-
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
heart and made his hand extend out to clasp her smaller one. "Why d you bring me along?"
She had looked at him, her expression turning soft and puzzled, and reached out her hand with its olive
skin contrasting against his much paler face. "Mathew, I could only bring someone I love to such a
magical place." And then it was he who was puzzled, not quite sure if it was the Diazepam or a rare
moment of naked spirit. And in the no-nonsense way of Hala, the conversation was dropped; he could
almost see it descending from the dog-cloud that had morphed suddenly into a piano and an
androgynous player. Play me a symphony, he thought, high with the answer he d been given; high on
love and laughter and Proteus-clouds that knew no solidity or conformity.
His revelry lasted another fifteen minutes before the pilot called over his shoulder that the tiny airstrip
was just ahead and to ready themselves for the landing.
***
From Belize City they established a driver; Hala wouldn t call him a guide since she knew where they
were going and just how to get there. She was the in sole charge of the expedition, but he was confused
as of why she d not just rented transportation. He d seen more than a few such rental places as they
drove through the streets and onto the Northern Highway and away from Belize City. This was Hala s
country, he reasoned, she knew best and he trusted her judgment. Hala was a breed of woman apart
from the rest; he d known that from their first encounter on the campus at City University. She d just
moved to the States then, Appeasing her inquisitive nature , as she called it, over Art History
textbooks and strong Columbian coffee.
From that time on they had been a couple. He took in the peculiar little statues of headless bodies with
grimacing mouths and countless other peculiar artifacts she so loved when they d moved into the tiny
apartment on the Westside. He d worn his patient smile when asked her millionth question about his
American culture and his ancestry; what his last name, Ronsard, meant and its origin. But Hala herself
was an enigma of confidence and cat-smooth grace, a locked box that no amount of prodding could
open if she didn t want it to, and that was often the case.
The decision to visit Belize had come as a surprise, just a week before, but he d attributed it to Hala s
spontaneous nature and her need to visit the home she d never talked much about. Over the years he d
learned, in bits and pieces, that she was an only child who lost both her parents in an accident while
still young. No wonder she hadn t talked much about her home, he thought, such painful memories
might be best left undisturbed. He remembered the twinge of guilt he d experienced when he d
questioned her need to pack the malformed jade statues in her backpack, and how she had flinched,
adamant about carrying those with her, like family, even as she d had to neglect more useful items for
lack of space. "No need for luggage, she d said, "a backpack is sufficient for where we are going." No
amount of playful inquiry would give him answers. "It s a surprise," she d said in that tone of finality
he knew so well.
Again he was amazed when the old army jeep left the highway for a smaller road and then for no road
at all, but a dirt pathway between the bristling grass that widened eventually into the scrub vegetation
and dense forest. He sat in the backseat with the impatience of a child, the sedative long worn-off, as he
lost his resolve to wait and be surprised and asked where they were going.
"To my home," she said, and offered no more; so that Mathew swept fidgeting hands beneath his knees
and gazed wondering out the vinyl window.
Several miles later, surely it was many, they came upon a village. A couple of dark-skinned men,
aging, with tattered clothing on their backs walked to the driver s side window and spoke in their native
tongue to the driver. An exchange of words and hand gestures ensued with the village men shaking
their heads emphatically. The driver was trying to keep up his end of the debate with an ever-louder
strain, and he halted Hala with his palm when she would speak up and be heard among the men.
However, Hala would have none of it. She leaned across the seat next to the driver and spoke the same
strange words with vigor, and, a slight touch of venom, he thought. The men were shocked into silence
and stepped slowly backwards, not turning around, but not looking in their direction either. Somehow
Hala had never seemed like the demur little village girl that obeyed her elders, he wondered if this
older version surprised them now, or if they resented her for it. Mathew guessed that this particular
village had not heard of equal rights at all, and smothered a grin at the thought of Hala teaching them
what those rights meant. But then Hala had reached down and grabbed his Nikon case and thrust it in
the older man s direction. "No cameras allowed," she explained to Mathew, dangling the expensive
case perilously out the window over the muck and mire of rain sludge. The man took it in both hands
and said something to Hala that Mathew hoped was a remark about the camera s safe keeping.
Hala sat back down and without being prompted said the name of her people in her native tongue.
"But what does it mean?" he asked.
And she stared straight ahead as what looked to be the whole of the village stood back in rows on each
side of the car as they drove around the furrowed earth and mud-stick huts. "It means The Water [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- zambezia2013.opx.pl