The morning in Lwanya began with the steady rhythm of a cowbell. Julius stirred in his bed as the sound mingled with the distant crowing of roosters and the laughter of children already chasing each other in the compound. He awoke, and saw Maria standing outside the hut with her sketchbook on her knee, and her pencil flying over the paper.
You rise before the sun, you, Julius mocked as he stepped out into the dew-covered grass at barefoot.
Maria did not look up; she smiled. "I didn't want to miss anything. All new to me is the mist which is floating across the fields, and the manner in which your grandmother feeds the chickens.
On his shoulder he leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the page on which he had sketched, which had converted his grandmother, in all her bends and curves, into her element, the maize drifting into the air, and the radiance of the morning sun shining over the banana-trees.
You see things we assume, Julius said.
I believe you do, also, she said, and at last looked round at him. You know why you should tell me about the spirits in the river, or what you mean by your songs?
The sound of Mama Grace calling them to breakfast disrupted their moment and they were served with millet porridge hot in clay cups, sweetened with honey. Maria drank with well considered caution, nodding her head. It was delicious, she said, and said it with an accent that embraced the word. The grandma laughed as she was happy that the foreign girl did not recoil at local food.
Later on in the day, Julius was called aside by his father, a big man, whose hands were all worn out. His voice was low but firm. "Who is this girl, my son? She is some way proud, that much I know. But why bring her here?"
Julius hesitated. "She is my friend. She wanted to see my roots."
His father looked around his eyes. "The world is changing, Julius. But keep in mind, a man is not able to forget his people. Do not let the gloss of foreign ground fool you to the mould that made you.
The words were heavy upon him and he took Maria down the village lanes later. Children, after, gasping and screaming Mzungu! Mzungu! and Maria was waving, carelessly. They came to a point of the river Sio, and there the fishermen were mending their nets under acacia trees.
This, Julius said, is where the ancestors are watching, as my grandmother says. She feels that the river is a listener.
Maria was peering at the water, and put her fingers in the cold stream. "It feels alive," she whispered.
On the grassy bank they were sitting and listening to the running water. Maria drew, and Julius tossed pebbles which caused little ripples all over the surface. He remembered what his father had said, the pressure of expectation. But here he sat with Maria and he felt something different, something like a silent resistance, or just a desire to make his own choices.
In the evening the homestead was getting ready to have a special time. It was heard in the village that Julius came back with some visitor of foreign origin. The neighbors came and took a curiosity. Drums were drawn forth and presently a circle was drawn about the setting sun. Women applauded when the men drummed on goat-skin, the youthful dancers sprang into the air and their nimble bodies were curving with vigor.
Maria was enthralled. She gave herself a tap with her foot and when one of the girls drew her in the circle, she laughed. She did not at first step in time, but soon she got on her feet, her flaxen dress fluttering with her motion. Gods, the villagers shouted, and were pleased by her readiness. Julius stood by and was torn between pride and nervousness.
The maria come back to him, breathless and flushed, and said, This, this is life. Do you know what I mean? I have never been so much in touch with something old, something that is beyond description.
Julius nodded, but he made no reply. It was in him, too, and he could hear the drum-beats in his heart, and the blending of her laughter and the village songs. But under his happiness lay a care that was chewing him. Was she really capable of being here, even at all? Or was it an interim magic, which was to disappear when she came back to Lisbon?
This night the drums were silent and the villagers were falling asleep, and Julius and Maria sat by the fire which was soon to die out. Her head was resting slightly on his shoulder, as she leaned against him.
Your house has provided me with something I had not realized I was lacking, she said low-key.
"And what is that?" he asked.
"A rhythm. A root. A reminder that life is not just about progressing, but is also about not going anywhere.
Julius gulped and stared deep in the embers. He would have liked believing her, trusting her that her words would outlive this visit. But as the fires faded away so did his certainties.
Muttering in the distance the river was murmuring. The ancestors, possibly, were overhearing.