Page 16 of Bastard
Perhaps it’s the maheu or her sweet, grandmotherly nature, but I suddenly want to share what happened with someone. “I fell in love.”
“Ah. He hurt you?”
“He told me he loved me, then ...” Let. Me. Go. Because despite everything between us, this is what hurts the most. A wound that kept festering, never healing and growing larger, more painful with each horrible action that followed.
“How can you love someone so hard then hate them with such passion? I loved him, deeply, unconditionally. I couldn’t help myself. Even after we separated, I thought he’d come for me.” And he did, in Rome. Then disappeared, another slap in the face. “I despised myself for being so weak.” My voice shakes as I speak.
Mustafa sighs. “Loving someone is never a weakness, girl. Loving someone makes you stronger.”
I wince, remembering how I said something similar to him.
“You hurt those you love the most. It is the way of the world.”
“He must really love me if that’s true.”
There’s a long pause. “When he said those words, did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
Mustafa nods her head and smiles softly, like she knows something I don’t.
“I lost a granddaughter to AIDS. She would have been your age.”
“Oh, Mustafa. No,” I gasp, turning to her and pulling her into a hug.
“Afterward, my son and his wife left the country. They are settled in Seattle now. Far away from here. It has been a long time since I have seen them and my new grandbabies. So, you see, I understand what it is like to be aching on the inside. But like me, you will heal.”
“You haven’t been to Seattle to visit them?”
“This old woman rarely leaves Nmimpi.”
I open my mouth to speak. Then close it. Because I suddenly understand why she hasn’t been to visit. The reason has to do with money more than age.
I’m going to make this happen for her. A passport. A plane ticket. A simple call to her son. She shouldn’t have to wonder if she’ll ever see them again.
We stay quiet for a long time, comforting each other. When I finally pull away, I’m greeted by her smiling face. “God has gifted me with a person as beautiful as the one I have lost.”
I struggle not to lose it. “Thank you for being a grandmother to me.”
“Luciana?”
“Yes.”
“Pang’ono pag’ono. Be patient with him. Because that man would be a fool for not loving you hard.”
I rise to my feet, and immediately feel dizzy. Madre mía, I’m drunk. Mustafa got me drunk.
“Go rest for you and that boy’s hike tomorrow. You need to have your head on straight while in the savannah.” Mustafa stands without the slightest sway.
I’d roll my eyes but, I’m too afraid the action will throw me off-balance. “Loose lips, huh? This is the last time I drink homemade moonshine.”
“Your head will feel heavy tomorrow morning. But your spirit will be light.” She winks at me. “Girl, in the morning, Mustafa wants you to listen carefully. The woodhoopoe will be singing a sweeter tune. I promise you.”
4
It’s not the sweet, healing woodhoopoe song that wakes me.
It’s gunfire.
