What It Means When a Man Falls from the Sky by Lesley Nneka Arimah

Author:Lesley Nneka Arimah
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-02-24T16:30:57+00:00

BUCHI’S GIRLS

Buchi woke to the thwack-thwack of the machete in the grass and the offended clucks of the chicken who took issue with the noise. Every few moments a ping would echo as the blade struck the stucco of the house. She counted on the sharp sound to wake her daughters. If she had her way, the girls would sleep as long as they wanted—days, months even. They had certainly earned it.

She reached a hand under Damaris, at six years old her youngest, and sighed when she felt the wetness. Precious would have her head. The little girl was supposed to sleep on the tarp-covered pallet, which crinkled with her every turn and shift, but when Damaris had sat up to watch her mother and sister snuggle into the big bed, a telltale moue on her mouth, Buchi didn’t have it in her to deny her. Besides, the more bodies in the bed, the better. Sleeping alone reminded her that before she’d been mother, she’d been wife, and lover before that, and the bed needed to become something else if she was to survive.

Buchi had become an expert in interpreting her daughter’s expressions, almost as good as Louisa, her eldest, who understood Damaris completely, even though the child hadn’t spoken a word since her father’s death. Before that, she’d been a chatty girl, inquisitive and bossy.

The blade pinged again and again. Louisa woke like a startled animal but relaxed when she saw her mother. Her smile was filmy, sadness visible underneath. It disappeared completely when she nudged her younger sister with her knee.

“Damaris wet the bed!”

“I know, baby.”

“Auntie will be angry.”

Buchi’s throat constricted.

The thwack-thwack stopped and the runch of the rake replaced it.

“We won’t tell them then. Come on, help me.”

Their talking roused Damaris and the little girl blinked awake, became aware of the damp underneath her, and started to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay, honey, up, up.”

Damaris raised her arms and Buchi scooped her up, then jostled and swayed her to quiet before handing her to Louisa.

In the kitchen, Buchi set a pot of water to boil and switched on the kettle. The raking had stopped and if she listened close enough she could hear Lawrence singing one of his Yoruba songs, the most sound he made other than when he spoke to the girls. His voice was terrible, but she would never risk their hard-won friendship by pointing that out, even in jest. She steeped two cups of tea and set aside a sachet of Ovaltine for the girls to share.

Lawrence approached the back door and she quickly buttered and jammed two slices of bread before the old man could object to the excess. The screen door creaked open and he stood there, waiting. Buchi didn’t waste time cajoling him in. Precious had trained him too well.

“Good morning, ma.”

“Good morning, Lawrence.”

She handed him his cup of tea, creamy with milk and sugar, and a slice of bread. She checked the pot of water, then took her breakfast to join him on the steps.

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