The Bride Price: An African Romance (Chitundu Chronicles) (10 page)

In the last week, she  increased in size around her waist. It was now difficult to wear the school clothes she had brought with her; the jumper was tight across her breasts. She relied on the wrapped traditional skirt, the
chitenge,
which was also cooler in the heat, and a loose blouse on top. She had her hair wrapped in a twist up the back and a wrap of satin across her forehead and over the sides ending in a tie at the back of her neck. When Festal was away, the hunting dogs stayed at her side wherever she went, leaning their long muzzles back and exposing their necks for her to stroke. When she walked to her neighbor’s house, the dogs dropped to the ground outside the courtyard and waited for her to return. At night, they guarded her by lying on either side of the doorway and occasionally she would hear their low growl if an animal approached. She fed them treats from her meal and taught them to sit when she patted her side. They would be a good protection for the baby.

When Myrna decided to read Violet’s letter, it was full of information about Joseph. His picture showed him to be as handsome and as strikingly tall and young as Violet had described. Festal had also been impressed by his outgoing and friendly nature. Myrna tried to imagine her little sister married and settling into a routine of domesticity. She could not. She read the paragraph about Wellington Taylor stopping by the parents’ house. She could feel his frustration and her own in the interruption of their correspondence. It was a wound that festered as she thought about her sister getting the man she wanted, surrounded by her family, friends and activities, while Myrna had no access to her former life, her tutors, her books, her friends. Myrna asked for forgiveness for this envy, but it would spring up again, and she would have to rid herself of the thoughts many times over the months ahead.  There was no one she could share it with, least of all Festal.

Myrna had talked to her neighbor Lottie about buying a couple of chicks so they would have eggs. She  located nesting baskets and thought they might go atop the platform where the gourds were stored. She asked for Festal’s approval before making this purchase.

Lottie had two children who were toddling about her house, pulling at the cloth on the window, and knocking over the pot of water sitting on the floor.  Lottie laughed as she gathered the smallest one into her arms, the small waist beads showing off the chubby buttocks of her little girl.  “You just wait,” she said.  “You will know how sweet it is to have a guest pay a call and give your mind something to think about other than keeping babies clean and safe.”

The calves were a special project for Myrna.  She liked their cool wet noses and rough hot tongues that eagerly searched for the nipple when she brought them milk.  She did not have to milk the cows; one of the young boys did that chore. Then he would bring the warm milk back on his cart.  After each of the calves nursed, Myrna wiped the nipple clean, then refilled the bucket from the can, and went on to the next calf.  At first, the calves crowded her, spilling the milk and almost trampling her in their eagerness.  In time, they learned to wait their turn, and after all of them had their fill; she  brushed them and checked them for ticks, then bed their stalls with fresh grasses. The pen was made of thorn bushes, so Myrna had to watch not to get her skirts hung up on the plants.  She had mended a few tears already.  The calves were given names and they learned them. If she called to one, it would answer with a bawl which set the herd to calling out.

The hunting dogs  dropped at her feet when they returned home from the fields. Myna liked their silken ears, some bearing the notches of the relentless wait-a-minute thorns that would tear them when they were coursing through the underbrush.  She asked Festal if they might have a pup from one of the litters to raise in the house, but Festal was of the belief that every animal on the station should earn its keep, and what did they need in their house with another mouth to feed? Myrna had no answer.

It was shortly after this pronouncement that two hunters carrying spears and wearing loincloths stopped by the house and brought a baby duiker for Myrna.  They did not speak the same language as Myrna, but they pantomimed having killed the fawn’s mother, and their remorse. She understood their intent, nodded yes, and reached for the fawn, uncertain of what Festal would say to this foolishness. The men left as silently as they came. When Festal returned and saw the tiny fawn, no bigger than a kitten on his sheepskin sleeping mat, he stroked it and pulled it into his arms.

“What did you name it?”

“!” (Click).

Festal called the hunting dogs into the rondavel and Myrna had a moment of dread, until she saw him training them to accept this tiny antelope, making clear to them that this was part of the family when they started to lunge for it. Soon they realized they were to protect it, so it would be safe from them and any predator that might come near the yard.  “Click” was the sound of its tiny hooves on the pounded floor, and the Xhosa language of the hunters that had brought it to their home. Myrna wrapped its feet in dampened cloth to keep the fawn from slipping on the slick floors.  It would come to her each morning to be let out, then bounce around the yard with all four hooves off the ground. It always nestled behind Festal on his mat at night. Myrna took his gentleness and affection with the antelope as a good sign that he would be tender towards their baby. She couldn’t wait until the baby was born.

When Winnie Kafuma realized she had missed meeting Myrna, and her husband warned her against delving into the Phiris’ business, she resolved to go and visit Flo, owner of the Big Banana Bar and see what she knew of the woman.

Flo was at the bar having her hair plaited when Winnie stopped by unannounced. Flo did not have any information to share about Myrna, as she had never met the woman. Winnie did not mention Festal, so no information was gained. She did question what interest Winnie had in her, and put a note in her memory to avoid any controversy with this woman, as she seemed to have an agenda in mind. Flo did not care to have her appointment with her hairdresser interrupted; this was her time to be pampered and catch up with the local news. She offered her visitor no drinks, and in a short time, Winnie left.

Winnie stopped by the Phiris’ herself a month later. Neither of them was at home and she noticed a chameleon in the arbor. She could not reach it, but it was an animal her husband would like to have for his fetish medicine. She would drop by again and ask Myrna if she could have it. That would be a chance to form an opinion of the woman and make up her own mind about her worth. The community was so easily swayed; she was tired of hearing her neighbors sing the woman’s praises when she had done nothing to earn them.

Winnie waited until Festal had left for work, then knocked at the Phiris’ door. “Hello. I am Winnie Kafuma, wife of the local healer.”

“I am Myrna. Come in.”

“I see you have a chameleon that has climbed into your arbor,” Winnie said, looking in the direction of where she had seen the lizard.

“Yes. She has been there since I arrived.”

“My husband would like to have it for his medicine.”  As she was talking, the duiker bounced into the sitting area, and Winnie took note of this totem animal. What was it doing here? Did Myrna have special powers? It walked up to Myrna and she stroked it as she talked.

“I will have to ask Festal if it is all right with him.”

“I thought you were an educated woman that could make up her own mind.”

“I can, but I value the feelings of my husband. It may not be to his liking for me to give away a creature that is important to him.”

“How can a chameleon be important to a cattleman?”

“I don’t know. But I know I like to be included in decisions. Perhaps we can give you one of her offspring as she is ready to deliver.”

“It is not important. My husband has many potent ingredients to use.”

“Thank you for understanding. I enjoyed meeting your daughters very much. They are lively girls.”

“Yes. That is a good description. I am going now.”

“Be safe.”

Myrna told her husband that evening about the visit. “I thought I warned you to stay clear of that woman. She is bad news.”

“You did warn me. She dropped by unannounced and asked for the chameleon for her husband’s medicine. I told her I would ask you.”

“The answer is ‘No’. We both enjoy the creature. Why should it be killed?”

“I agree. I like its chubby cheeks. I will not encourage her. I just wanted your advice.”

“Well, you have it. Is dinner ready?”

They sat on their stools watching the sun melt into the tree line at the top of the ridge. Festal was put off by the request for something that he cared about, and by his denying the request when it was by a woman he knew wanted something from him that he didn’t want to give her. Myrna was relieved that the mother chameleon, a comma in the trailing vines of the bougainvillea, would be spared. Her sides were bulging with the promise of young soon to be born. Myrna secretly called her Beatrice and saw her as a good omen.

Myrna was in nesting mode.  She made small covers for their drinking cups with stones tied at the base so flies would stay out of their drinks and baskets that covered the food she was preparing.  All the food scraps were saved and put in a heap for the chickens and goats to eat outside of her garden wall.  The brooms and whisks for the household were held on one wall in the storeroom by loops of crocheted rags, which also had been used to make a rug in front of the washroom, the doorway, and the kitchen to keep rocks and debris out.  For herself and Festal, Myrna made lotions and soaps,  pumice for her heels, and a waxy hoof dressing she used on the calves’ hooves during the dry season.  Her husband enjoyed all the projects Myrna made to keep their home smelling fresh, and it saved on their expenses.  He also liked to surprise her with materials to see what use she could make of them.  One day, he carried home the branches of a tree worn smooth by the wind and the rubbing of animals. The following day she turned them into a set of clothes pegs for the wall beside their bed.  Another piece of wood became a shoe scraper for the doorway. 

One day Festal came home just as Myrna was returning from a trip to town.  She had caught a ride with a neighbor and his wife, and returned with them.  Festal arrived early and met her absence. His brow furrowed in anger and dismay.

Myrna thanked the driver and dismounted from the donkey cart.  She walked into the house and put her scarf and  bag down when  Festal suddenly took her by the shoulders and shook her in rage.  She let her body go limp and he shoved her to the bed in anger.  She did not apologize for her absence, nor did she rush to prepare the dinner.  Festal knew he was out of control, but he could not rid himself of the anger or the fear that her absence had raised in him. Myrna waited for him to calm down.

“Why did you leave the house and not tell me?”

“You were away. I did not know I was confined to the house.  Am I a prisoner?”

He was silent as his face contorted with the pain of her words. She told him she had ordered something for him in town. She had asked him earlier about his childhood, and he had told her abruptly, “That is none of your business.”  She had wanted to surprise him with a birthday gift.

Ten days later the gift arrived and she handed it to him to open.  It was the first birthday gift he had ever received and he wasn’t sure what to do.  She waited while he pulled the paper away from the box and pulled out a red harness for the donkeys.  It was new and had no breaks or rough patches. The brass fittings were glistening and clean and the collars had clips for a string of bells that came with the set.  The reins were long and supple with snaps for easy removal.  Festal smoothed the leather over his fingers and explored every inch of the harness. His eyes were bright and he had a half smile on his face. Immediately, he left to gather his hobbled animals.  That afternoon they drove around the hillside, stopping at houses and waving to their neighbors. The two hunting dogs coursed along beside them like proper coach dogs. Festal sat proud in the driver’s seat guiding his team. That evening, after he had hobbled the donkeys and cleaned the harness, he brought it into the house and hung the red collection of straps on the wall to the side of the doorway, with the bells suspended from the door itself. From then on, the door made a pleasant ringing sound when it was opened. Both of them would learn to open the door silently, once the baby arrived.

There were many families in Copperfine. Myrna came to know the majority of them through her visits, and by inviting them to have tea at her house.  She knew how to make chamomile tea, and red bush tea, as well as cinnamon.  It was a pleasant break for women to come over and see what project she was working on, or how her duiker was doing. ! (Click) was a novelty in the village, as few people had a pet, and no one had thought of keeping a wild animal as one.  Just before the baby was born, the chameleon had hatched out half a dozen young ones.  Word spread through the village and soon Winnie came to claim one. She spotted the lizard and immediately asked for it.

“I asked you before for the chameleon. I know you would not want to stand in the way of someone’s healing,” Winnie said.

“What cure does the lizard provide?”

“I am not the healer. I do not delve into my husband’s work.”

“Nor do I. But it seems there is no urgent need at this time for chameleon cures. Keep in mind that the lizard is producing more of her kind. Should you need one for a definite healing, we can provide one.”

“You said you were going to ask Festal’s opinion. Has he made a decision?”

“I have. My decision is
No.
I did ask him about it and we are in agreement.   Have you seen the new pattern that I am working on?  I hope to make a cradle cover to protect infants from mosquitoes while they are sleeping,” Myrna said. Winnie glanced at the sketch.

“I will have to send my girls over. Neither of them has learned to sew and perhaps you would be able to teach them.”

“I am limited in what I can do, but what I know, I am happy to pass on.”