Chapter 190 - Zenzele, My Love part 9

The days that follow are a numbing monotony. We continue north shortly after rising, and make camp as the sun dives toward the hills in the west. If Onani is lucky enough to make a kill, we have meat, but most days we dine on the berries and roots and vegetation I have foraged along the way. Always, before we retire for the night, Onani couples with me from behind, sliding his pele back and forth between my thighs. I begin to feel embarrassed that I cannot couple with him in the normal way. He seems satisfied with our compromise, however, and only treats me unkindly when I am disobedient or foolish. Every night, he pulls me against his chest, and we sleep in one another's embrace. I no longer plot to murder him in his sleep. Sometimes I think that his smell is pleasant, or take comfort in the warmth of his skin beneath my cheek. Still, when I awaken, I always expect to find myself home, my brothers and sisters sleeping beside me, Father snoring softly on the other side of the hut. If I wake before Onani has risen, I indulge myself with fantasies of home.

I do not know how long we have been traveling together. I have lost track of the days, but Onani says we have passed into the territory of the Zul.

"We are almost home," he says, as if the home he speaks of is my home as well.

It is not my home. It is his home.

The day before we arrive at the village of the Zul, I almost die.

Onani has left to hunt while I gather wood for our fire. It is late in the afternoon, the sun bloated and red on the distant hills. It is not as hot as it has been recently. A cool breeze is blowing across the open grasslands. Low gray clouds are massing in the south. Every now and then, the belly of those plump dark clouds flicker with light, and I wonder if the rainy season has finally come around again.

After gathering wood, I wander to the far side of the acacia grove where we have decided to stop and camp for the night. I need to squat and make water. As I am voiding my bladder, I hear the dry grass rustle softly behind me. My skin prickles, but before I can turn around, I am bowled over as something powerful and hairy pounces on me from behind. I cry out as hot jaws seize ahold of my wrist and jerk me back and forth. I roll around, using my free hand to beat the creature that has attacked me. I shout at the beast as it snarls and drags me through the dirt and grass. I scream in fear and pain. I twist my body around and try to kick the creature with my feet. My thrashing raises a small cloud of dust.

It is a jackal! An old mangy one, its ribs standing out like slats. It is starved, its eyes bleary and red and crazed.

Blood seeps down my arm from the animal's fangs. I feel the bones inside my forearm twisting, straining under the pressure of its jaws. They will snap any moment. I rise to my knees and pull, tears squeezing out of my eyes. The jackal snarls and heaves back on my arm, and I tumble forward onto my belly. It drags me across the dusty earth.

"Yahhh!" Onani cries. I see him running to my rescue, spear in hand.

The jackal releases me, turning to snarl at my savior. The mangy old beast crouches down, the hair on its back standing up. It must be starved to stand its ground like that!

"Kill it!" I sob, cradling my bloody arm.

Onani pokes at the jackal with his spear, and the old dog snaps at the shaft of the weapon. Its eyes roll madly, and flecks of foam spray from its muzzle. With a shout, Onani lunges forward and stabs the beast in the chest. The jackal goes down on its hind quarters with a yelp, and Onani stabs it again, piercing the beast through the ribs.

The jackal dies, its hind legs twitching. Onani stabs it one more time to be sure, then comes to me and kneels. He leaves his spear thrust through the animal's neck.

"Is it broken?" he asks, inspecting my injury.

"I do not think so," I answer. My forearm is bleeding, already swelling, but I can move it. I can bend my wrist and flex my fingers.

"You are lucky," he says. "You should be more careful."

I nod shakily.

But I do not feel so lucky later. By the time the light has failed the sky, my forearm is swollen nearly double. The skin is tight and hot and painful to the touch. I am feverish and woozy.

Onani gives me his share of our food and water, his eyes large and moist with concern. "Rest here by the fire. I'll be right back," he says, and then he vanishes into the darkness.

The stars overhead seem to spin without moving. I fall into a dreamless stupor. Onani returns and rouses me. "Here, Zenzele. Open your mouth," he says, and when I obey, he shoves a wad of tree bark between my lips. "Chew on this, but do not swallow it."

The fibrous tree bark has a terrible bitter taste. I spit it out with a grimace, but he retrieves it from my chest and stuffs it back in my mouth.

"Chew it!" he demands.

I shake my head.

"Yes!"

"Ugh!"

"It will make the infection go away."

I spit it out and he stuffs it back into my mouth, then clamps his hand over my lips. I have no choice. Sobbing, I chew.

The taste makes me shudder and retch, but shortly after, my fever and the throbbing in my arm diminishes. Sometime later, I am able to sleep.

I am too weak in the morning to walk. Onani sweeps me into his arms and carries me. I put my good arm around his neck, my burning cheek against his chest, and retreat back into my feverish dreams as my captor lopes across the savannah.

"We are almost home," he pants into my ear. "My mother knows powerful medicine. She will make you well."

I only rouse a little when he speaks. I understand his words, but I do not believe that his mother will be able to cure my sickness. My forearm has swelled so much that it looks as if my skin will split open at any moment. Pain bolts through my body at every tiny movement. I tell him to lie me down somewhere-- somewhere in the shade-- and let me die. I just want to die, it hurts so much! But he ignores my pleading. All he will say is that we are almost home.

I look up at his stern scarred face. His lips are curled down in a grim, angry expression. His skin-- so dark it is almost blue-- glistens with sweat.

Past his face, the sky is full of fat gray lumpy clouds. Father says that our spirits fly up to the heavens when we die. He says that the Great Sky Spirit, who has no name, fell in love with First Woman. He loved her so much he put the spirit of a hawk inside her, so that when she died her spirit could soar up and join him in the heavens.

Does Mtundu's spirit follow us up there? I wonder. Does he wait for my spirit to soar up and be with him, and with First Woman and Great Sky Spirit?

I hope so.

I close my eyes and will my spirit to fly free of this pain, and it seems as though it obeys. I imagine I rise up out of my flesh and soar upon the wind, my arms outstretched like the wings of a hawk, the grassy hills tilting far below as I swoop and circle, but it is only a fever dream. It is not real.