Devour | on hold

Chapter 10 (History)

- Chapter Ten -

H I S T O R Y

The next morning couldn’t have been any calmer; I wake up early enough to enjoy walking through the mist. It moistures my skin and cools down my temperature. I try as much as I find possible to ignore the pain I’m carrying in my arm. And the early morning atmosphere is of a great help. I don’t think of yesterday, neither tomorrow, not even today. I just think of nothing, and I find this pleasant. I don’t even think of the times they told me I shouldn’t leave home while I’m still injured, or of the lectures I’d get when I go back. I enjoy the rare and precious serenity of the Eyote’s Land.

I pass by the market and see people starting to come; it’s time to work.

An Igasho

A Tiriaq

An Ehane

A Pallanton

An Eyote

Another Igasho…

I keep counting, but the others aren’t the same interested in counting families like I, they are interested in me. Some seem pleased, others seem grateful, others are angry, some are confused, others are haters. But it doesn’t bother me anyway. Mother had once told me that if every single person liked me, I’m sure a hypocrite. And I’m not.

People are remaining silent since the war. And I can almost hear the words ringing in each of their busy minds: cannibals are out there, stomachs hungry for lost flesh. Even though they hate it, being an organ of a body – which is strong one way or another – is better than being lost flesh.

Lenno’s uncle’s Celebration is today, and another one is tomorrow for all losses of the war. The cannibals of course know about all of this; they have eyes everywhere. They have spies in every corner. Some say they’re canneyotes. Some say they are from them. And the theory I’m so sure of is that they are from us.

The peaceful hours of the early morning are almost gone, and there comes the busy and crowded ones. And when my hours on the Land are gone, I move to the riverbank, where it's always calm – excluding wartimes. And so I walk there. The river reminds me of Akando, and Akando reminds me of the river, and they both make me calm and peaceful. We’ve been too busy to actually talk these last couple of days, and I miss him so much. I wonder if he still feels the same.

I take out the flute and play another symphony, which my mother used to cry when she listened to it. I didn’t know why would she cry while listening to music then, and the symphony wasn’t that sad. But when I grew older, I knew that the music itself doesn’t make you cry, it’s either the lyrics if there is, or – most importantly – the memories. And at this precise moment, I’m crying while listening and playing this music, not because it’s sad. Because of the memories it holds.

I never knew the memories this music carried for mother. I never had the chance to know. She left so early, and I was so young to understand anything at all. Now I have my own memories of the music. They’re all about her. About the way she used to play the flute and sing. The way her lips moved when she talked, and the way she showed her pearl teeth when she smiled. The sound of her laughter. And the clarity of her tears – liquid crystals falling from her eyes. The soft touch of her hands, her tight grip on my hand, even the shouting, they are all parts of her being. The smell of her cooking is still clinging to my nostrils until now. The way she talked to father, the way she took care of Jacy, the way she treated people. The way she said hi and bye. They way she walked and sat and slept and ran and ate and drank and moved and danced, and the way she loved me.

What can I forget?

***

It’s time to get back to reality and start thinking of everything once again: The Celebration, my students, Akando, Lenno, my family, my tribe, the cannibals..