Shallow Waters

by Anita Kopacz

  I hear the roar again. I blame the animal for scaring away Obatala. My anger abates any fear of the approaching brute. I am steady. My feet are anchored in the soil. The mighty beast’s breath is on my cheek. She is but a fraction of an inch away from my face. Her eyes, black as midnight, stare into my own. Then I hear the faint sound of drums. The steady rhythm calms my anger. The drums crescendo as the beat quickens.

  I have no fear. Her presence does not threaten me. I stare at her—a black panther, waiting for my message. I notice my reflection staring back at me in her eyes. My mirror image slowly morphs, though I am standing completely still. I see myself running on my new legs; I see the white men attacking Cora and her tribe.

  The panther blinks. Before I can fully understand what I’ve seen, she turns and runs away. I close my eyes and awaken to my life. I feel my legs. There are fresh scrapes and bruises from the forest underbrush in my dream.

  Before I am fully alert, I call for Cora, though she has never left my side. She calms me by placing her hand on my shoulder and whispering in her native tongue, “Hush, my child; you must not speak about anything that you saw.”

  “But I have to! You’re in—”

  “No! The ancestors told me I must not listen to your vision.”

  My eyes flash with pain, but I hold my tongue.

  “Why would the panther show me what’s going to happen if I’m not supposed to warn you?” I cry as I recall the horrible scene I saw of her tribe being captured.

  Cora remains composed and says, “The wind has brought the message from the south. Our spirits already know what is in store for us. We’ve been waiting for this. Your presence, your existence, gives us hope. We know who you really are, Yemaya. We know you will go on. We know that you will teach the people our stories.”

  “What about your warriors?” I ask. “Why won’t they fight?”

  “My child, you are going into the vision that was meant for you only. Please respect our ancestors and say no more.”

  How can she choose this fate for her people? There are strong men and women who can defend their village. Although I am furious, I respect Cora’s wishes and keep my mouth shut.

  She gently tips my chin up toward the sky. “For every story, there is a beginning and an end. And every ending is the beginning of a new story.”

  The chill of this truth fills my body and leaves tiny bumps all over my skin.

  Cora then tells me of my journey north to them. Her wrinkles form into a smile as she recounts my passage: “Our sister nation on the coast found you and brought you to us. They rely on the big water for food. One day, while searching for fish, a young man came upon something that looked like an overgrown gourd floating in the waves.”

  I must have dislodged from the wooden column.

  “The visions, for me, had already started,” Cora said. “The ancestors told me that I must impart all of my wisdom to you. If breath forms words, I must tell them to you.”

  My eyes grow large with insecurity and unworthiness. Why does she believe I should bear this knowledge? The elder knows my thoughts but does not waste her breath on my fear.

  “As it was told to me, the elders of our sister nation had the same vision and knew of your coming before your arrival. The ancestors told them that their people must take the long journey from the coast and bring you to me. In eleven days’ time, they arrived. Your cocoon was tied to a sturdy log that two men carried, one in front and one in back. The men stayed for a great feast and celebration that night and began their journey home the next day. We kept you in the middle of the village for the remainder of your metamorphosis.”

  I have so many questions, but she holds up her ancient hand to stop me. “There still is much I must share with you.”

  She continues, although I see her body is weary. “The precious little one Ozata, my granddaughter, made the Mer figurine for you.” Cora rubs her hands together as if to massage her aching bones. “She knew what you were before any of us. I was certain that she would become your guardian. Ozata is young, only seven years old, but she will soon undergo her rite of passage. Most of the tribe does it at ten years, but I had a vision that she must go in her seventh year.”

  “What is her rite of passage?”

  She clears her throat. “Ozata will sleep overnight in the forest alone, bringing no weapons.”

  Cora senses my concern and adds, “She is more than capable of surviving.”

  “When will she go into the forest?”

  “Tonight.”

  My mind floods with visions of all the dangers she might encounter. “How will she defend herself?”

  Cora smiles. “If she has to defend herself, it will be with weapons or tools that she creates herself.”

  I rub my face to help clear my mind. “Why does she have to do this?”

  “My child, we cannot truly know ourselves if we do not go through this rite. No one can tell you how to mature; you have to experience it yourself. What Ozata experiences tonight will give her the wings she needs to fly.”

  Cora’s words make sense, but I still do not see the logic in testing such a young child. Especially if failure means death. I sit, stewing in my emotions.

  “How old are you?” Cora asks.

  “Seventeen.”

  “And did you not go through your own rite of passage as a child? Did you not learn that you could survive on your own?”

  “Yes,” I say, bowing my head, “but I did not choose to.” I choke up, thinking of my parents.

  “Sometimes it is not our choice; Great Spirit always has a plan.”

  I cling to her words because the pain of my past is too heavy to hold. I still feel weak from the plant medicine. Cora gently embraces me as I fall into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  I awaken to the sounds of the flute. Night has set, and I am alone. A bonfire in the middle of the village creates silhouettes of the tribe dancing upon the walls of the huge tent. I make out Cora. Her shadowy figure slowly shrinks as she approaches the hut. I attempt to get out of bed, but I am weak. As I try to prop myself up, my arm collapses beneath the weight of my body.

  Cora enters with fresh water from the stream. “You are awake.”

  She gently pulls my arm out from beneath me. She holds my head up and pours a small amount of water into my mouth. It seems to evaporate before I can swallow. I feel my strength returning more quickly than I thought it would.

  “This evening, while you were sleeping, Ozata went into the forest. She has asked that you be the one to retrieve her in the morning. You can go when your body is ready.”

  She pats the fresh water on my forehead with a wet cloth, and I feel a surge of energy.

  Cora explains, “They play the flute to remind Ozata that although she is alone in the forest, we are always nearby. The men will take turns throughout the night playing different tunes to comfort her.” She gathers the water gourd and folds the cloth she used to cool me. “Listen to the wisdom of the child. She is clear, free from self-interest and manipulation. She requests that you be the one to retrieve her,” she repeats. “She knows that she will be alive in the morning. She needs your faith. She needs you to know that she will make it through the night. You must rest. You will stay with me tonight.”

  I comply.

  4

  RITE OF PASSAGE

  I lie awake, aware of every sound. My mind will not allow sleep to distract me from my worries. The night is long. Nocturnal animals move just outside the tent’s walls. I hear the crawling of insects across the ceiling. The air cools with each passing hour, and I pull my blanket up from my feet to wrap around me.

  Never have I experienced a longer night. I try to close my eyes, but the sound of drums and nature’s shadowy percussion constantly startle me. The flute welcomes the first rays of sun with a change in tune. Staccato notes mirror the tribe’s excitement for Ozata’s journey coming to an end.

  Cora’s wrinkled face has grown weary over the course of the night. She has be
en up as well, praying and chanting for the child. As I sit up, I notice an intricate design of colored sand painted on the floor. It was not there when I saw Cora’s home in the daylight. She must have created it after we entered last night.

  “It’s a sand painting. We use it in ceremony. This one is to protect Ozata and bring her clarity of purpose.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  She wipes the extra sand off her hands and says, “It is time.”

  “But where do I go? Where is she?” I ask as I carefully step around the delicate painting.

  “I will show you where she began her journey, but as you venture deeper into the forest, Great Spirit will send you signs. You must pay close attention to them, and follow the guidance you receive,” Cora says quietly.

  “Who is Great Spirit?”

  “Great Spirit is the force that watches over and protects us all. Animals, plants, trees, and fire. The water, the rocks, and all the flowers. Everything.”

  Cora places a small leather bag around my neck. “This medicine pouch will protect you as well. There is sage, an arrowhead made of onyx, and the figurine that Ozata crafted.” She picks up two brown objects from the floor and says, “You must put these moccasins on your feet to protect you from sharp sticks and rocks, as well as wet weather. You will get used to them quickly and they will help you move faster and with more confidence in the forest.”

  I take the moccasins from her and admire their exquisite craftsmanship. They are embellished with sparkling blue beads that have been sewn onto their sides to create the shape of ocean waves. Cora gently takes them from me, motions for me to sit, and helps me fit them on my feet. She smiles and says, “The waves will remind you of your power as a Mer.”

  Cora kisses my forehead, fits a bundle with a fur blanket for sleeping and a pouch with food on my back, and leads me into the gathering of trees at the entrance to the forest. I navigate through and around the dense foliage. Masses of tangled branches and vines connect the mighty trees, creating a canopy over my head, which shelters me from the heat of the rising sun. The air is thick with life, from minuscule insects to mighty birds circling above. Small furry animals jump from tree to tree, oblivious to any potential danger.

  I can still hear the flute. The sound that is meant to comfort Ozata is doing the same for me. I realize that the music is our guiding light and that we can follow the sound of the melodies back home.

  I hear a rustle in the leaves. My attention focuses in the direction of the sound. My vision sharpens, and I catch sight of a panther in the distance. We stare at each other, still and silent. Unlike in my dream, I am terrified. This mighty beast can finish me with one swipe of her paw. She turns and runs deeper into the forest. Is this a sign? Is this even real? I cautiously begin to follow her. As thought catches up with my body, I am reminded of my vision. I ran after Obatala in the same way. My medicine animal disappears into the morning mist.

  I find myself standing in the middle of a small clearing. The undergrowth has been visibly disturbed. A patch of branches partially covers a large hole in the rich earth.

  “I’m here,” a voice calls from the trees.

  I smile as Ozata makes her way down the trunk of a large tree with hanging branches. “That was fast,” she says. “I thought I’d be waiting all day for you.”

  “Thanks for your faith in me,” I retort. Once she hits the ground, she jumps and hugs me.

  “Let’s eat before we begin our journey back,” I suggest.

  Ozata smiles broadly and nods. “I survived, but I didn’t find anything to eat. Good thing it was only for one night,” she says through laughter.

  I pull out my pouch and hand her a piece of flatbread. We sit on the forest floor. She seems even smaller surrounded by the vast wilderness. She leans forward and breaks off a fairly large piece of the bread, eating it quickly. Before she swallows the last bite, she grabs a carved stick and commands, “Come on!”

  “What’s that?”

  “This is my weapon. I hollowed the stick in the same way that my grandfather showed me how to make a flute. I sharpened a smaller stick and soaked it in the poison of the everplant. I had to be ready just in case.”

  We follow the sound of the flute through the forest. Where I stumble and trip, Ozata glides gracefully. Her movements are skillful and elegant, almost as if she were swimming through the legions of mighty oaks.

  “Does this look familiar?” she asks.

  “It all looks like the same forest, but I cannot tell if we’ve passed this tree.”

  “Look,” she says, showing me a carving on a tree trunk, “I made these marks on the way into the forest to point me home.”

  I trace the marking with my fingertips and recognize the mastery it took to create it. Cora shared with me some of their symbols and their meanings. Ozata had carved a bear track, which represents a good omen.

  “So beautiful,” I exclaim. Ozata smiles at my appreciation.

  Suddenly the sound of the flute stops.

  “Maybe they’re starting a new song,” I say hopefully.

  “No. He didn’t finish the last one. Something’s wrong.”

  Ozata grabs my hand and leads me through the forest toward the village. She checks the marked trees to verify our direction. There is a circle representing life, a rattlesnake jaw representing strength, and crossing arrows representing friendship.

  We run without rest through the trees and brush. I mimic her every move, and we navigate through the forest as one, swift and light. A loud blast in the distance stops us in our tracks.

  “The white man,” she whispers.

  The familiar sound of gunshots reminds me of the horrors I witnessed on the ships. Ozata starts to run toward the village. I pull her back.

  “Let go!” she cries. “Mama! Mama!”

  She breaks free from my grasp and races toward the tents, barely visible through the tangled web of trees and vines. I follow her.

  As we near the village, we hear several more guns fire.

  “Stop!” she shouts in the white man’s tongue.

  One of the men hears her and looks toward us. He yells to the others and begins the chase. I pull Ozata into my arms to keep her from running into the village. She is small and extremely lean. I can move swiftly carrying her, even though she fights my grip. I know I can’t let her go back. We will both surely die if I do.

  Miraculously, I navigate through the thick forest. What once seemed like scattered randomness now feels like a map guiding me to the clearing. I recognize the plants and formations.

  She whispers in my ear, “I’m fine now, you can put me down. I won’t go back.”

  Her feet hit the ground without missing a step, and she manages to run alongside me without stumbling. Effortlessly, she veers to my left and passes me.

  “Wait, not that way!” I yell.

  “Follow me!”

  The underbrush seems to multiply as we delve deeper into the forest. Eventually, I recognize our location. We circle the clearing that she created the night before. I hear a sound behind me and look over my shoulder. I fall unexpectedly through the branch-covered hole. Piercing pain shoots through my ankle.

  Ozata hears me shriek in agony, and she turns around to help me out of the hole. When she realizes I can’t move, she motions for me to get down, tucks me in, and covers me with twigs and leaves. She whispers, “Don’t make a sound.”

  Through the leaves, I catch a glimpse of her climbing the tree I found her in earlier this morning.

  As she moves out of sight, I become aware of my surroundings. The cool, damp earth around me is fragrant with various minerals and lumpy with tree roots. My ankle aches. The pain feels like a shark has sunk his teeth into me. I bite my lip to keep from weeping.

  A twig snaps. Someone is here.

  Suddenly I can hear my own breathing, like a very large animal panting in my ear. I hold my next inhalation as the man approaches my hideout. Through the scattered branches I can see that he is pointing
his gun in my direction. He moves slowly toward me, crackling the cover of the forest floor with each move. Without warning, he collapses to the ground. One of his lifeless blue eyes stares at me through the sparse leaves.

  Ozata jumps from the tree and pulls away the greenery that covers my hole. The throbbing in my ankle is almost unbearable. I throw my head back in pain and say loudly, “I can’t move!”

  Ozata removes her poison dart from the man’s neck. She grabs his gun and peeks into the hole. “We have to go now, before the others find us.”

  “Just leave me.”

  “Come on,” she says as she tucks away her weapons. She reaches in and attempts to pull me out. “Use your good leg.”

  I hold on to her firm grip and use my healthy leg to maneuver myself out of the hole.

  “I know a cave we can stay in for the night,” she says.

  She reaches up and attempts to help me steady myself so that I can move forward. I notice that there is blood on her fingers. As I stand up straight, she lowers her arms and wipes the blood from her hands onto her leather covering. Rust-colored stains mar the innocence of her small beaded dress. We move forward without saying a word.

  It seems that this is Ozata’s true rite of passage. She has gone from being a little girl to being a warrior. All of the wisdom that Cora shared with me is beginning to make sense. She knew that we would survive. She knew that we would be the ones to carry the village’s flame.

  We run for what feels like days but the sun never sets. I fear I might pass out from the pain.

  “We’re here,” Ozata says at last.

  I see no cave. Ozata marches through the greenery. I nearly collapse on a bed of sharp rocks, but I catch myself by grabbing on to a young tree. I regain my balance and focus my attention ahead. Camouflaged in the forest vines is a moss-covered grotto. It is smaller than I had imagined.

  “We’ll be safe here. The river is just behind us.”

  Ozata crawls into the cave and motions for me to follow. Instead, I hobble past the opening and make my way toward a large boulder. I lean on the rock and lift my injured ankle up slightly so I can examine the damage. It’s quite swollen and there are tiny weblike fibers growing out of and around the injured area. I brush them away and gently place my foot back on the ground.