Their story, looked at from any point of view, was a tragic one. And yet they were happy because they had each other, and because they had learned to smile, and even laugh together. Some had said that they should not do that. How could they after what had happened to them and so many others. Yet Momori had always felt she had been blessed, and was still being blessed – especially by her granddaughter of whom she was very proud.
Fourteen years had passed since the earthquake that had taken Momori’s family. Her husband, her mother and father, all four of her children and their families, her brothers and sister and their children, along with nearly every one of their neighbours in the village of Zonga, had been swept away in one single catastrophe. In fact she and Jalli were the only two of their whole extended family who had survived. They had done so because they had not been at home that day. Momori had brought little Jalli the sixty-eight yukets into Wanulka City, a dusty middle-sized place, to attend the hospital and do some shopping.
The earthquake had not been a big one in terms of earthquakes, but it had fractured the dam in the hills behind the village. In the quake a building had collapsed, and all the inhabitants had gathered from their homes and fields to dig in the rubble for survivors. Nearly everyone had been there in the centre of the village beside the small stream that for centuries had flowed under the bridge beside the inn. There had been a small after-shock and the dam had given way. A huge body of water had rushed down the stream bed without any warning and had hit the village with a force that hardly left one brick standing on another. In a matter of seconds there was no bridge, no village and no people. Only half of the remains of Momori’s family had ever been found. They had been buried along with other inhabitants in a mass grave.
The village had never been rebuilt. There was no-one left to populate it. Momori had been forty-four years old then. She had found a room, then later a small house (with a flat roof like all the others) in one of the suburbs about three yukets from the centre of the city. Then this grandmother had invested all her energy and devotion into bringing up her bright little girl who loved her dearly, and who, despite everything, had such a happy disposition you could not help but smile. Momori felt that she had been chosen, kept alive, to look after this child whom, she felt, was destined to be a blessing to more than herself.
But now this stranger in his late twenties had suddenly appeared and decided Jalli needed, for the first time since she was old enough to remember, to be escorted back to her home. Not that he could have known where she lived, she thought. But he had asked her, and she had told him. Why had she told him, this person she’d never met before? Just half a block from the library she couldn’t believe her naïvety. She had been so delighted to find the books she was looking for on the shelf (the library didn’t always come up with what she wanted so easily) and had become so wrapped up in her parmanda hives and feeling good about things, that she failed to register this young man’s eccentricity.
At first, he had seemed harmless, even kind. But what did he want with her now? As they walked, he explained that he had seen her in the library a couple of times and had been intrigued by the expressions she made as she wrestled with her books and researched their contents. She had “interesting eyes”, he explained. Apparently, he had asked the librarian who she was and thought he would introduce himself.
By the time they had reached the first crossroads near the bus-stop where she could take a bus home, she had decided that this man was really weird – or, at least, he was talking weird. Generally in the dry season, when the town was hot and dusty and there was no risk of rain, she would walk home from the library. She enjoyed the exercise. On other days when she didn’t go to the library she would train for the sports, or go down to the beach with some of the girls she knew – not that she regarded any of them as more than school friends. She never invited them home, or joined in any of their sleepovers, but she had an open nature, and they welcomed her among them when she wanted to go to the beach or join in the sports. Sometimes they would talk about the homework they had to do – but not so very often as Jalli did not share their dislike of the work. She did not want to seem to judge them on their lack of interest. But she was always pleased to help if they got desperate the day before assignments were due and they wanted someone to explain what was needed. She had patience to help them, but it always stopped short of doing the work for them. Their talk about clothes, make-up and especially boys, left her cold. It was all so pointless. Why they needed to pander to the boys, who seemed to think it impressed girls if they “acted stupid”, as she called it, she could not imagine.
But at that moment she would have been glad to have seen anyone she knew from school. In less than ten paces, she had made up her mind that she was not going to allow this man to walk her all the way home. Today she was going to catch the bus. Even if she had to wait fifteen minutes for it, it would be preferable to having to walk with him right up to her home. So she stopped at the bus-stop and thanked him for his attention, dismissing him as politely as she could. He didn’t seem to take the hint that he had done enough. What he said next really alarmed her.
“But you do not generally catch the bus,” he proclaimed, “you walk home.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen you, swinging your bag and thinking as you go. I like that. Come, let us walk together to your home.”
Jalli stopped and looked him in the eye. “Have you been to my home?”
“I know where you live.”
“How?”
“I’ve followed you.”
“You’ve followed me! It is wrong to follow people.” Jalli was not a person who had difficulty in stating her mind. Her grandmother once observed that she felt sorry for anybody who got the sharp end of her tongue.
“I only did the once. You have such an interesting face and I wanted to know about you… speak to you.” Jalli was now properly alarmed, and steadfastly refused to move beyond the bus-stop. He continued, “I know you live alone with your grandmother and have no other family. Not having connections is not easy. Many girls of your age are already destined for marriage or dating people. It is not easy for you, not having family and all that. You need a boyfriend, and I thought you would be grateful to have someone of my standing. I have a job in the Registry that pays well, and prospects of promotion to head of department in a few years. My father would need persuading, but after he has met you and seen how intelligent you are and …”
“Stop! Just stop there! Who do you think you are? I don’t need a boyfriend. I am perfectly happy as I am. I am not looking for anyone and, in any case, I have a grandmother who is as good for me as some people’s entire family. I don’t know you, and I do not want to know you. I don’t even know your name! And I haven’t told you mine! So please leave me alone!” she exclaimed rapidly. His mouth remained open for about two seconds, but he quickly recovered.
“Of course, all this is rather sudden and you need the time to think about it. I do know your name. It is Jallaxanya Rarga – the librarian told me – and mine is Maik Musula. I will speak to you tomorrow.”
“I do not want to speak to you tomorrow. Just go away!” Jalli was almost shouting now and people were staring as they passed. There were others in the bus queue. Maik Musula smiled innocently, offered his hand – to no avail – and lifting it in a wave, stepped backwards and smiled, “See you tomorrow!”
“Not if I see you first!” Jalli asserted under her breath.
She was suddenly aware, for the first time since she dressed that morning, of the clothes she was wearing. Faded blue jeans and a large floppy white T-shirt with the words, “DARE TO BE DIFFERENT” printed across it. It had appealed to her precisely because it was different, not like the figure hugging blouses or skimpy tops that some of the girls wore. Jalli was not shy, but she had a modesty about her that set her apart. Whatever it was that had intrigued Maik Musula she wished it hadn’t. She had never thought about the expressions she made that only
others could see. For the first time in her life she felt really vulnerable, and began to wonder what was going on in the heads of men. She got on the bus, conscious of the fact that the bus-driver was a man. His mind was probably far more on his tea than on the identity of his fares, and to her relief he didn’t betray any sign of weirdness. She sat beside a middle aged lady. She would normally have taken one of the empty seats but this time she thought it best to sit beside someone rather than have an unknown person sit beside her after the next stop. The man (what did he call himself?), Maik, had unsettled her. This wasn’t fair. Anyway he had gone, she had dismissed him.
By the time she got home she had reflected on her performance and thought she had dealt with the situation rather well, and her normal buoyant self returned. The smiling face of her grandmother completely restored her faith in humanity.
“You’re home early today,” observed Momori who, despite her smile, looked rather older than her fifty-eight years.
“Yes, I decided to take the bus.”
“So, Jalli Rarga, you’re getting lazy in your mature years!”
“I wanted to get on with my essay,” responded Jalli. It struck her that she had not told Grandma the truth. She was not in the habit of lying. But she did not want to say anything about her admirer. She wanted to forget him and did not want to talk about him. She was angry with him again – now he had made her lie! How dare he! But again she took a grip on herself and cheerily went into her bedroom – but not before Grandma had noticed the shadow on her expressive features.
The wise lady was no inquisitor, and knew that she would be told, if and when, Jalli needed to tell her anything. After all, this girl was now fast becoming a woman. Momori had not wanted it to happen, but she had always known that the time would come when she would lose her granddaughter to a home and life of her own. This, after all, was the role she, the child’s only relative, had accepted. She would delight in seeing her granddaughter blossom and flourish. The thing that bothered her the most now was that clearly her bright girl was quite capable of further education, and how they were going to pay for it she didn’t yet know. But she was a lady of faith who believed in some kind of divine providence. “He has provided for us so far,” she told herself, “and He will see that we get what we need. All we need to do is be faithful and patient.” And, indeed, it had been true ever since she had taken that sad little three year old to that small flat in the city all those years ago. Something had always turned up.
Some of the other women in the church ladies’ group could not quite understand Momori’s faith. Yes, they went to the church but they did it more from a social motive than a religious one. If they had had all their family wiped out like that then it would have been difficult to believe in a loving God, let alone talk about Him as a provider. Momori had explained that it was precisely because of the disaster that she believed so much in God. When you have nothing of your previous life left, she had explained, you become acutely aware of the presence of God. Somehow He is with you, alongside of you, weeping with you. Her friends couldn’t understand that if He cared so much why hadn’t He intervened and stopped the dam bursting, or got the people out of the way? Why did He allow earthquakes in the first place? Momori said she didn’t know the answers to all of that. Perhaps He couldn’t for some reason. All she knew was that He stood beside her when her life was shattered – and had given her a little adorable three year old to care for.
Momori never wanted to be a leader of any kind in the church – but in many ways she was. Her faith gave much strength to the fellowship, and her gentle witness had a power of which she, herself, was not aware. She knew God loved her and that was sufficient not just for herself but for the other ladies too – and for her beloved granddaughter who was seen in church beside her even when no other young people were present. It did not surprise anyone that Jallaxanya chose a T-shirt which declared to the world that she was not afraid to be different! She was a real tribute to her grandma.
“Some people have whole families who do not give as much to their children as that one lady gives her granddaughter,” people observed.
That night Jalli spent longer on her essay than she normally did. Her mind was upset. But by bedtime, after reading to her grandma, and saying her prayers she felt more herself. And the next morning Maik Musula was almost forgotten.
But, across the city, Maik Musula was carefully laying his plans for a second attempt. He had been too sudden, he concluded. He needed to take it more gently. He would wait a few days and then approach her again – apologetically. It had never crossed his mind to let this fascinating, innocent beauty escape him. After all, she needed him as much as he needed her. He was sure of that!
4
Three days after handing in her essay to Mr. Bandi, the biology teacher, Jalli found herself heading towards the city centre again. The books she needed were all missing from the school library, taken out by other students. She was told they were due back in two days but Jalli was not going to wait if she could find something in the city library. Had not the library produced exactly the book she wanted last time?
But Jalli never made it to the library. She had almost forgotten about Maik Musula, and was again wearing a cheerful, distinctive T-shirt – this time one with a bright yellow sunshine on a deep green background. She had not seen her persistent admirer the next day and she had decided he had reflected on his stupidity and was not going to reappear. But she was wrong. As she approached the Municipal Gardens, a small park in the centre of the city, where on fine days office workers ate their lunch under the trees, he accosted her. He had followed his own advice and felt that she would now be pleased to see him. He greeted her with a cheery, “Hi!” Before she could say anything he apologised in a humble voice for alarming her the other day. He had been too hasty.
“You certainly were,” asserted Jalli, relieved that he seemed to have reflected on the previous importunate approach and was sorry to have alarmed her. “Apology accepted.”
“But perhaps you have missed me?” he volunteered. “Would you like to meet for lunch tomorrow? I work right over there. We eat at the place on the corner.”
“Thank you, but no. I am really not interested in striking up a new friendship right now.”
“They do a good lunch, and you can have anything you like on the menu.”
“Look, the answer’s no! Please listen to what I am saying. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want you to make a fool of yourself, so just…”
Musula grew agitated. “I am no fool. Who said I was a fool?” he demanded. His voice was raised, his eyes flashed. He was beginning to “freak out”, as Jalli later described it. She was feeling frightened by him all over again.
“May God bless you!” she heard herself saying, “Goodbye.” Jalli made to walk on but he caught her arm causing her to veer towards the wall that surrounded the Municipal Gardens. It was then that she spotted a small white gate, slightly ajar. Anything to put something between herself and him – she was thinking fast. With a tug she wrenched her arm from his grip, then she swung the gate open, stepped through and shut it behind her.
What happened next was completely unexpected. Maik Musula’s expression was amazing. He had stopped by the gate. He was less than two metres away from her but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond her left shoulder. She turned, following his gaze but all she saw was a high green hedge. She wondered what had caused him to look so confused. He put his hand up against the hedge and pushed. He patted the air above the gate just feet away from where she stood. He clearly couldn’t see her. He stood back, stared in the direction of the gate for a further five seconds, then turned and headed down the street.
Jalli breathed a huge sigh of relief. But then she fell to wondering why he had acted so strangely. She was sure he had a problem – probably some kind of mental illness she decided. But the way he had looked through her was not consistent with anything he had signalled before. It was as if she had simply been taken from
his sight. Jalli considered what to do next. He had gone in the direction of the library so she decided she would cross the park and go back to the school another way. She did not want to meet Musula again. She could tell Mr. Bandi, her favourite teacher, what had happened and ask him what she should do. She turned round and, for the first time, looked in the direction of the Municipal Gardens – or what she expected to be the Municipal Gardens. What she saw astonished her. There, before her, was a beautiful green lawn with fine grass. Flowering trees, the like of which she had never seen in her whole life, hung over it, and behind it was, what Jalli considered, an oddly shaped building with a sloping straw roof. It had low windows and a porch with another little roof. The walls were painted a pale cream and were covered in a climbing plant with pink flowers. The scent of this garden filled the air.
Jalli could no longer hear the sound of the traffic behind her, all she was aware of was bird song and a gentle buzzing that she associated with parmandas – the life-cycle of which she was now an expert (or so Mr. Bandi had said). Everything about Wanulka seemed to have vanished. She appeared to be in an entirely new world. The very quality of the air was different – it was softer and sweeter than anything she had experienced anywhere. Even the green-grassed borders beneath the trees beside Wanulka beach that the city council always watered felt very course compared with the carpet of lawn on which she now stood. It was a wonderful experience. She wondered if she had “passed over” somehow, as Grandma might say. This was exactly like the place she expected heaven to be – so different and so beautiful.
The Kicking Tree Page 2