Raimundo, the teacher, was a bald little man with a funny way of looking at the children that I didn't like very much. It reminded me a little of the way my father looked at me. Raimundo never hurt any of us though, and he was a good teacher. On this day, however, I was not in the mood for learning. The creeping sense of unease that I had felt that morning still lingered, and it was distracting me from my work. Instead of words, I absent-mindedly doodled a very rude and anatomically improbable picture of Chips, and passed it to my friend Laura at the next desk.
Everything about Laura was pale, from her long, curly, platinum blonde hair to eyes that were blue like the sky and skin so colourless it seemed almost transparent. In daylight you could see the dark blue veins underneath. When she saw the picture, Laura clapped a pale hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and glanced quickly up to check that Raimundo hadn't heard, but his head was down over a book.
"What's that?" came the teacher's voice suddenly, just as we looked away. Laura and I both jumped, giving away our guilt in a heartbeat, and Laura scrunched the piece of paper tightly in her hand.
"Nothing," she replied quickly, but Raimundo was already half way to her.
"Let me see," he said firmly. Laura handed over the paper reluctantly. My heart was in my mouth. Was this the bad thing I had sensed? Maybe Raimundo would tell my father and give him an excuse to beat me again. I held my breath as he examined the picture with an odd expression.
"Well," said the little man finally, "clearly the two of you are unable to concentrate sitting next to each other. Laura, you go and sit over there," he pointed to a desk at the front of the room which was occupied by a skinny, pointy-faced boy, "Joabe, you come and sit next to Emilia." He returned to his desk, taking the picture with him, while we swapped seats. Joabe gave me a nasty grin and I looked away in disgust. The little boy's filthy exterior accurately represented the person within it. I wondered fleetingly whether men who neglected to bathe, like Joabe and my father, were usually horrible people or whether it was just a coincidence.
An hour later, Laura and I fell out of the schoolroom door in fits of giggles at what had happened. The sun was at its height now, its fierce rays banishing the morning mist and with it my misgivings about the day, at least temporarily. If being caught drawing naughty pictures by Raimundo was the worst thing to happen to me today, I could live with that. At least it had been funny.
"Is she your ghost?" called a shrill voice behind me. I turned to see Joabe's impish face smirking at me.
"What?" I replied, contemptuously.
"I think she's your ghost," he said, pointing at Laura. "Does that mean you're going to die soon?"
"She's not a ghost!" I snapped. "You're a monster. Go away Joabe."
"Make me," he smirked, folding his arms. I wanted to hit him, but Raimundo was crossing from the school to his little room nearby and I didn't need to be in any more trouble with him today.
"Fine," I said, turning from him, "we'll go away. Come on Laura." I didn't look around to check the expression on Joabe's face, but I imagined that he was disappointed and that pleased me. "What do you want to do now?" I asked, once they were out of sight of the horrible little boy.
"I have to go home," said Laura, "Mama's expecting me."
"Alright," I said, "want to meet by the river later?"
"Sure," Laura smiled, "see you then!" I watched her go, then turned and walked lazily back towards the house.
"Where's Chips?" I asked my mother upon entering the hot kitchen. The delicious smell of fresh-baked bread was making my tummy growl.
"Oh I don't know," she replied irritably, plucking the feathers from a dead chicken with a focus that suggested the animal had wronged her in some way. "Maybe he went back to the forest to be with all the other monkeys."
"He would never!" I said, glaring at her. "Chips would never leave me!"
"I hope you make other friends," she said, eyeing me with a kind but troubled expression.
"Ones that aren't monkeys at least. Here, take this," she added quickly before I could reply, handing me a piece of warm bread, "and go and eat it somewhere else."
I felt quite mutinous, but I was also hungry, so I accepted the bread grudgingly and headed back out into the sunshine.
The river was often occupied by people swimming, fishing, or just lazing around in the middle of the day when working became too difficult, and today was no exception. But it twisted and turned so much through the dense forest that you only had to walk a short distance to find a little peace and privacy. Laura wasn't there when I arrived at our usual spot, so I shrugged off my baggy, hand-me-down shirt and pants and jumped into the water to cool off.
Floating along gently, gazing up at the clear blue sky, the chatter of the forest muted by the water covering my ears, I felt at peace with the world. As usual, however, that feeling was not to last for very long. As I emerged onto the sandy bank to dry off, I had the uncomfortable sense that I was being watched. I glanced around, but there was nobody in sight.
“Laura?” I said, tentatively. There was no reply. Frowning slightly, I wrung out my hair and laid down to take a nap.
"Are you dead?" The words woke me with a start, and I opened her eyes to find Laura's white face looking down at me, smiling. "Oh no," said the pale girl, "I thought maybe Joabe was right for a moment."
"Joabe is never right about anything," I muttered, sitting up. As Laura began to undress to get in the water, I remembered my uneasy feeling from earlier, and looked around.
"Wait," I heard myself snap, the word sounding before I realised what was happening. My eyes were fixed on some dense bushes about a hundred yards away.
"What?" Laura froze, alarmed.
"I swear I saw those bushes move," I replied, reaching for the shirt that I had been lying on.
"So?" asked Laura, following my gaze, "it's just a breeze."
"There's something there," I said pulling on her clothes hurriedly, my eyes fixed on the bushes.
"Maybe it's a Panther," said Laura anxiously, "we should-- hey what are you doing?!" She
chased after me as I marched defiantly towards whatever it was that was hidden there. "Come back!" demanded Laura. "You'll get eaten!" But had no intention of doing either. I didn’t know what I might find there, but I was in no mood to be afraid. When I reached the bushes, Laura squealed as though expecting a huge cat to leap out and devour me, but there was no cat.
"Oh my god," I said, staring at the ground behind the bushes.
"What?" asked Laura excitedly, running over to look.
"Someone was here," I replied, pointing down at the dirt which bore unmistakable signs of a person having made themselves comfortable.
"When?" asked Laura.
"Just now!" I said, looking this way and that for the culprit. "Someone was watching us!" Laura shuddered. We had both heard the stories about disappearing children. Some said they had been eaten by Panthers, or else murdered, or worse. A hundred horrible things were just waiting to happen to a defenceless child out here, and on some level we all knew it. I myself had known children that I had swam and talked with, who suddenly stopped coming down to the river, and nobody could say why. Was this the evil I had sensed?
"Well..." said Laura, carefully. "Whoever it was, they've gone now."
I peered at her shrewdly.
"You just want to go for a swim," I said after a moment.
"I'm hot!" Laura protested. "And if I stay out here in the sun much longer I'm going to burn to a crisp!"
"Then you'd better get in!" I replied, waving a hand towards the river. "I don't want a red ghost." I tagged Laura on the shoulder and ran off towards the river, and the pale girl sprinted after me, laughing.
When I returned for dinner that night, the rest of the family were already at the table. I skirted around to my chair quietly and sat down. It had been a fun afternoon playing in the river, but now doubt was gnawing away at my insides. When Raimundo had caught me drawing pictures, I thought maybe that was t
he bad thing I had sensed in the morning mist. Then again upon discovering the dirty hiding place from which somebody had spied on Laura and I. But now the feeling was returning to me again, and I realised with a jolt of fear that whatever the bad thing was, it had not yet passed.
"Work hard today?" my father surveyed me like a jackal.
"Yes," I said, defiantly.
"Liar," he replied. "You were playing in the river all day with your ugly friend."
"You!" I gasped, the word struggling to life as all of the air left my lungs in a second. "You were watching us!"
"Quiet now," my mother murmured, anxiously. "Eat your dinner." She doled a portion of rice and beans onto my plate, and I eyed it longingly. I wanted to eat, but I didn't want to be in the same room as my father a second longer. The hateful, sneering look on his filthy face made me feel sick. He disgusted me. And as long as I was in his presence, I knew I would not be able to swallow so much as a bite.
"I'm not hungry," I said flatly, pushing the plate away and sloping off to my room. When I got there, I found Chips sitting on the bed. The moment he saw me, he leapt up onto my shoulder and put his arms around my neck. As usual, the meaning was clear. "I've missed you too, Chips!" I said, smiling and petting him gently. "Have you been in here all day? What's the matter?" The little monkey's arms squeezed a little tighter. “Oh Chips,” I sighed, sinking down onto the bed and reaching back to stroke his soft fur. “I wish you could talk. Sometimes I think you’re the only one in the world who really understands me.”
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed outside the window as heavy raindrops pelted down with the force of bullets from a machine gun. Wind howled through every tiny gap in the building, but still it couldn't drown out the shrieks of the terrified little monkey hopping around the pitch-black room.
"Shhh!" I tried to tell him, but Chips wasn't listening. He was frantic, racing around so fast that I couldn't keep track of his location in the dark.
"Shut that monkey up!" barked my father's voice through the wall.
"Chips!" I begged. "Chips please, calm down! Come here!" I tried to grab him, to hold him still until the storm passed, but I couldn't see, and he was too quick, too scared.
The moment the bedroom door slammed open was the moment I finally understood. This was the bad thing. The spirits had tried to warn me, their misty fingers tugging urgently at my shoulders that morning, trying to get my attention, trying to make me understand, but I had ignored them.
"No!" I cried out desperately, but my throat had tightened and the word barely emerged.
"Please don't!"
A flash of lightning illuminated the silhouette of my father, his right arm held high behind his shoulder, a still-screaming Chips clutched in his hand. Then as darkness fell once more, I heard the sickening crunch of the little monkey's bones against the wall.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Vow
STAMPEDING FOOTSTEPS THUNDERED in the hall like a herd of startled animals, and within moments the whole family were crammed into the little room. I was barely aware of them. In the dim, flickering light of a hastily-lit candle, I sat in the middle of the floor cradling the dead monkey as tenderly as if he were a newborn baby.
My father had dashed Chips against the wall again and again, venting all of his pent-up rage upon the creature until his arm became too tired to continue and he dropped the monkey with a sickening thud on the wooden floor.
I had raced to gather him up, but I knew he was dead. I knew before my hands touched his soft fur, now sticky with blood. I knew even before the blow that had silenced his terrible screaming. As soon as my father had entered the room, I knew what was going to happen. "You killed him!" I screamed, staring up at him through my tears, between sobs that wrenched the air from my lungs so forcefully I could hardly breathe. "You killed him! Why?! I warned you!" he barked down at me as if I were a disobedient mutt rather than his own daughter, "I told you to shut him up, but you didn't listen to me. It's your fault he's dead."
Nobody else said a word. Maybe they were too shocked at what they were seeing, or too scared of Moises to risk becoming the next focus for his anger. Maybe both. The only sound that could be heard above the storm still raging outside was my grief as it continued to pour forth from me, a wave of pain that felt like it would never end.
"I'll kill you too if you don't stop crying," my father growled irritably, and I knew that he meant it. Scrambling to my feet, Chips’ limp body still gathered in my arms, I put my head down and ran. I ran out of the front door into the pelting rain and the driving wind. I ran without any conscious idea where I was going to go, but somehow my feet knew, and they carried me to the shelter of the stable.
It was warm there, and quiet. I sank to my knees on the soft hay and looked down at the broken face of the best friend I had ever had. Chips had been like a child to me, his little arms constantly around my neck, loving me unconditionally as only an animal can. Now his eyes were lifeless, and his flesh cold.
I hugged him tightly to my chest, trying to fill the gaping hole that had been left within it. A piece of my heart was gone, and it would never be whole again.
As the storm began to die down, I could hear voices calling for me from the direction of the house, but I had no strength left to care about them. I would sleep here tonight, amongst the peaceful animals who knew no evil, with Chips in my arms for one last time.
Maria found me next morning sitting in the corner of the stable, the lifeless monkey still cradled in my hands.
"I'm so sorry baby," she said gently, kneeling down next to me and wrapping comforting arms around me. "Your father is an angry man, there's nothing we can do about that." I sighed softly. "We just have to live with it."
I looked up at her, my eyes red from crying. "No mama," I replied flatly. "He killed Chips.
He said he was going to kill me. He hates me."
"My baby," said Maria wistfully, kissing the top of my head, "your father doesn't hate you, he just has a terrible temper. You must try not to provoke him."
The last words came with a hint of admonishment, and they caught me by surprise such that I almost felt slapped across the face. I turned to glare at my mother.
"I must try?" I said, incredulously. "not to provoke him? He killed Chips!"
Maria looked back at me, her eyes full of sadness and love, and I felt my anger begin to melt away. I wasn't mad at my mother. It hadn't been her fault. She didn't deserve to be yelled at. "Come on," said Maria, taking the little monkey gently from my hands, "let's put him to
rest."
In the yard there was a mango tree so big and full of fruit that when the wind blew hard during the winter it would rain mangoes down upon anyone taking shelter beneath it. Whenever Chips was startled, or afraid, he would race up into its branches and stay there, peeking down, until the danger passed. Just as I had the stable, that mango tree was Chips' place. It was where he had felt safe, and where it seemed fitting now to bury him.
After we had covered over the earth and placed stones to mark the spot, my mother gave me another hug before returning to the kitchen to make breakfast. I stood by myself, looking down at the little monkey's grave. I was not crying anymore, my tears had been exhausted and my grief struggled now with another emotion for control of my heart.
"You will pay for this," I vowed, my voice low and hard with fury. "Whatever it takes, no matter how long I have to wait for my chance, I will have my revenge."
CHAPTER SIX
The Altar
A MALEVOLENT SHADOW now followed Moises everywhere he went. It stalked him through the forest to the plantation. It lingered at the edge of the tree line when he trekked down to the river to fish. And now it lurked only feet away as he sat on the wooden deck of the front porch, cleaning his hunting rifle.
"Baby, come away from there!" said Maria, exasperated, turning away from the stove to find me crouched low near the kitchen door, peering out at my father.
"He thinks he's special just bec
ause he has a gun," I muttered, without taking my eyes off him. "I'll show him."
"What will you show him?" said Maria impatiently, he hands on her hips. "You're just a little girl, stop being so silly!" I didn't reply, but my mother could see the anger still in my face and it worried her. "If you carry on like this you'll end up just like him," she warned.
"I will not!" I glared at her. "I could never be like him!"
"Yes you will," she said sadly, "anger changes people. You should let it go. Focus on life's good things."
"Ha," said I bitterly, "what good things?" Then I looked at my mother and regretted it. It wasn't her fault, but she didn't understand. Maybe if Moises dashed me against the wall until I stopped moving, then my mother would know how I felt. I couldn't just let it go. I had to do something.
"Please don't wind your father up today," she pleaded. Behind me, several large, cast iron pots bubbled gently on the stove. "Your grandmother is going to be here tomorrow and his temper is short enough as it is."
My eyes widened. My grandmother was coming back! Was she going to teach me witchcraft as she had promised? A burst of excitement rippled through me, and Maria seemed to be able to tell what I was thinking. But if she had calculated that the news might settle me down and distract me from thoughts of vengeance, she was quite mistaken. I peered around the open door again to see the long, black barrel of my father’s gun glint menacingly in the low evening sun. He could still ruin this for me, I knew. I would have to keep a close eye on him.
"What are you looking at?" Moises snapped at me. The others seated around the dinner table glanced anxiously in my direction as though expecting trouble, but I lowered my eyes to my food and continued eating in silence. I imagined the satisfied look on his face and felt my skin glow warm with anger, but I had a plan and arguing wasn't part of it. Let him think he had broken me. I knew the truth.
When we had finished eating, I watched my father retreat to his bedroom and waited for him to return under the guise of helping my mother clear away the dishes. Sure enough, moments later Moises reappeared, a leather bag slung over one shoulder and his rifle over the other. I waited until my mother's back was turned and then slipped out of the kitchen after him.
Daughter of the Forest: Diary of an Assassin Page 3