Midday, Jackob languished as he read the things left to do on the list: call, buy, invite, extend condolences, order, arrange, reserve, inform about changes and preferences. He was nearly prostrate with fatigue; nevertheless, he stayed at work until every detail was crossed off the list with a straight line of his pen.
Jackob kept an efficient agenda and carefully set reminders to eliminate any oversights. He would not forget anything, ever.
He knew Charles inside out: his mania for details and his perfectionism, the satisfaction he got from jobs well done. Jackob labored to provide his boss with what he wanted and needed, intuiting, at times, his boss’s desires, even before the man himself was aware of them. Jackob understood him at a glance and wanted little more than his boss’s approval. Charles was much more than an employer: for him, Charles was a mentor, a man he looked up to and modeled himself on. Jackob had everything he had ever wanted. His salary was the envy of his peers. He had a car, landline phone, and the opportunity to work for a tycoon.
As soon as Jackob had received confirmation that the purchase of the house had been concluded, he notified a friend from university, the director of one of the most exclusive resorts in Zanzibar, to start training cooks and service staff for White House. Jackob personally selected the six guards for the residence and the gardeners and driver. He hired his cousin as staff supervisor and house manager. It was Jackob’s wish that every detail would delight Charles and Mrs. Fielding, that even their most frivolous whim would be satisfied.
It was Jackob himself who took care of lunch on that Sunday. He had the table set in the garden in the shade of the enormous trees, dressed the table with bright cultivated flowers and fruits—a cluster of bananas, mangoes, and pineapple. He ordered an abundant meal of fried mandazi, stuffed zucchini, and sweet sausages from the kitchen, and he saw to it that a bottle of chilled wine was in a bucket.
Lunch was ready. The Fieldings were seated, admiring the well-laid table and anticipating the meal. Jackob waited until the couple was settled and then drove home in his old Toyota sedan to spend his free afternoon with his wife and newborn daughter.
The young woman’s steps were uncertain. She fought the temptation to look at the child as she tried to hurry. Adimu had awakened, and she fidgeted under the batik cloth she was wrapped in, chattering and emitting baby sounds. The woman kept repeating to herself that it was not a baby but a zeru zeru, that it was nothing. It could not be admired; there was nothing to love. In any case, the woman was struggling to not think about the small body hidden by the fabric. To fight the seduction of the tiny thing, she held it out in front of her and away from her body. When the breeze would drift toward her, she’d catch a hint of fresh milky baby scent.
In the clearing, where the vegetation was thinner, the young woman looked around with anxiety, turning right and left to be certain no one followed her. The forest shouted, became dense, and the paths before her grew confusing, hostile. Rustling. Animal sounds. Penetrating odors. The vegetation pervaded—opulent, intertwining, snaking so as to fill every space. The woman tried to concentrate on the correct path to follow, holding at a distance the tangle of sensations that were moving from her gut to her head. A corner of fabric slid to the side, and the baby’s gaze met hers. With a toothless smile, Adimu put her chubby hand in her mouth. For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes. The little one smiled at her. The young woman shook herself, covering the tiny face to protect her body from the baby’s charms, and she walked as quickly as possible.
Light from the midday sun worked its way between the weave of branches and bush. Though the woman felt hot, she hastened her steps, tripping on a clump of exposed roots. Right before the moment of impact with the earth, she used one arm to break her fall, protecting the baby with the other. Adimu cried. The young woman stood and, without hesitation, continued walking. She reproached herself for her behavior. She should have let the zeru zeru fall to the ground, even if she risked crushing it with her body. She reminded herself that she had taken it to keep away bad luck. Was she not crossing the forest to reach the place where it could be abandoned to the will of the Spirits of the Lake? A place known to few, though well-known to the rain that falls from the sky and courses along the trunks of trees.
When the creature cried, the woman’s inner turmoil deepened. She tried to calm the zeru zeru by holding it close to her chest. The small body trembled under the batik cloth, and she lifted the covering to look at it. Adimu was still crying, large teardrops sliding down her pink cheeks. The woman felt cold, and her throat tightened into a painful knot. She looked around as if to search for help. She was alone. She set the bundle on the ground and examined the small body for injuries. Although there were none, she saw the infant was helpless. A small flame appeared to be lit inside the baby, directly under its white flesh. The young woman caressed the little thing, but the touch of her large hands seemed to agitate the child even more. She looked at her own chest, and after a moment’s hesitation, she exposed a breast. Adimu sucked hungrily on the woman’s indulgent yet empty bosom. The maternal contact must have calmed the child.
The woman leaned her back against the trunk of a tree. She closed her eyes. The melodic whispers of the forest and the contact with a burgeoning life hushed her solitude. She wouldn’t be able to see her plan through. Impossible. The secret place she intended to take Adimu vanished from the paths in her mind, and a different road opened before her.
She stood and walked with determination in the new direction without lingering any longer before the muddle of branches. The woman whose face was hidden by a blue veil knew exactly where to go.
11.
“Listen to this story that has become legend. They told it to me the first time I set foot on the island,” said Charles to his wife, eyeing a bunch of bananas that decorated the table along with other fruits. “Have you noticed there are no banana trees on the island?” He picked up the chilled bottle of wine, looked at the label, and poured some for them both.
Sarah searched the horizon, looking for a point of reference. “No…”
“Imagine. They say there was once a banana tree for every inhabitant.”
“It’s strange there are none now…Why is it?”
“It’s because of their stupidity,” the man said sarcastically. “In the eighties, a politician maintained that because of mosquitoes in banana trees, people were dying from malaria.”
Sarah placed her fork on the table and leaned back in her chair. “And so?”
“And so…he convinced the inhabitants to cut them down. But the myth of mosquitoes in banana trees was one of many folk beliefs. The mistake was discovered too late.” Charles took a sip of his Sauvignon Blanc, laughed, and then started coughing for having inhaled the alcohol.
The woman with coal black eyes ran through the thinning forest. As there was no filter of vegetation, the heat became unbearable. She finally reached the outer limits of White House’s garden. The wazungu[8] were dining outside. She set the child on the ground with care, making sure the fabric covered the baby’s flesh. Adimu was drowsy. She would soon fall asleep. The woman turned away, forcing herself to avoid a final glance at the bundle lying among the bushes. She took a few steps yet couldn’t help herself from turning around, overcome by guilt. The child could be attacked and devoured by an animal before the white people noticed her. She veiled her face and picked up Adimu who wiggled under the cloth and began to whimper. Calling on her reserve of courage and considering how this bundle was the product of her best friend and cousin, the young woman walked toward the Fieldings’s table, cradling it against her breasts.
Charles and Sarah were raising glasses in a toast to their new house when they heard, from the green depths of the forest, the cry of an infant drawing near. They saw the vibrant blue of a woman’s traditional dress emerge from the vegetation. Sarah searched her husband’s reassuring face.
Charles noted a flash of anxiety in his wife’s eyes. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s only a
beggar with a child.”
When the young woman reached them, she placed the sobbing bundle on Charles’s lap. He looked down at the child, scowling, and was greeted with the light of small blue eyes and pouting lips that immediately grinned.
What kind of child is this? he asked himself. A white Negro? His mind lingered on the word “Negro.”
Charles shifted his attention from his knees, compelling himself not to caress the baby or look at the woman who was standing in front of him.
“It is Adimu. I return her,” said the young woman before she ran away in the direction from which she came.
Charles felt contrasting instincts—one was, shockingly, to protect the baby and the other was to flick it from him as if it were a scorpion that had fallen from the ceiling. His instinct to purge himself of the encumbrance won out. Unable to toss it onto the ground, he jumped up and ran after the woman, clutching the child in his arms. The woman, who was younger, lighter, and much faster than him, had disappeared into the dense forest. Charles faltered, then went as far as the edge of the property and set the child on the ground. He walked back to the table, took his place, and resumed eating his sausage, his eyes fixed on his plate. He knew that beggar women often left their children with whites for handouts and sympathy, a trick well recorded.
Adimu wailed. Sarah was petrified, her eyes drawn like magnets to the infant from the moment it curled up in her husband’s arms. After she could no longer contain herself, she ran to the baby, lifted her from the ground, and hugged her, rocking her in an attempt to calm her cries. Sarah called the maids. Although at first the domestics were fearful of the zeru zeru, they followed Sarah’s lead, and together they attempted to comfort the child, cooing at it and giggling endearments.
Charles phoned his assistant. “Get over here and help us,” he growled at Jackob. “Someone has left a baby. A white Negro.” He emphasized the last words.
Jackob told his boss he’d drop everything and be there in five minutes.
Sarah paced with Adimu in her arms. The baby’s cries tormented her more than her husband’s indifference. It seemed that nothing could console the sweet bundle. She walked over to Charles.
“You hold her,” said Sarah, offering him the baby.
Charles remained still as his wife placed the baby carefully on his lap. He looked at it, balancing her on his knees to minimize the contact between them. Adimu stopped crying.
A titter escaped from Sarah’s lips. “You look good with a baby on your lap. And she feels safe with you; she trusts you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Get her off me immediately,” said Charles, relieved to see Jackob’s Toyota driving toward the house. The car pulled to a stop in a cloud of dust, and Jackob got out, slamming the door. As soon as Charles saw his assistant, he lifted Adimu and handed her to him. The baby started screeching again. Jackob, unperturbed, held the baby gingerly as he asked the cook, Adamma, for help.
“Take her away,” urged Charles. “She’s given me a headache.” Charles thought of how his own father, Finley, wanted nothing to do with him when he showed any emotion. It was how he learned to be stoic, his most serviceable quality, he thought.
Adamma reached for the baby and hurried into the house, followed by the maids. Sarah would have liked to go with them but chose to stay and listen to what the men had to say.
“I want her taken back to where she came from, immediately. How can we find out who her parents are?” thundered Charles.
Perspiring, his assistant said, “I’ll take care of it. No problem, sir, I know where she’s from.”
“Praise God,” mumbled Charles, pouring himself another glass of white wine.
Sarah studied her husband. For a moment he seemed like a stranger. Although he had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to be a father, the man she knew had a sensitive soul and would be loving to a defenseless creature. How could he place a human being on the dirt where there are snakes and insects that could harm her? she wondered. What kind of a person does that? Then the young woman who placed the baby in Charles’s lap flashed through Sarah’s mind, and Sarah considered why, in the first place, the mother might have brought the baby to her and Charles. “Maybe the baby’s been rejected by her family. If so…we can keep her.” The words tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth before she had time to reflect.
Charles froze. “What in the world?” He put his hand in his pocket to touch his gold nugget, his face a mask of shock. “Don’t even think it. We have gotten this far without problems…Why change now?”
“She must be returned to her family,” intervened Jackob. “She is part of a clan. You cannot keep her, madam, not even if sir agreed. Besides,” he added sotto voce, “it is a zeru zeru. It is imprudent to have anything to do with her. Bad luck!”
“How is it possible to trust a child to a mother who abandoned her?” asked Sarah. Her voice trembled through the lump in her throat.
“Well, with all the little snotty, needy children on this continent, why should I take care of her?” her husband asked.
“Madam,” interjected Jackob, “the family probably believes the child is your husband’s because of the color of her skin. Let me take care of this matter. I shall take her back to the village myself.”
Charles nodded and squeezed his wife’s arm.
“No, we’re coming,” she said. “She was left in our hands, and we will take her back to her parents.”
“Why on earth should we waste our time if he can do it?”
“For God’s sake, Charles. Is she an object or a human being? The child will be returned on the condition that the family promises to care for her,” she declared.
Jackob shook his head. “Your request could be interpreted as interfering with the traditions of the island,” he said. “I believe it’s imprudent.”
“Who cares about prudence!” Sarah snapped. She got up and went inside. It was cool in the house. She stopped in the entry and brushed her fingers over a bouquet of red and orange flowers arranged in a crystal vase. The sensation that Charles was a stranger passed through her again.
“Madam, what does Mr. Jackob suggest?” The voice of the cook startled Sarah and returned her to the present moment.
“He echoes my husband’s sentiments, like always,” said Sarah, shaking her head.
In the garden, Charles and Jackob lingered, immersed in discussion.
“Your wife seems very convinced, sir.”
“She is a stubborn woman. It will be difficult to make her change her mind,” said Charles with a touch of pride. He had always admired his wife’s decisive character, even if in that moment he would have preferred docility. “I want this matter resolved as soon as possible. Go to the child’s family and tell them to take her back and care for her.” Charles paused and sipped some wine. “I want to make my wife happy.”
“It could be difficult, sir,” said Jackob. “Zeru zerus are repudiated by the community and by their families. They are magical, malevolent beings. People are afraid of them.”
“Nonsense. I shall pay them well so long as they do as I say. With a handful of money, fear will magically go bye-bye. Let me know if this speaks the family’s language,” he said, handing Jackob a stack of bills.
Jackob left in the golden afternoon light. Although the sun’s rays stretched across the land, the heat persisted, unbroken. While he drove toward the village, Mr. Fielding’s assistant concentrated on how he could best resolve the problem. He had no intention of going to Zuberi. And he couldn’t simply show up at Sefu’s home as he knew Sefu had denied the zeru zeru was his. Be that as it may, Jackob had to indulge his boss. The solution of how to handle the delicate matter of the zeru zeru, he knew, would be found with help from the village chief.
12.
Kondo sighed when Jackob explained the situation. The white shadow was causing much trouble. First the name, now this. What would happen in the future if only a year after its birth it was already unsettling the village? Perhaps it had been a bad
idea to let it live. However, the time to reconsider was well past. The white man had the zeru zeru, and the situation had to be resolved as quickly as possible.
That same evening, Kondo, Jackob, and Sefu met at Zuberi’s home.
Sefu was furious. “Who took the zeru zeru to the white man?” he demanded in a booming voice.
“I was at home having lunch with my wife and baby,” Jackob replied, “and next thing I know, the embulamaro is in my boss’s arms. Believe me, I am as much in the dark about what happened as you. The wazungu said nothing more than it was a young woman who presented them with your daughter.”
“Avoid offending me and my clan. It is not my daughter! I don’t care where that creature stays as long as it’s not in the hands of that man. My mother is desperate. It should be returned to her today, and it will be the white man who does it.” He slammed a rice bowl onto the table. “I want to forget this whole damned story,” he yelled.
Kondo and Zuberi left to determine the verdict.
In the witch doctor’s laboratory, Kondo watched Zuberi light some candles to alleviate the darkness. Then Zuberi closed the door with a heavy deadbolt and retreated to the back of the space. A number of objects were set in a corner and thick spiderwebs hung from the ceiling. Zuberi shifted some things on the long wooden table, and a hairy spider jumped into a crack in the wall to hide.
“Open the window,” said Kondo. “There is still light.”
Zuberi pulled him close. “I have valuable objects to show you. It is best to keep it shut.” He was pushing aside pieces of worn and worried fabric, glass bottles of various colors, and piles of amulets. Kondo watched Zuberi in the weak light of the candles. Zuberi rolled up a red carpet to reveal a worm-eaten wooden chest that was bolted shut with a modern lock.
Then She Was Born Page 5