. Even when his father had
taught him, the skill was almost forgotten.
Eyo approached
Katulo twice to make sure he would not change his mind about letting him watch.
This, at least, amused Katulo. He had to admit that he drove Eyo harder than
his previous apprentices. Katulo was increasingly aware that he did not have
much longer to live. With his previous apprentices, he had stuck to teaching
medicines and physiology, but there were other things Katulo wished to pass on.
He had seen so many amazing things. He had been there when Burundi won the
10,000 metres in the Olympics, beating the Kenyans and Ethiopians. He had
listened to Wana Maisu's final concert. He had survived two droughts and one
epidemic. He had also seen Africa become fully independent as Europe and
America were torn apart in a succession of wars. He had been part of the Second
Revolution and treated President Peneka himself for gout. He had listened to
the visionary president blabber to conceal his nervousness. There were so many
memories, small things as well—some that he esteemed more than the things
worthy of history books: how good it felt to run naked in the forest, the
unique taste of roasted groundnuts when eaten after love making, the amazing
things he'd learnt about his mother when she finally spoke to him as an equal.
Every morning, as he
and Eyo ate breakfast, he would begin. He would tell the boy the history of
Burundi, myths, proverbs, and stories. He told Eyo dirty jokes—oral tradition
that would be a crime to forget—with the same passion that he taught the boy herbal
remedies and anatomy. Eyo never complained. It was hard for him to absorb a lot
of what Katulo taught, but he tried. He deserved the privilege of seeing a
Waking ceremony.
After the wedding
vows, the father of the bride called Katulo. The young boys and girls were
taken away to eat boiled sweets and spiced cassava. "Not him," Katulo objected
when they tried to take Eyo. He winked at his apprentice, which elicited a huge
grin.
Katulo took out his
ceremonial mask, put aside his walking staff, and walked unsteadily to the
bride and groom. The mask was not actually needed for Waking, but it was
tradition. The mask depicted a buffalo's head. The horns were brass and the
face was carved out of wood. There were gaps for the eyes and the mouth. When
he was standing a few steps in front of the married couple, Katulo spoke
loudly. His voice was richer and more musical when he performed the role of
Waker. "A river is a droplet of water; a mountain is a tiny pebble; and the two
of you are all of Burundi. This union is not only between two people but
between two souls and two families. Your love will forever change the
community. It will enrich us when we are frightened, sustain us when we are
lost, and our community will continue to grow. You will bring us the future but
never forget that you are connected always to the past."
The bride and groom
had been told what to do when he said these words. The groom cradled his new
wife's head between his palms and leant forwards. Katulo lifted his arms in the
air and opened his senses to their kiss. He let himself feel the moment. At the
same time he thought of his marriage to Owuro when he was twenty-six. He let
himself relive the rush of adrenaline and the tremble in his lips before he
kissed her. He pictured Owuro's light olive skin and long braids. He thought of
her crooked smile and mischievous eyes. He remembered the taste of her wedding
kiss—light cinnamon and cloves. His flesh tingled. He felt the earth around him
as if it were part of his body. He let his memories seep into the ground.
Between the wedding
guests, wispy figures appeared. The mirages were all embracing and kissing.
They were misty at first and then gradually became fully visible. There were
twelve couples in total. Some were barefoot and almost naked, while others were
adorned with tinted cloths, beads and bangles. Most of them were young but
there was a grey-haired couple hugging each other near the bride and groom. It
was not only images that were Wakened. The air was suddenly full with the sound
of lovers' giggles and frenzied exhalations. Scents of perfume, coconut and
crushed flower petals tickled every nostril
One or two of the
guests began to weep. Wakings were intense because everyone watching
experienced a measure of the action. That is why young boys and girls were
chased away. Every guest, for a minute, felt the passion and desire of the
distant past. Katulo's gaze focused on one couple. The woman was wearing an
elaborate headdress that denoted her as a storyteller, and the young man with
her had a proud, regal face and a thick moustache. It was strange to see the
younger version of himself. No matter how many times he performed Wakings, it
was the hardest part to get used to. His younger self was smirking with
self-confidence. Owuro looked so young and so beautiful. Katulo wished he could
step forwards and touch her. She looked so real.
And then, in a
breath, she and the rest of the spectres were gone.
The father of the
bride was the first to snap out of the silent awe that enshrouded everyone in the
grove. He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Waker."
4
for the rest of the reception. He wanted to get to Bujumbura by nightfall. He
said his good-byes and summoned Eyo. If the boy was disappointed at having to
leave the festivities, it did not show. He obeyed immediately and a little
nervously. He seemed frightened. At first Katulo was sure he was imagining it
but, as they walked, Eyo continued to glance at him from time to time. He would
look away whenever Katulo looked back. At first Katulo ignored it but, after
they had been walking for an hour, he lost his patience. "I am the same person
I was yesterday?"
"I know," was the
timid reply.
"You are looking at
me like I am not human."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not angry with
you, Eyo. What is on your mind?"
"Nothing"
Nothing? This from
the boy who usually asked "why" with irritating consistency after every
statement Katulo made. "If the Waking is bothering you, you can ask me about
it."
Eyo hesitated.
Katulo did not insist. He waited.
"Th… Those were g…ghosts?"
"Yes," Katulo
replied. "But they were not ghosts of dead people. They were ghosts of past
moments. Everything is changed by the passage of time. When a river passes over
rocks it wears them down in a unique pattern. A man who knows how to look can
tell you many things about the river and the rocks because the mark they leave
is unique. It is the same for actions. Everything we do changes the land. When
we sang at the wedding, when we danced, even now as we walk, our steps are
changing the earth. The land remembers."
"So they were not
real ghosts?"
"They were echoes of
the past."
"It was amazing."
Katulo smiled and
then felt a tide of sadness. "Yes it was. But I may be the last Waker in
Burundi."
"How can that be?"
"Waking is not a
skill that is easy to pass on. A person can only be taught to bring the past
back to life if they can already feel the echoes left in the land."
"How did you learn?"
"I learnt in secret,
back in the days of the white outsiders. Worse than the things they did to our
governments were the things they did to our beliefs. They forced our people to
worship their God and learn their ceremonies. They called our ways devilry and
superstition. My father was a spirit speaker. There had once been many like
him, but the white outsiders killed many of them. My father kept the old ways
alive by hiding, and people would travel far to ask him for advice or to see
him when they were sick. He taught me how to Wake and begged me to pass on the
skill."
Shame threaded
through Katulo. He and Owuro had never been able to have children and he had
not remarried after she'd died. The failure of every apprentice he'd tried to
teach Waking to, made him suspect that sensitivity to the land was hereditary.
His determination not to betray Owuro's memory might have doomed the ancient
skill. So much of the old knowledge was already gone. Most of the medicines
Katulo used were European, taken out of glass bottles and plastic vials instead
of the earth and trees. They were purchased in what little trade still occurred
between Burundi and Europe. The white outsiders no longer had concrete
interests in Africa. They were too busy rebuilding to care about much else.
Whatever nostalgia
Katulo might have, he had to admit the medicines they sent worked better than
the saps and herbs his father had taught him to use. His father had considered
it a betrayal when he chose to learn white medicine, but he had needed to make
a living. The only way to get a job at hospitals in Bujumbura had been with a
degree in Western medicine. His father had raged and called him a disgrace.
Long ago, Katulo had promised himself that when he had children, he would be
more understanding but the closest he had ever had to children were his
apprentices.
5
Bujumbura in the early evening. It was still hot but winds from the north
brought temporary relief. The city streets were full of filth and litter.
Broken glass, crumpled papers, rotting food and empty plastic bottles clogged
the drainpipes. Every time Katulo visited the city it looked worse. Eyo and
Katulo passed many rickety beggars and malnourished prostitutes.
Why do
people want to live here?
Katulo pondered. The answer was bright in Eyo's
eyes. The boy was staring at the buildings with delight. In his mind, he was
surely concocting a fantasy life in the city. The city had large stores with
diverse wares and water that sprang from taps at the turn of a knob—much more
enticing than dreary village life.
It had been a long
time since Katulo had last seen Kalé. They had become friends when Katulo had
lived in the city, working for a private clinic. Back then, the wounds Burundi
had suffered at the turn of the century seemed to have healed. Things had
progressed to the point that a friendship between a Hutu and a Tutsi was no big
thing. How had the old resentments come back? Was it because they were left
alone and not consciously minded?
The central city was
almost entirely populated by Hutus. The Tutsis lived in outlying ghettos. It
had not always been that way. The Tutsis had once been the majority. Katulo
still remembered the way to Kalé's home. They walked from the poor to the rich
district. The buildings looked just as decayed and the streets were just as
squalid. In some of the windows though, electric lights were on. They passed
one house in which music was playing. To be able to use electricity for
entertainment was an indicator of great wealth.