The Butterfly Heart (14 page)

Some Independence Day.

I
saw small Winifred today. She sat inside the window of their house and watched everyone who passed by. She did not move. Only sat, holding her chin in her hand, waiting for nothing. I do not think she will run away, this one. She looks too tired, there is no hope left in her. I saw her mother again as well. In her face there is a memory of a smile, but I do not know if it will ever come back. Then I saw the uncle, the father’s brother, with his friend. Laughing and showing their teeth. Off to the tavern to drink into the night, like every night, as if there is nothing better to do. I will be patient and wait for them. Not tonight, but tomorrow when the moon is beginning.

This is the time when the night shows itself only to those who know. For those who cannot see, the night will be dark and strange shapes will appear. Fear will eat away at their insides and their legs will go weak. That is a good time for me. I see everything, because the young moon is my friend.

Tomorrow night it will be so. Then I am done here.

Today
feels different from most days. Most days, even during the rainy season, the first thing I hear when I wake up is the cicadas, who sing from the time the sun goes down until the early morning. The first thing I see is the sky and it is almost always blue: a Zambian blue. We once went on holiday to Ireland to visit our granny and grandad. The blue of the sky there is very different from here. It’s as if someone has washed some of the colour out of it. It is a watery blue, which makes sense I suppose because of the rain. The sky also feels low in Ireland, more like a painted ceiling than a sky. Here the sky is big.

Today when I woke up, the sky wasn’t blue and the cicadas were quiet. The clouds had gathered very early, much earlier than they should. Normally they start gathering in the afternoon so that by four o’clock they’re ready to burst. Then the rain comes down so hard that it stings you if you stand outside. (Which would not be a good idea anyway because the lightning would get you, and that is much worse than a sting.) Mum says she misses the gentle rain of Ireland because it is soft on your skin. I think I prefer rain that comes and goes. After a storm here you only have to wait a few minutes before going outside, because the sun arrives and begins to dry everything off, leaving it steamy and warm. I prefer that kind of rain to cold rain, however soft.

Today it’s not going to be like that. It is a funny day and it feels heavy.

The
name these girls have given me, Ifwafwa, is true in many ways. The puff adder is a slow snake, like me. It does not trouble anyone, or anything, unless it has to. It is happy to bake in the sun, on a rock or the road, or next to a river bed. But then, when it has to stir itself, it does. So quickly that it takes everything by surprise. And then nothing or nobody should be in its way.

I do not want to strike. I would be happy to be left alone so I could live my life in peace. But there are many people who do not want me left in peace. Mainly there is Winston, who has taken from me the ones that I love. Winston, with his cruel, small brain. Now there is this old man, who wants to disrupt the life of a child whose father has gone. I must stand in for the father as he sleeps in the ground. Maybe this way the mother will learn that the most important thing for her to do in this world is keep her child safe. She will learn to say no when a wrong is being done to her and her daughter. Maybe this way the mother will gain the strength to tell the uncle that what he is doing is wrong. He came for one night and stayed for a lifetime. It is not our way.

So, because of this, I must strike. I must call on the pale one, who will listen to me and do what I ask. When I have done that I can go back to my home village and hear from Winston where my mother and grandmother lie unburied. I will go there when this thing is finished. I am ready now.

It
feels as if the life is running out of me. As if I have no time left to be me, Winifred, myself. Ma told me that the old man wants this marriage thing to happen sooner, but that she said no. I’d thought she had forgotten how to; I’d thought she had lost her voice. Maybe she only says no to the small things, like whether something will happen sooner or later, not to the one thing I want her to say it to, the marriage itself.

Uncle is not like Father. He does not listen to her, he thinks she has nothing to say. His ears are closed and his mind is dull. I sometimes think he can’t be Father’s brother – I don’t see how two children so different could come from the one mother. But he is. Ma’s so different now, with him. From the beginning she got smaller around him, silent and sad. It is as if she grew older when Dad went. It’s not right: she’s giving me away as if I am a chicken or a goat. It’s not that she’s lost her voice, it’s that she’s lost her mind. I’ll have to find a way to escape on my own, there’s no use waiting for Bul-Boo or Madillo or even Fred. What can they do?

Tomorrow I’ll leave. I will wait until the night time, until all the little ones have gone to bed and Ma is asleep. I will wait until Uncle has drunk so many beers that he cannot walk straight, then I will go. Maybe I’ll go to Sister Leonisa at school and she’ll take pity on me. Maybe she’ll make me a nun, then I won’t have to marry anyone. I don’t really want to be a nun, but it would be better than this. Even if I had to listen to Sister’s stories every day it would still be better than this.

The sky is so heavy today that people are moving slowly. The air has stopped moving and it feels as though the world has forgotten how to spin. Sister showed us her globe once. She plugged it into the wall and it lit up, a glowing earth. Then she spun it faster and faster, round and round. She said that if the earth started spinning a little bit faster each day, soon it would go so fast that we would all fly off into space. When we were in space we’d just float around until we eventually found our way to heaven. She says she wouldn’t mind at all if it started spinning faster, because she’s looking forward to going to heaven – and so should we be.

I’m not happy that the air is so still now. I wish today would be the day that the earth decided to start spinning at high speed, then I could fly off into space and never come down here again. Never see the old man with his dirty teeth. Never hear him and Uncle talking about me as if I’d had my ears sewn up and couldn’t hear them. Never hear Mama crying to herself about this life which has made my father die and her unable to speak. Never again watch Sister Leonisa looking at me as if I am one of those lost souls she talks about, the ones who sit between heaven and hell for the whole of eternity. Never again be Winifred who must get married. I could just float until I felt like going up to heaven, and when I arrived, everything would be different.

Sister tells us that in heaven, if you want a sweet it just appears in front of your eyes. All you need to do is pluck it out of the air. Everyone in heaven is kind and no one shouts or says ugly words; no one goes hungry or thirsty; the roof does not have holes in it where the rain can come in. And everyone is the same. The most important thing is that no one dies in heaven, because they are all already dead. That way no one can leave you to try and be a grown-up person by yourself when you do not want to be.

I am going to go tomorrow, anyway, whatever happens. Maybe if I do, Ma will finally see that she can’t be a half-person any more and she’ll get rid of Uncle. And perhaps the world will start spinning faster and the old man will fall down and crack his head and that will be the end of him. I hope so.

I
have prepared the cupboard for Winifred. It looks so comfy in there now, big soft pillows and cool sheets so she doesn’t get too hot, and she can always come out of the cupboard once Mum and Dad have said goodnight. Then we’ll shut our door, and as long as we’re quiet it won’t matter. Maybe once she’s here I can ask Ifwafwa how much more time he needs. He’ll probably say, “Don’t worry, little one, time means nothing.”

Which is all very well, except that in this case time
does
matter.

Madillo refused to help me get the room ready because she thinks Ifwafwa will solve this problem and it’s wrong of me to have no faith in him. I asked her how she knows that for sure and she tapped the side of her head and said, “I just know.” That’s a great help.

If I could remember all the things Madillo “just knows”, there would be no room in my brain for anything else. I asked her once to explain what she means by it, because it’s not what I would mean if I said it. Her answer was even more frustrating: “There are some things that just come into my head and it is not for me to question who puts them there or what journey they took. All I need to know – and all you need to know – is that I am right.”

I wonder where Ifwafwa is. I hope nothing has happened to him. He could have gone to seek help for Winifred and been run over or something. Although if that was the case I’m sure we would have heard: the great-granny would have told Fred, probably even before it happened.