Song Beneath the Tides

by Beverley Birch

  She didn’t try to explain.

  ‘Monkeys, probably,’ concluded her aunt. ‘They can be scarily mischievous. Plenty of Sykes around – sometimes you only spot their tails dangling just above your head, like a big question mark.’

  ‘Monkeys!’ Ben shrieked gleefully. But Ally’s stomach gave an inexplicable flutter. As if she’d reached the edge of something, about to step over.

  She got up hurriedly and went to sit astride the low stone wall surrounding the roof. She turned her face to the dark, to the night chorus of frogs coming and going on the wind. A bat flitted low overhead; she followed its flight against the glint of the sea, looping and twisting back towards her, until, to her relief, behind her, she heard her aunt change the subject.

  ‘Listen now, all of you, round the village, keep to paths near crops, greet everyone, ask permission even when you think you don’t need to. And swimming gear – don’t offend people. A bikini’s fine, Ally, just – when you’re not swimming – wrap something extra round you – a kikoi or kanga. I’ve got some for you all. And listen, wear shoes on the reef – or at least watch out for sea urchins. Nasty spines, hideously painful. And should I be worrying about you all in a boat? When’re you going, tomorrow afternoon? D’you have any idea how to sail one? Or paddle, row – whatever?’

  ‘No worries!’ Jack murmured sleepily. ‘Leli and Huru’ll sort us out.’

  ‘Yeah, we can hire Huru’s big cousin’s boat when they’re back from school.’ Ben rocked forward and back, pretending to row. ‘His name’s Saka, an’ he didn’t tidy his boat properly, just lying in his house cos he’s cut his foot on coral, so he can’t fish an’ get money, an’ he’s all sick and worried.’

  Jack added, ‘His wife Hasina got really upset when Leli said Saka had to see a doctor.’

  Their aunt didn’t reply, as if she hadn’t heard him. Then she put her cup down. ‘Because he can’t walk a mile to the bus stop, and they haven’t got the money anyway, not for the thirty-mile fare to the nearest clinic or for medicines.’ She got up and stretched. ‘So, anyone for a drive?’

  ‘Me, me, me!’ Ben jumped to his feet.

  ‘If Saka’s foot’s infected, it shouldn’t wait till morning. Coral’s vicious stuff. You can be lazy slugs and not come,’ Carole was already halfway down the stairs, ‘or you can be sweetiepies and keep me company. I’ll get my stuff.’

  Jack settled deeper into the hammock and closed his eyes.

  ‘Slug,’ Ally poked him, and headed for the car with Ben.

  *

  Why have I not died, as others?

  A hundred and fifty souls have perished here. Their spirits inhabit the tides that wash our shores and lick at the hulls of our ships. We have cut every name into the stones of the seaward bastions.

  Thirty-seven still cling to life, and our enemies circle, ever beyond range of our guns – birds of prey to pick our bones when sickness and starvation have triumphed and they can slaughter anyone still alive. They rake the island’s shores with cannon-fire if we try to reach our ships.

  My body burns. Such pain! Dreams stalk me. Horrors imprison me. I dream again, again, again, that the poison takes Fernando and Theresa, that I see their deaths, these two who are father and mother to me since the fever took my father. Before the monsoon breaks, they will be lost! I wake, and tremble that my dream is truth. I fall to my knees and beg my Spirit to come.

  I cannot draw Her face to me! Does She abandon us? Is Her flame of life lost again? Did we ever have true friends?

  Twenty days have gone since on a moonless night we lowered a messenger by rope from the sea-wall of the north-east bastion. We saw his shadow slip across the shore far below. I imagined him entering the water, swimming the deep channel to the mainland, hiding from the craft of our enemy. I imagined him coming ashore in some distant place to seek help.

  The tides of the deep channel are fierce. That night, a high wind was blowing, and the seas were restless. Did the waves take him? Did he perish? Or did he reach the mainland shore, yet abandon us?

  I cannot blame a man for fleeing the certain death of this dread island.

  The sun’s scorch bakes the walls long after night falls. The fever’s stench shrouds all. Children wail their misery. Men and women still strong yesterday stagger now in agony. They bleed. They swell. Skin cracks. Their eyes stare blindly.

  We dare not use our water to rinse the blood and vomit from the court. Hour by hour our water dwindles. One well is not yet poisoned by our enemy. We guard it closely, share it out in sips each hour.

  The women’s voices trying to soothe the children haunt me. The baby Jorge is so weak he cannot crawl. With her cloth, Goma binds his coldness against her warm skin. She croons in her language to him, day and night.

  Little Caterina lies vacant. She has been so since her mother died still cradling her, and Neema has appointed herself new mother, though she has skin coal black as all slaves of this fort, and the child so pale, milk-pale, as if no veins carry blood within and she already a corpse.

  Day and night Neema softly coaxes her to live.

  Only little Sefi has the light of life in his eyes and remains strong. I pray that hunger torments them, not fever, for these women keep them far from the fever chambers. And there is Winda – how fiercely she guards the doors against the sickness daring to enter there and touch the children!

  Seven men died tonight. Another sickens fast.

  Thirty now remain. Twenty-two men, four women, three children, and I.

  In the world of my visions I do not see my own death. I tremble at its mystery.

  Where is Hope? I call, I call, but I hear no answer.

  *

  In the night cool of the village, everyone was out. Families sat round cooking stoves, children bowled hoops in and out of pools of light, groups of men hooted with laughter and argued over games of draughts.

  Carole parked the car. ‘Stay around, you two. I’ll call if I need you.’ She headed off to find Saka.

  Ally threw open the car door. She could hear fast, pounding music coming from the shore below, and laughter. Yells of welcome greeted Ben, sprinting ahead of her towards the noise, eager signalling for them both to come and join the group. A radio propped on a boat; several people dancing, others sitting or lying on the sands. Ally looked for Leli, but could only pick out the girls, Eshe and Koffi, and then Huru, running to her, pointing along the bay to the edge of the village.

  ‘Angalia! I mean, look! Look there! Stranger children – little ones in our broken boat!’

  Flames flickered in the distance near an upturned hull; small figures crossed in their glow. Splashing offshore, excited shrieks. High, young voices.

  ‘Before dark they are not there!’ Huru said. ‘Then we see the fire come!’

  ‘Who—?’ Ally began, giving a start at Leli materializing from the darkness beside her.

  ‘Street children from the city,’ Leli told her. ‘Some people say we must chase away quickly or they will steal. But many say we must give food and I think we must do this, for sure! Tomorrow there will be talk what to do.’ He seized her arm. ‘Come, Ally, there is another thing – Lumbwi has been to the Tundani hotel!’ he pulled her to where a boy was brandishing a red baseball cap, putting it on, clowning a jaunty walk. ‘He tells about Tundani Paradise Village! It is open now. There is a restaurant, and two coffee bars! And music playing every night. And there is dancing, much dancing! He heard this from Suleiman, who is working in the kitchen. He will get Lumbwi a job and he gave Lumbwi the hat.’

  ‘Lumbwi, there is a big problem!’ Eshe yelled, in English, with a wink at Ally. ‘You must use your head for more than wearing a fancy hat. If you work in hotels, you must speak English. And the dancing will be for the beautiful tourists, not for the ugly kitchen boys! Not even the fine hat makes the chameleon beautiful—’

  ‘Hah! Suleiman s
peaks everything!’ Lumbwi answered loftily, in English. ‘German. Italian. Every language! He teaches me. For sure, we will get work! People from everywhere are coming to this place. From Ulima! From the north! From the south! I will go to see him and get work for everyone!’ he added grandly.

  ‘And you must live in a broken boat, or a plastic bag, like street boys,’ Eshe retorted.

  For answer, Lumbwi tipped his cap at Eshe, did a whirling double spin, landed in front of Ally and grinned at her.

  Ally laughed and clapped. ‘Is that the boy you said would do things just because they’re forbidden?’ she asked Leli. ‘He can really dance!’

  ‘Hah! Lumbwi can do everything!’ Leli snorted. ‘Even when he shouldn’t. He is just a little mad!’ His voice softened. ‘He is a good friend.’

  ‘But why’d that girl say he was a chameleon?’ Ben demanded.

  ‘His name,’ said Leli. ‘Lumbwi – chameleon, like the little beast that always changes its colour.’

  ‘So everyone’s name means something?’

  ‘Eshe – Life! Mosi – First Born, Pili – Second Born,’ Leli pointed at two boys, who did a thumbs-up, hearing their names.

  ‘Huru – Freedom!’ Huru’s yell prompted a sing-song chorus from everyone, shouting names with translations.

  Almost instantly, it quietened. The headman, Mzee Shaibu was coming down the sands towards them, and from the direction of Saka’s house, their aunt. The Mzee was waving the snake-carved stick he seemed always to carry but never to lean on, pointing it at the distant upturned boat with its beach fire and shrill voices.

  ‘You have seen, Dr Carole? Children! City children with nowhere to live and no food!’

  ‘Why’ve they come here?’ Ally asked Leli, but Carole answered, dumping her medical bag at her feet and contemplating the scene, hands on hips. ‘What do you think, Mzee Shaibu – a stop on the way to the new hotel? Restaurant scraps for food. Errands for rich tourists. Work for starving little pigeons, they hope.’

  Mzee Shaibu tilted his head in agreement, and there was silence for a moment.

  ‘And I hear you had unwelcome strangers on your beautiful Kisiri island, Mzee,’ Carole added.

  The old man grunted. ‘Strangers, who run away quickly when we go near. This is not honest, I think. We must be watchful. We have fears, Dr Carole. These hotels are greedy to eat people’s land, like a big monster.’ He looked at Kisiri thoughtfully, before fixing Carole with an enquiring look. ‘So – what news of our young man, Saka?’

  ‘I’ve given antibiotics for the infection, Mzee, but he must go to Ulima Hospital for an x-ray in case his foot’s broken. He’ll come with me in the car tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Eee-ee, Dr Carole! He cannot pay doctors! The fishing has been poor these weeks.’ The headman pondered for a moment. ‘We will all help.’

  ‘No need, Mzee—’

  ‘He will not take charity.’

  ‘Of course. We agreed a price – a good fish, when he is well and can work again.’

  The Mzee inclined his head. ‘That is fair.’

  His voice rang suddenly loud. The radio had been switched off. Lumbwi, Eshe, Koffi and the others were gathering, silent, along the water’s edge, looking towards Kisiri.

  Ally touched Leli’s arm. ‘What’s everyone looking at?’

  ‘Koffi sees lights on Kisiri. Now Mosi hears engines. There, I hear,’ Leli looked at Mzee Shaibu, ‘you can, Mzee?’

  The Mzee stared to and fro into the dark around the island. A flare briefly streaked the water in luminous green. Then nothing. But the wind dropped a little, and quite clearly now, came the steady throb of an engine.

  ‘Something big, isn’t it?’ Ben piped up.

  ‘There,’ Mzee Shaibu pointed, but to Ally’s eye there was only the black smudge of Kisiri on the sea’s shimmer.

  The Mzee was turning his head, listening to left and right. Then he straightened decisively, hefting the snake-stick over his shoulder. ‘I do not know what is ahead if these people come to misbehave in our place!’

  He called something in Swahili, getting a chorus of response. Then he waved towards the houses. ‘Dr Carole, I invite you to take refreshment. The Elders wish to greet you and thank you.’ He moved off with her, sandals slapping on the sands and the loose folds of his kikoi billowing around his legs. Their voices drifted into the darkness.

  ‘Leli,’ Ally burst out, ‘I wish I could understand Swahili!’

  He looked startled. ‘You are angry? I am sorry to make you angry!’

  ‘No, no! Sorry! I mean, I just want to know—’

  His face relaxed, and he gazed at her, holding her eyes, and she registered she had put her hand on his arm again, and it was still there. She took it away, suddenly self-conscious.

  He gave that slow, warm smile. ‘I teach you our language. I do a bargain. You teach me English good.’

  ‘OK! Yes!’

  ‘Haya, we begin! Like you say – “OK”.’

  ‘Oh, haya, then! So what did Mzee Shaibu say to everyone just now?’

  Leli lost his smile. He looked away from her, at the island. ‘That everyone must be watchful. That he must know at once if anyone sees strangers on Kisiri. That we must all keep Kisiri safe.’

  Four

  Leaving the village, their aunt was preoccupied. Ally sat forward, peering through the windscreen at the car lights tunnelling through the maize and banana plantations, jogging with the jolting of the vehicle on the narrow, rutted track. Wild eyes caught the beam, and something slipped across the pale ribbon of sand just in front. Carole stamped on the brakes and swore as the car slid in a sand-drift; she shifted gears hurriedly, rode the slither. The car whined its way out, wheels spinning till they bit firm ground again.

  ‘What was that?’ Ally asked.

  ‘Mongoose, or . . .’ Carole didn’t finish, muttering instead, ‘Why should Saka have to walk twenty miles to a doctor? Or forty to Ulima? The government gives licences for hotels, bars, restaurants, shops, hairdressers! You’d think government money for a health clinic wouldn’t be too much to hope!’ Fiercely she swung the wheel to avoid another flitting shape and they lurched out on to the narrow, potholed tarmac road south to Ulima, speeding up slightly till they reached a little shop and bus stop. Swinging lamps lit a cluster of people lazing round the roasted maize stall and Carole pressed the car horn in greeting, raising a hand as they went by, receiving waves in return.

  ‘That’s Kitokwe, where the nearest landline is, in the shop. People always just call it Salim’s duka. And wouldn’t you just know,’ she declared a moment later, turning left onto the track to the house, ‘the brand new tarmac road to the new hotel will run a mile inland from here. Nowhere near any villages. Wouldn’t want riffraff local buses ruining it for tourists, now would we?’

  ‘But you’ll take Saka to the hospital. You said!’ Ben insisted anxiously from the back seat.

  ‘Course I’ll take him. But what about all the other Sakas, Benjy?’

  Ben considered this, frowning.

  Already they were leaving the deeper gloom of the forest. Then they slowed to a walking pace as the track became little more than a sandy gap between casuarina trees. Finally they came to a halt behind the house on its rocky headland jutting into the bay.

  Jack’s head poked cautiously over the roof parapet, haloed in moonlight. Then he stood up.

  ‘Am I glad it’s you! Couldn’t tell from the engine noise. Did you see that boat a while back? Came in right up close, shone a big searchlight all round, like they were checking out the house or something.’

  Carole slammed the car door and stomped round the house to the veranda and up the stone steps to the roof. She looked out at the sea. ‘These boat people must think there’s no one along here. This old house hasn’t been lived in for decades. And of course local villagers don’t count! I’m not s
urprised Mzee Shaibu and all the Elders are worried. Even my alien bones tell me something odd’s brewing.’

  For a long time after the others had gone to bed, Ally sat in the dark on the roof. She was tired, but she couldn’t contemplate sleep. Something churned away, spiked by the long, cackling cry of some forest animal. Not as complete as a thought, or as distinct as an emotion. It wasn’t that she was picking up the unsettled mood of Shanza, or her aunt’s unusual flare of anger. It wasn’t that she was dwelling on the prickles of disquiet from the forest walk, though she considered all.

  What’s Leli doing now? She was imagining his house. Was it like Saka and Hasina’s square two-room house under the deep palm-thatch roof? Is he sitting there thinking, like me? What’s he thinking? What would I be thinking if Kisiri was my island and those people were tramping over it, secretly?

  And the final thought, the one that stayed with her when she gave in and went to bed, and slowly, slowly, drifted towards sleep.

  Is he thinking about the things we talked about, like I am? Is he maybe thinking about me?

  Leli was looking out at Kisiri. The high moon caught the angles of the island, so that it seemed to grow out of the water as he watched.

  He’d always had a fear of Kisiri, of its sudden winds and mists, of its fierce tides, of the coldness he’d told Ally about.

  But it was not fear he was feeling now. Just unease. Like Mzee Shaibu’s worry, and Mzee Kitwana’s. After everyone else had gone into their houses, the storyteller still stood and gazed at Kisiri, sucking his teeth.

  ‘Leli!’ came his mother’s voice, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Why do you not come in now?’ She stood at the top of the beach.

  ‘I am coming.’

  He didn’t move. She came and stood beside him.

  ‘Do not be a worry to your father, Leli. Already there are troubles enough with your brother Shaaban – this going away and this terrible wait with no news. And now your father goes away to visit Shaaban, so we know what is happening with this boy!’