A short story about a girl, her dogs and her family.

Mummy was crying and holding daddy’s photograph. Her face was red and blotchy, and her nose was dripping. She wiped it, but it just kept on leaking. I wanted to say something comforting but I didn’t want her to shout at me.

Daddy had been fine just some hours before when suddenly he complained about something in his chest. He said his heart was fluttering. His head hurt and he was dizzy. Soon, he started vomiting and then he started pooping. The last straw was when he fell to the ground, twitching, as his eyes rolled back into his head. Mummy had told me to stay away as she cleaned him. The doctors hadn’t figured out what was wrong with daddy yet because a lot of people had been admitted in the hospital with similar symptoms. The labs were working overtime trying to test everyone but there wasn’t enough space or equipment for the number of sick people.  They had taken his stool sample and told us to wait at home while he was admitted as they hoped to figure it out soon.

My hands were shaking, and I sat on them so mummy wouldn’t see them and worry, but she must have seen on my face, how I was really feeling, so she asked me to wait outside. As I went outside, a pastor came in and my heart sank. This was the same pastor they had taken me to for deliverance. Well, one of the pastors. I rubbed my arms, the memory of the stinging whips to drive out the demons from me still fresh. No matter how much he whipped me though, I could still understand Lulu, our lovable Labrador dog. My parents had rescued her when she was just a little puppy, and I was just a tiny three-year-old. Her little paws had grown over the years and her tiny wagging tail had become a long heavy rope that she swung back and forth anytime she saw me. I loved her so much. I loved her even more when I found out I could understand her barks, but it had been the beginning of trouble for me and Lulu.

It had happened suddenly. One day, I was playing with Lulu. We raced across the garden chasing the butterflies as she yapped at my feet. Our house was a corner spot, so the compound was big, and I had no problems staying in. However, the gate was open that day and as I got closer to the street, Lulu shouted very distinctly, “STOP! NO! DANGER OUTSIDE!” I stopped abruptly and turned to stare at her. My heart was beating rapidly as I asked weakly, “Lulu?” She ran to my feet, bit my dress and pulled me back inside, safe from the street. With her little nose, she nudged the gate closed and then she playfully shoved me to the ground and plopped her body on top of mine to prevent me from escaping. I thought it was all fun and mentioned it to mummy at dinner.

I was telling her all about my day and how fun it had been and then I said, “Lulu shouted very loudly, and pulled me back inside. Thank goodness she saved me.”

Mummy’s hand froze over the dishes she was washing. She chuckled. “You mean Lulu barked, baby. Lulu is a dog. She doesn’t speak.”

Foolishly I continued. “No mummy. She spoke. She said very loudly not to go outside and then she pulled me back inside.”

Mummy turned to me all stern faced then. “You understand Lulu?” I nodded. “Does she understand you?” I nodded again.

“Call Lulu here now.” So, I did.

Then, mummy continued, “Now, Titi, I want Lulu to go and drink some water from her water bowl. Tell her to do this.” I heaved a big sigh and waved my hand dramatically, already annoyed that my mum was choosing not to believe this wonderful story I had told her. I said very sweetly, “Lulu, are you thirsty now?” Lulu barked loudly. I turned back to mummy. “She says she isn’t very thirsty and what’s this about.” I turned to Lulu once more, “Mummy is being silly, and she doesn’t believe you can talk. So, she wants you to go drink some water from the water bowl. Go on Lulu.” Mummy’s hand flew to her mouth when Lulu obeyed me. I smiled triumphantly, happy that now she would believe me.

That night, mummy and daddy had many serious conversations about me, and they made me demonstrate a couple more times with Lulu. Over time, they discovered I could understand other dogs too. I befriended the strays around the house and then even more dogs came to visit us. This worried them so much that they decided they needed to fix me.

They had started with prayers at first. Every time I went for the prayers, I was afraid they would really take my ability to understand Lulu away, but it never worked. Every time, I was tested but I never lost the ability. So, they decided to do even more extreme things and I was taken for deliverance services. I was beaten, kicked and flung around wildly. I always returned home with bruises and welts all over my body, but the ability never left. The pastors would spend thirty minutes to an hour beating me to send out the demon that had given me the ability, but evidently, it never left.

When the whippings had failed to cure me, the pastors turned on Lulu, claiming she was the one possessed. Poor Lulu! She couldn’t defend herself against the accusations and try as I might, no one listened to my explanations either. Now, the pastor was taking her away to one of the churches for more deliverance. I was sick to my stomach. If they had whipped me so much, I could only imagine what they would do to Lulu. My poor dog would be subjected to all manner of beatings. I had even heard that some people eat dogs. I didn’t want to imagine Lulu in a pot of soup.

I was all alone. My mum was sobbing as if daddy was already gone, and I didn’t even have Lulu’s warm body to hug. I had to do something! I could not lose both my dad and my dog on the same day. I ran out of the house to the abandoned alleyway behind us, where the strays loved to stay.

The neighbourhood strays saw me but this time, they turned their snoots away from my eager hands. The neighbourhood strays were a pack of mutts that I and Lulu loved to play with. They were always so friendly and playful with us; but not this time.

“Please.” I pleaded as I wrung my fingers. “Please help me.”

The black mutt responded, “No way. We heard what happened to Lulu. We don’t want to risk getting shipped off too. Lulu was your family dog. We are just strays. We aren’t risking it.” The others nodded their agreement and my legs weakened. I dropped heavily to the floor, losing my last nerve. Without their help, I was afraid I could lose daddy.

My mind raced as I imagined what I could possibly say that would make them help me. I started talking quickly before they abandoned me. “Maybe there is a way to save Lulu. If you help me, I may be able to get her back.” Their ears perked up at this, but their backs still remained turned away from me. My mind raced. I wanted their help. I needed it. “I might also be able to get you off the streets as well. Just give me a chance. Can you help me find out what caused my dad’s sickness?” They were getting excited. Life off the street wasn’t for every single stray I had met but some of them longed to be pampered and cared for, just like Lulu. Lulu always got cleaned, fed and pet as often as she wanted and in the nastiest of weathers, Lulu had her very own bed she could always crawl back into. I had won them over. The dogs grouped together, and I stood apart with hopeful eyes. They broke apart and all, but the black mutt ran from the group and out into the streets. The black Mutt, the leader of the pack who I named Noir came to lick my face.

“We will help you. Just wait here.” As if in agreement, barks broke out from all over the neighbourhood as the dogs spoke to each other trying to figure out the truth.  I couldn’t help the burst of hope that flowed through me as I waited patiently. I sat waiting and patting Noir’s head.

In a few minutes, the dogs had returned, barking loudly. I could barely make out their sentences. Eating!

Excitement! Lulu is coming home! Daddy will get better! Treats!

I waved at them to stop. It was impossible to understand when they spoke at once.

Noir said, “It was the pawpaw your father ate.” She pointed her snoot at the dark brown mutt at her side. “Lucy said she smelled them yesterday and they reeked of something. Then she pointed her snoot at the light brown mutt, “Jan said she saw the seller in the market spraying some water on the fruit and the water smelled odd. It wasn’t a nice smell.” I gasped. The pawpaw seller was always spraying her fruits. Something must have been wrong with the water she used this time.

Noir continued. “Jan also said that she saw the seller getting some water from the broken pipe in the gutter just outside the market.”

I kissed Noir’s head and ran in to tell my mum what I knew.

“Mummy!  It was the pawpaw daddy ate! The seller sprayed dirty water on it! She was about to dismiss me, but she just stared and somehow, she knew I wasn’t lying. She mumbled “Cholera”. She grabbed her keys and took the remnant of the pawpaw from the fridge. We raced to the car and off to the hospital we went.

The doctors didn’t want to believe that we knew what it was.

“You can’t just drum up a diagnosis in your mind ma’am. That’s not how medicine works. Let’s wait for the stool sample to come in a few more hours. In the meantime, he is on IV fluids, being monitored and he isn’t getting worse.”

Mummy wasn’t having it though. “If we wait a few more hours then, he is going to be dead. It’s cholera. Trust me. The pawpaw was contaminated. If you refuse though, I’m suing the hospital if he dies here because you refused us service when I told you what was wrong already.”

The doctors didn’t have anything to say to that, but they collected the pawpaw and promised to test it immediately. I waited with mummy in the hall for any news on how he was doing, and we fell asleep cuddled together on the hospital chairs.

I woke up to my mum shaking me and calling my name softly. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “How is daddy?” but I could already see the answer on her face. Her face was no longer red and blotchy. Her nose wasn’t dripping, and she had a smile. A small one but a smile still.

“The doctors said he is fine now. We can go and see him soon.” We sat together in comfortable silence until, “How did you know it was the pawpaw? I would never have thought about it.” I shook my head. I was afraid for Noir and her friends. What if they really got shipped off just like Lulu?

Mummy held my hand and pulled me close. “Don’t be afraid. Tell me the truth.” She wasn’t going to let it go. I gulped audibly. I had to tell her anyway. I couldn’t forget the promise I made to Noir.

“Fine. I’ll tell you how, but first, I made a promise before I got the information, and you have to promise to help me fulfil my promise or I’m never going to say it.” Mummy’s face was stern and I thought she wasn’t going to agree but she nodded.

I took a deep breath. “I spoke to the dogs. The street dogs. I also promised them that I would get Lulu back and we would adopt them. Please bring Lulu back and take the strays off the street. Without them, dad would be dead and probably everyone else who ate the pawpaw. So? What do you say?”

Mummy’s face broke out in a smile, and she said, “Let’s go get Lulu back.”

My heart could not contain the joy I felt as we raced across the city to rescue Lulu. We weaved through traffic and raced past streetlights to get to the church. It had already been a whole day since Lulu had been sent away.

When we got to the church, my hands were shaking from excitement. “Lulu!” I screamed. I ran in to see Lulu in a tiny and ugly cage. Her eyes were downcast but once she smelled me, she perked up and begged me to open the door, I was happy to do it and I hugged her tightly. “I’ll never let you go again Lulu. Never.”

I cannot really say why I did it. Perhaps I have been around for too long. And these days, I have very little to do. Serves me right I suppose. I’ve been around long enough to know not to interfere with the world of men. They’re all so capricious. Fragile things. But it was such a small thing. And this, what we do, gets so repetitive. But there was no malice in my intent. If anything, I was trying to help. Not for any benevolent reasons as that word, help, usually presupposes. I don’t know, I guess after all this time, the urge to participate got the better of me.

***

I knew all of them. I knew them as well as I’ve known any other human. They passed by often on their way to and from school. They came to play in the afternoons while they were herding their cattle. They would throw their dirty, threadbare clothes on the gleaming rocks and their naked bodies would leap into the air. I liked to take a moment then to look at them, their utterly blithe indifference to the plights of life, limps splayed out wildly, the backdrop of a clear blue sky framing their frail silhouettes. Then they would come down, landing in the cold water with grimaces that seamlessly transformed into laughter. I would feel them. Touch them. Caress their scarred skins and listen to their hearts beat against the infinite symphony of the river. I would cling almost tenderly to them and marvel at the impudence of their youth.

This world does not have a name for me. Only a ritual. Chenura in this part of the world. An acquittal ceremony for the souls of the deceased. It is less common nowadays ever since that Jesu decided to take on a physical form and walk among men. And then they went on to write about him in that book. Oral tradition cannot compete with a book. Nowadays, very few people make the request to their children that they want the Chenura ritual to be done after they die. And even when they do, some of the children refuse, citing conversion to their newfound faith, the one that Jesu started. Nowadays there is only the funeral and then the Nyaradzo, the remembrance. It used to be that sending someone forth; to the realm beyond, to elevate them to the status of mudzimu, was requisitely paramount. Joining one’s ancestors was the highest form of transcendence. Now they call the ritual heathen. Dark. Unclean. I have to give it to him, Jesu was clever. But just as well. Maybe once I’m no longer needed, I can, to use a human term, retire. I will join the others that have been denounced.

I like the water. I like rivers to be specific. I like to listen to them and to watch them. I am intrigued by their continuous state of perpetual transformation. Always changing, never the same. Whether they are a trickle during the heart of the dry season, parched and emaciated and reduced almost to a whisper, or full and violent after the rains, roaring their might and making the banks quake in abasement. That is why I mostly dwell in the water until I am called to do my job. I am no longer as busy as I used to be.

There were four of them, all boys. I learned their names as they called out to each other while they dived and splashed and swam in the waters of the Mumvumira, one of the rivers I call home. Learnmore, Kudzanai, Tawanda and Decision. I learned their histories when I ripped their spirits from this realm. Kudzanai and Decision are – were brothers. They were inseparable. The villagers, the few still left who believe the things of the old world, said that it was because they had been born only one year apart and had drunk the same milk from their mother’s breast. All four of them went to Bemba primary school, Decision in the fifth grade and the other three in the seventh even though there was a four-year gap between the oldest and youngest of them. They lived in Nezambe, an otherwise insignificant village were it not for the fact that my river is etched into its valley. I only dwell in the ones that never dry up and Mumvumira is one of them. Even when the drought of `92 came and all the streams became no more than dry, cracked, skeletal appendages, Mumvumira’s waters continued to flow from the crest of Nyamhemba.

There is a quiet spot along her course. Hauntingly serene. The villagers call it Birira. Some of them believe it is sacred. Others that it is cursed. Whatever the case, I have nothing to do with it. Mine is not to curse or bless. Over the years, I’ve discerned that the superstition surrounding it stems from the several bodies that have been found caught between the rocks that are scattered all over that particular site. Eyes rolled backwards, skin wrinkled and grey, their facial expressions cemented by death and stomachs bloated with water. Broken things. Dead things. I watch idly when their relatives and neighbours forlornly uproot their bodies from the water and I wonder what emotion must be burning a hole in their chests. Anger? Grief? Musikavanhu forbid, joy? You never know with these creatures. But whatever it is they feel as individuals, I can always detect a communal feeling lurking underneath everything else. I smell it. Fear. Acutely pungent and suffocating. As if at any moment, they too might drown like their dead neighbour or cousin or brother or mother-in-law. The body movers always do their best to be graceful, but for all their efforts at sacralisation, I have been doing this long enough to know that there is no grace in death. And they are frequently too eager to leave, too rushed and unsettled to be delicate. On normal days, very few dared to venture anywhere in the vicinity of Birira. Except stupid children. Yes, stupid, for I cannot bring myself to believe that they were brave.

It was cold that morning. A ghostly layer of mist floated ominously above the icy water. The mukute trees that lined the river bank howled against the chilly wind and the reeds frantically shook the cold dew off their leaves. The sun was still shying behind Nyamhemba. What little of its light shone through was veiled by thick grey clouds that sat malignly in the sky, relishing the view of the shadows they cast on the world below.

It was Decision’s voice that drew me. It was close. Too close. The boys often crossed the river on the makeshift footbridge that was several meters upstream. I usually went there to watch them cross over the tree trunk that had been precariously laid across the span of the river. Sometimes they crossed silently, sleep still clinging stubbornly to their swollen faces. Other mornings they called out and teased as they went along.

“Iwe mhani, give me back my pen.” He sounded distressed.

There was a brief pause and then raucous laughter. The kind whose fringes are slimy with hostility. The laughter of a bully.

“I told you what you have to do mufana. Respect your elder.” It was not unusual for Kudzanai to tease his younger brother, but that morning, something in his tone made me think of the dark clouds above as their footfalls edged closer.

“I’m going to tell on you. I’m going to tell Baba.”

“Do that and see what will happen.”

Rightly noting that his threat failed to have the desired effect, the younger boy once again resorted to pleading with his brother who had become even more incensed by the attempt to coerce him.

Kudzanai was the first to appear through the reeds that flanked the riverbank. He wore their school’s khaki uniform underneath an oversized maroon jersey that had holes at the elbows. His twiggy legs rose out of undersized brown school shoes that had been to the cobbler a few times too many. A bag of Gloria flour and a length of string liaised to form an improvised satchel and hung from his shoulder, empty save for a pen, half of which had been chewed off, a pencil cut in half, the other with the younger brother and a lunchbox containing their shared break-time meal of cornmeal bread. He planted himself on a rock and waited for his brother to catch up. In his left hand he held a white pen, the words EVERSHARP 15M printed on its side in shiny gold. He held it out over the water.

Seconds later, Decision burst through the shrubbery and nearly tumbled into the river.

No one could mistake the two for anything other than siblings. They shared the same mango coloured skin for which their friends often taunted them, calling them masope. Their hair was a dirty reddish-brown with a sickly soft and curly texture as if they had kwashiorkor. The colour matched their eyes which discoloured almost to hazel when the sun shone directly on them. The only apparent difference between them was their heights. And their noses. Kudzanai’s was flat and wide like a frog ready to prance while Decision’s was more rounded.  

Learnmore and Tawanda, their faces rigid, followed immediately after. I smelt the fear on them. Tawanda, the eldest of the quartet, looked around restlessly.

“Machinda we are going to be late for school. Stop playing around.”

“I am not playing.” Kudzanai’s resoluteness resounded in his chillingly calm tone. I was intrigued. I seldom got visitors and usually when I did, the occasion was always tainted by the morbid ambience. This was new. Perhaps that’s why I did what did.

“All he needs to do is say that I am the boss and I will give him his ballpoint back. Isn’t that right mufana?”

Decision faced a dilemma. Submit to his brother, get his new pen back and go to school, getting there in time to avoid incurring the wrath of their headmaster. Or…or call his brother dog shit and spit in his face.

Like I said, stupidity, not courage.

The pen landed in the water with a plonk. It had hardly begun floating away before I heard Decision yelp and then land in the shallow end of the river on his back. His brother stood over him menacingly, daring him to challenge him. Seeing the fire in his elder brother’s eyes, Decision opted not to provoke him any further in the absence of their father who could rescue him if Kudzanai started to overpower him. He also knew their two friends would either watch or leave them and continue to school. In the end, all he managed to do to salvage his wounded pride was mutter obscenities under his breath which he refused to repeat when his brother dared him to do so.

That should have been all. That should have been the end of it. A little spit, some wet clothes, a few heated but inaudible vulgarities, some wounded pride and a lost pen. But then they came back.

It was afternoon when I saw Decision again. An endless sheet of grey watched him along with me from above. I was unsurprised that he had opted to walk alone on the way back home, understandably unwilling to travel with his aggressor while the bruises to his ego were still so raw. Fragile things. I was a little amazed though, that he had dared to come back to a place that so many dreaded, on his own.

He stood hesitantly at the edge of the water, his face a stony mask, his lower lip quivering, oblivious to my presence, my captivated observation. After some time, he began to take off his clothes. His haste conveyed his intention to leave as soon as possible.

The pen was gone. I had watched it float away. It was currently bobbing in a small puddle some ways downstream. But he had come all this way. At the very least I found his effort amusing. That was all. I did not intend for any of the things that followed to happen. So, I fashioned him a new pen.

After Jesu, a few more of us did interact with the physical realm. It was always possible, only frowned upon. But he had taken so many believers that it necessitated a few physical manifestations to even salvage what little faith was left in us. Like letting the living see their deceased loved ones. Or granting their wishes. Even those that believed that it was us, the divinities of the old world, that had granted these things chose to hide it for fear of being castigated, being labelled as charlatans of evil. Our efforts only strengthened the belief in him. I personally had never done such a thing. Not until that day. If I had, I would have known that humans cannot handle the things of our world, I would have understood why interfering was frowned upon.

Decision waded out of the water, holding my gift in his hand, oblivious of its origins. He knelt in the sand and held it up to his face. I wondered whether in some small way, he knew that what he held was sub-natural. Or if the frozen grin on his face was simply joy. If the glazed eyes with which he glared at it was gratitude.

He remained that way for two hours. Completely naked and seemingly unaffected by the cold. Even when he heard his brother shouting his name he did not flinch. I must admit that I was more curious than concerned. I rose from the water, my interest piqued, thrilled by the anticipation of something looming on the edges of eventuality.

Kudzanai appeared first, no longer in his school uniform. Learnmore and Tawanda followed on his heels. All three of them halted immediately when they saw Decision’s motionless body, now huddled over, the pen gripped tightly in his hand.

Even though Kudzanai tried his best to sound intimidating, his voice trembled ever so slightly and the worry that suffused it was apparent. “Mufana, what are you doing here? People are looking for you at home and you are playing around here. Get up!” He took a step forward and placed his hand on Decision’s shoulder.

Nothing.

“Iwe…”This time he made no attempt to veil the concern that was beginning to prickle at him. It was not for the wellbeing of his brother. He did not want his father to find out about the morning’s events. The image of his head locked between his father’s thighs and the phantom sting of his sjambok landing on his bared bottom settled in his throat, refusing to go away even when he swallowed. He grabbed Decision’s arm.

In the amount of time it would take to hold your breath, Kudzanai was on his back, an anguished scream gushing from his gaping mouth. His hands clasped the right side of his face and blood oozed freely through his fingers. Decision was sitting astride him, pinning his shoulders down with his knees. He swiftly pulled the pen out of his brother’s eye and jammed it into his throat. I was transfixed by the crazed look on his face, the madness shadowed in venomous loathing.

Learnmore and Tawanda exchanged glances. In a brief silent debate, they argued over which of them would intervene first and eventually agreed that a simultaneous approach was the preferable choice. They approached hesitantly at first but threw all caution to the wind as the pen sunk into their friend’s throat once again, reducing his cries to gurgles. They both jumped on to Decision at the same time. The trio landed in the sand and for a few minutes were a mangled mix of groans, swinging fists, scratching fingers and kicking legs.

Tawanda eventually managed to extricate himself from the scuffle, leaving the now subdued Decision pinned to the ground by the physically superior Learnmore. Panting and caressing a gash on his left cheek, he walked towards Kudzanai, each step feeling heavier as he approached his friend’s twitching body.

The sand around Kudzanai’s head spread outwardly in a halo of blood. Tawanda’s heart thundered in his ears. He bent forward slowly and pulled the pen from Kudzanai’s neck with trembling hands.

“Kudzanai.” His voice caught in his throat, only managing to come out as a laboured croak. “Kudzanai, wake up.” He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and shook the body gently. Its head rolled limply to the side.

Decision, who had been struggling frenziedly to free himself, stopped suddenly. He raised his head and looked over at his brother. The surge of emotion that erupted inside him was punctuated by a sudden stiffening of his face. Not a gradual shifting of expressions but a concise and abrupt absence of them. Learnmore relaxed his hold on him warily.

When he spoke, the callousness in his voice had dangerously sharp edges. “Give me back my pen.”

Tawanda’s gaze fell slowly on the pen and then traversed the space between himself and Decision. He looked once again at it. “It’s…it’s mine. It’s my pen.”

Learnmore stuttered, “Tawaz, what are you doing?”

He was only momentarily distracted, but a moment was all it took. Decision twisted under him and succeeded in knocking him onto his haunches. He threw a fistful of sand into his face before he dashed towards Tawanda.

For the few minutes during which he hastily tried to wash the sand out of his eyes, all Learnmore heard were screams and splashes. By the time he was finally able to see again, Tawanda was already holding Decision’s head down in the water. The younger boy’s struggles were steadily waning.

Learnmore scrambled to his feet and started running towards them. In his haste and partial blindness, he tripped over Kudzanai’s body.  

As I said before, humans are fragile things. Something inside the boy caved then, refused to comprehend the scene around him. He just sat down. He raised his knees to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. And he watched the river run by.

Decision solemnised his exit with a final weak jolt of his leg.

Tawanda stood over him, triumphant.

Above us, the dark clouds watched silently.