Good Fortune (9781416998631) (23 page)

The days turned even colder. I began coughing and sneezing, but I stumbled onward. My chest rattled and my throat was sore, and I had headaches that left me kneeling for hours at night as I tried to relieve myself of them.

Then, one night, as snow fell steadily, heaven must have decided to turn all the elements of nature against me. Down came icy rocks, hurled my way as if the skies were taunting me for the slowness of my pace. I dropped down and tried to shield myself, but they came crashing upon my back and shoulders. I fought to get up again, to seek shelter. My throat burned while the rest of me
shook with cold. With the surrounding land mocking me as I stumbled over its bumpy surfaces and my own feet, I searched for refuge from heaven's assault. Then I saw it.

Fire!

A fire blazed wildly amid the snow. I ran for it, mustering strength I didn't know I had. But the closer I got, the farther away it ran from me, until I stopped altogether and watched it disappear in the wind.

No . . . I'm seeing things.

Weary, as if carrying a full-grown person on my shoulders, I walked on, beaten by the rocks of ice and blinded by the wind and snow.

Then I saw the ledge.

Perhaps it would offer shelter—but, no!
I shut my eyes tightly, trying to banish the mirage from my mind. But when I opened them again, the image had not disappeared. I felt a bit of relief. I was going to make it. My body lunged forward, racing in blind pursuit. But as I ran, I tripped over a mound, a large rock, and the impact hurled me straight to the ground. I lay there, cringing, crying, and realizing how blinded by snow and defeat I really was for the moment. I was sick, alone, and freezing. It was my time, I just knew it. I could hear the drums and the voice of Mathee, Mama.

Look up, Sarah.

Her voice in my ear came clear and absolute. I looked up and there was the ledge, waiting for me. It was a thick frozen slope jutting out over the ice: another ancestor.

I pulled myself up and stumbled on until I reached the slope and collapsed underneath it in a fit of coughs, huddling
against the ice. My eyes narrowed, searching for something, anything, anyone, to save me. But the more I strained to see, the more difficult it became, until I closed my eyes altogether. I tried to force a prayer through my lips.

“God . . . I . . . help me. . . .”

My head throbbed powerfully, and I couldn't think clearly. I had just enough energy to put my sack under my head for a pillow and curl my body into a ball. But that didn't help. I could not stop shivering.

Then the coughing began again. The painful fit seemed to last forever, but soon enough, it died down. When it did finally end, and I opened my eyes, I saw tiny spots of blood splattered on my cloth and on the ice around me. My insides were freezing. Was this how it was going to end for me?

My head beat like war drums. I began to lose feeling in my limbs. I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't find my voice. It was a struggle to simply stay conscious. This was the end of my journey. I thought of all who loved me and wished I could pull through for them. I saw their faces: Mary, Mama, Daniel, John. But I couldn't. I felt the little warmth I had in my body seeping out of me. At least I didn't have to die a more painful death. At least I would die with my pride still intact.

I was back, back in the motherland. The cloth, the pots, the drums, Mama's hut—they were all there. I walked through our
hut, touching everything I could—the baskets, the jewelry, the walls. I eagerly sniffed the scents that filled my nostrils—Mama's perfumelike fragrances, the strange scent of Sentwaki's bow, the meal being prepared in an adjacent room.

How did I get here? What had I been doing?
I couldn't remember. It felt as if time had been suspended and I had been carried back to the place where life should have left me alone.

Everything was so vivid, so real, all except for the light. There was a brightness I couldn't touch that emanated around me. Had I died and returned to my place of birth, as I had prayed for when I was younger?

Outside, the sun shone brightly, its rays stretching far across the land, traveling in and out of homes, forming shapes among the treetops. And yet a chill hung within the brightness. Then a touch. Dark skin, beautiful legs, neat curly hair, large lips. It all came into focus.

Mama Mijiza.

Mathee gave me a bucket to take to the lake and fill up with water. She wasn't any older than I remembered, just a few years my senior now. Then I remembered. The white men, the guns: they had taken her life. Mama Mathee, so young and vibrant, so loving. They had taken Sentwaki and me away from our mother, dragged us across wretched seas, torn my family apart. Angry, I glanced up at Mama's face, but she simply placed a strong finger over her lips and held my hand.

With Mama Mjiza by my side, I walked barefoot through the village, watching little ones scurrying over
feet, women gathered at the monger posts, little boys leaping through the grass and racing through skirts, thighs, and shifting hips. They were all as I remembered them to be. The smiles melted hearts. The loud chatter filled the streets. The crying babies were gently rocked by the village hand merged as one.

I walked past the memories to the water's edge. Splashing the water over my face, I felt renewed. I let the memories of another life wash away.

But when I brought my hands back down into the water, it was no longer clear blue. My hands were now submerged in a water that was thick, deep red.

The scent of blood permeated the air. I tried to snatch my hands from the bloody liquid, but it curled up toward me, animate, and grabbed my arms, pulling me down into it.

Images flashed before my eyes. A small, smiling African girl twirled around in circles, as if dancing. Then her face was awash in pain. White men fired guns into the night, their bullets plunging into the depths of an African heart. An innocent heart. My mother's heart.

No, no!

I was awake, but my eyes weren't open. What I thought to be tears slowly ran down my face. But I felt my fingers wipe sweat from my head. My eyes opened, barely, and I could just make out a figure sitting over me. I shivered and fell back into a deep sleep.

I plunged deep into the blood. And as soon as the red waters consumed me, I felt my legs jolting, running. I was fleeing, stumbling, running away from barking dogs and the pale-skinned monster-men. The devils.

I was soaked in blood. I looked down and saw that the blood was my own, that it spewed like an angry fountain straight from my heart. I gasped in horror as I let my own blood run through my fingers.

Am I dying in death? How is this possible?

I looked up and found myself staring into the face of my mother. She gently lifted her two hands and placed them over her heart. They rested there, soothing me so that I felt peace and warmth enter my own heart. I looked down to see my hands pressed against my chest. As I withdrew them, and she dropped hers, I saw that the blood was gone. A slight smile passed across her face. Then, with a wink, she began her ascent, light as a summer breeze. After crossing the threshold that stood between the two of us, her body scattered into a colorful array of warm breath and energy, and Mathee flowed over me. I shut my eyes tight, breathing in the love that was seeping into my bones—the strength, hope, and warmth.
Oh, the warmth!

I was healed.

CHAPTER
 
23 

WARMTH BROUGHT ME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS. AS I LAY
waiting for another episode of shivering, I slowly became aware of my surroundings. I didn't think I was in heaven—it felt far from it—but I wasn't dead, either. My body was wrapped in a damp quilt, and a thicker covering was set on top of that. I studied my surroundings as my eyelids fluttered half open.

Where am I? How did I get here? What time of day is it?

The room was small and simple, with walls dressed in animal fur. The setting had a calming effect on me; I had the impression that I was in a safe place, but I couldn't say for sure. One thing was clear, though: this was no Big House.

I found, my eyes wandering, that there were no windows. I couldn't tell if it was night or day. I tried to sit up, but the drumming in my head began its pounding ritual, though much less intensely than before. So I sank back down into the softness.

I must have fallen asleep again, because I opened my eyes to find myself staring straight into the small, green eyes of a strange-looking man. In the candlelight that leaped across his face, I could just make out his light brown skin
and straight and loose black hair. My dream flashed past me: barking dogs, guns, and . . . white men! I'd run from the same men I was lying here staring at now. But he didn't look like the others . . .

Fear still struck my chest. I pushed against my hands to scramble up, bracing myself for the headache that was sure to follow, but his words restrained me.

“Stay . . . need sleep . . . need food . . .” His words weren't harsh or demanding, and he had mentioned the one thing that chased the doubts away. Food! I fell back into the pillow as my stomach growled in response to the thought. It was then that I noticed the bowl sitting on his knee, steam rising from it. I looked up into his sincere eyes and let the aroma penetrate my nose. I turned with longing back to the bowl.