“He is not far, husband.”
“Is not about distance, you fool. He want me to come to him on foot to show me that his house is in favor and our house is not. Otherwise this bastard, who is not even from a real jesere family though his house full of instruments, wouldn’t dare summon me to his house. And as if injury not enough, the swamp cow choose to add insult. Not only must we go to him, but we must walk, like we are his servants. You know he have the entire household waiting to see it, you know that don’t you? He might even call friend and neighbor, saying, Come watch! Come watch the Komwono family crawl to my door with dust on their feet. How you don’t see any of that?”
“Because I already looking beyond that. One season soon pass into another, but you are there bawling about how the season hot.”
“That don’t make no sense, woman.”
“The way forward is sometimes through, husband.”
“What?”
The mistress let out a loud sigh. Sogolon watching the burden of woman. Having to act stupid to make a stupid man think he smart.
“Is like you say, husband. The destination is all you need to see. Don’t even look at who on the journey because we walk past all of them. So let us walk, husband. Let us walk right past them.”
“You always have too much word.”
“What he say to you exactly?”
“He don’t say nothing to me. You didn’t hear? Me not worthy of his voice no more. He send his messenger. ‘I have word from the palace. Favor might yet grace the Komwono family.’ Might yet grace the Komwono family? My grandfather liberate Wakadishu all by himself in—”
“In the first war. Yes, husband. Maybe that is the problem.”
“Look at this woman, she turn diviner now.”
“Husband, neither you nor he is young, so surely he would remember how our King take Kongor by force.”
“And?”
“Fasisi born nobility, living among the Kongori. Some widows live on this street.”
“Don’t be daft, woman. Joining the empire was the best thing to happen to Kongor.”
“But they didn’t joi—”
“I say don’t be daft. Kongor is not Bornu. That realm’s impertinence got it scratched out of memory. This place never raised a single voice against the King. Meanwhile this piece of jackal shit didn’t even have the respect to simply send word that he have an urgent matter. He share the matter with his servant. A messenger, wife! A messenger!”
“We waiting for this news for three years, husband. Who care how we get it?”
“Must you always betray your lower birth?”
Sogolon wait on the mistress for a quick word, something short and sharp to shut down the next words out his mouth. Nothing come. The space go so quiet that she wonder if one of them did leave. She shudder, thinking suddensome that somebody is creeping up behind her.
“Well, husband, next time flog the messenger if you wish.”
“Won’t be the last one I flog today, you can be sure of that. Like some banished dog, they treat me. Like some banished dog.”
“Husband, you are wise in all matters. But if they want us to be dogs, let us be dogs. They won’t know when we bite.”
Another pause. Sogolon know that the master is finally hearing something he can use. She know little about men, but little is enough to know what come next.
“They treating us like curs? Is that what they will do? Then let us be curs. Let them know that this cur has bite, and will draw blood!”
“Such a wise man, my husband,” the mistress say. “We wear white. Take your dagger.”
The mistress and the master don’t tell nobody where they go. If the people they are going to is low then we are even lower, and do not deserve any report, the cook say. Sogolon wait until dark to go looking for stick-fighting boys. She hide and watch until a man shout that is time they end this donga, and they all go. This time somebody leave a stick in the dirt. Like a thief who can’t believe her luck, that is how she snatch it. She should run home now, she know it. Run before whoever forget his stick come back. But she can’t leave. She crouch down low, a cheetah in the bush, leap up in the air and fight the dark.
Because she learn to name days and count moons, Sogolon know that four moons come and gone since she living in the house. The day before, she count the end of one moon and now she sit in the welcome room wondering what this moon, Gurrandala, the last of the year will bring with her. Only six days before, the sun bring heaviness on her with swelling and blood, which give her nothing but worry, because even in this house moonblood is to mark that your use is to breed. Though the master never look at her, she never forget when the mistress say that with her coming to the house, perhaps one day will come children. The cook see Sogolon acting uncanny, and instead of asking what her problem be, just give her some leaves and quiet is how they keep. Sogolon hoping. Many ways to describe a woman, but as soon as blood show, she get leave with only one.
No time, she say. No time indeed to take you to a fatting house, indeed from the looks of it you too old and it is too late. So Mistress Komwono forbid her from cooking, saying that her hand should be put to gentler ways. That mean combing the mistress hair. The mistress hair is coarse where she think it fine, and every time the comb snag a knot, she slap Sogolon’s hands. But this is also where the mistress give over her time to train the girl with more than just telling her what she doing wrong. Stand tall girl, curve your hip up like you want it to fold on your chest. Now walk. How many fingers to pick up the bread? Two, fool, not three. Next thing I know you going to scoop up the meat. I sure I show you how to eat raw goat from cooked, and when to choose which. Stoop to the floor girl, your knees together. Don’t kneel, don’t bend, and certainly don’t squat, nobody want to see you like you about to cut a shit. Listen to you, with your stooping is hard. It not supposed to be easy. You don’t yet know how much your legs going have to bear, yet you whining for bearing air. Now comb out my hair.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Sogolon combing the mistress hair when she grab her hand. “The master, he look at you?”
“No, Mistress.”
“He don’t come to you? In the night, girl, he don’t come to you?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Strange. Then where he going, I wonder. You might be right. I fear he may be too embarrassed to ever come to you.”
“You want me to do something about that, Mistress?”
“Oh by the gods no. His shame and guilt is what keeping him under manners,” she say and laugh. Then she say, “But if he come to you, don’t refuse him.”
“Mistress?”
“You hear me. The man is your master, girl. Don’t go forget that.”
* * *