Read Online The Opposite House by Helen Oyeyemi - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Helen Oyeyemi
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Tomás’s ear and blew gently, gently, warm air into his mind. Tomás’s eyes fluttered closed and he sighed, but he still trembled.
Papi shook his head impatiently and said, ‘Chabella, that’s enough. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of shock. Though why school should send him into shock and none of the other boys, God only knows. What the boy needs is to restart his circulation.’
His voice was so fierce it made Chabella stand away to let him by. Papi sat on the edge of the bath, reached into the water and closed his fingers around Tomás’s ankle. Tomás flinched, panicked and yelled, ‘No, get off!’
Papi said, ‘Nonsense. I’m your father.’ He ran his palm along Tomás’s right foot, then his left, over and over, circle shapes, star shapes. Papi tickled Tomás’s soles, pinched his calves, rubbed the muscles there. He watched Tomás relax and lay back in the water, shoulders pillowed on soapy bubbles. Chabella closed the door then, and she didn’t ask Tomás about the other boys any more. She sent him back to school with sweet tea and extra scarves. My brother came home with an empty flask and a report: the day had been warmer.
In Aya’s Cuba, before before, a trick of silence rippled over the bleached facade of the Regla house as soon as a stranger’s voice was heard. The house teetered amongst sun-frayed baobab branches, a spoilt child proudly cradled in a multitude of arms, oblivious to danger. Yemaya, much younger then, played the way that she preferred to, hiding and seeking another pretend Yemaya amongst hill-sized tree roots.
But a red-eyed visitor, he caught Aya. He had scars on both cheeks; they hissed the name of his tribe. He seized Aya by the arm and shook her. He was so much bigger than her that his long finger and thumb encircled her wrist and left room. Under the crisp sweep of his hat brim, he snarled his face away until it was gone into a puckered muzzle.
Aya
(thought, he wants to kill me )
didn’t know how to appease such hate – it wasn’t that she was too young; it was that there was too much.
‘At first I thought you were one of them,’ he said. ‘But you’re just a child.’
Around the man’s neck hung a locket of size; it clunked against his chest with its mouth open and a glossy white woman smiled out. Brown hair, pink cheeks. This visitor thought the glossy woman was something to do with Mama. Aya stared; was it true?
‘Anyway,’ the red-eyed visitor said, ‘I must have something for my pains.’
He had been drinking palm wine; she smelt it. It was his drunkenness that made him try to steal her from her home, it was folly that made him lift her and throw her over his shoulder. Aya did not struggle – she was surprised. She just thought about herself, pinned over this man’s shoulder likea sash on a costume. Her face lay against the man’s sweaty back, her knees grazed his stomach. The man stank. He clamped a hand around each of her ankles to hold her still, and he began to run. He ran fast, and Aya’s breath was almost tipped out of her.
Winded, she gasped, ‘So you like wine?’
She said, ‘You are lucky. I am for the thirsty ones.’
She spoke faintly, but she spoke plainly. She told the man, fine, keep running, keep holding on to my legs like that. Kidnap me and you shall have all your dreams. She told this visitor that if he didn’t leave go of her, he would have all the palm wine in the world to drink. Yes, she said, this I can do for you and more, but all the palm wine in the world will never be enough to kill the thirst that will draw your stomach to your throat, tight, tight and tight. How you will drink for that thirst? You will drink so much that you’ll drown inside your own body, and your last breath will slide out over a dark bubble of bloodied wine.
Finally the man set her down and he shambled away, crying out.
Aya walked home. The visitor had not brought her far; they had not left the forest. The sun was setting, and
Papi shook his head impatiently and said, ‘Chabella, that’s enough. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of shock. Though why school should send him into shock and none of the other boys, God only knows. What the boy needs is to restart his circulation.’
His voice was so fierce it made Chabella stand away to let him by. Papi sat on the edge of the bath, reached into the water and closed his fingers around Tomás’s ankle. Tomás flinched, panicked and yelled, ‘No, get off!’
Papi said, ‘Nonsense. I’m your father.’ He ran his palm along Tomás’s right foot, then his left, over and over, circle shapes, star shapes. Papi tickled Tomás’s soles, pinched his calves, rubbed the muscles there. He watched Tomás relax and lay back in the water, shoulders pillowed on soapy bubbles. Chabella closed the door then, and she didn’t ask Tomás about the other boys any more. She sent him back to school with sweet tea and extra scarves. My brother came home with an empty flask and a report: the day had been warmer.
In Aya’s Cuba, before before, a trick of silence rippled over the bleached facade of the Regla house as soon as a stranger’s voice was heard. The house teetered amongst sun-frayed baobab branches, a spoilt child proudly cradled in a multitude of arms, oblivious to danger. Yemaya, much younger then, played the way that she preferred to, hiding and seeking another pretend Yemaya amongst hill-sized tree roots.
But a red-eyed visitor, he caught Aya. He had scars on both cheeks; they hissed the name of his tribe. He seized Aya by the arm and shook her. He was so much bigger than her that his long finger and thumb encircled her wrist and left room. Under the crisp sweep of his hat brim, he snarled his face away until it was gone into a puckered muzzle.
Aya
(thought, he wants to kill me )
didn’t know how to appease such hate – it wasn’t that she was too young; it was that there was too much.
‘At first I thought you were one of them,’ he said. ‘But you’re just a child.’
Around the man’s neck hung a locket of size; it clunked against his chest with its mouth open and a glossy white woman smiled out. Brown hair, pink cheeks. This visitor thought the glossy woman was something to do with Mama. Aya stared; was it true?
‘Anyway,’ the red-eyed visitor said, ‘I must have something for my pains.’
He had been drinking palm wine; she smelt it. It was his drunkenness that made him try to steal her from her home, it was folly that made him lift her and throw her over his shoulder. Aya did not struggle – she was surprised. She just thought about herself, pinned over this man’s shoulder likea sash on a costume. Her face lay against the man’s sweaty back, her knees grazed his stomach. The man stank. He clamped a hand around each of her ankles to hold her still, and he began to run. He ran fast, and Aya’s breath was almost tipped out of her.
Winded, she gasped, ‘So you like wine?’
She said, ‘You are lucky. I am for the thirsty ones.’
She spoke faintly, but she spoke plainly. She told the man, fine, keep running, keep holding on to my legs like that. Kidnap me and you shall have all your dreams. She told this visitor that if he didn’t leave go of her, he would have all the palm wine in the world to drink. Yes, she said, this I can do for you and more, but all the palm wine in the world will never be enough to kill the thirst that will draw your stomach to your throat, tight, tight and tight. How you will drink for that thirst? You will drink so much that you’ll drown inside your own body, and your last breath will slide out over a dark bubble of bloodied wine.
Finally the man set her down and he shambled away, crying out.
Aya walked home. The visitor had not brought her far; they had not left the forest. The sun was setting, and
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