[2016] Rubbing Stones Page 2

  “What’s up?”

  “Rick just called the front desk. He needs you to call him back right now.”

  Jane glanced down at her cell clipped to her pants pocket, it was on silent mode. “Thanks, I’ll call him when we dismiss, just another ten minutes.”

  “He said it was urgent. He said the boys were in an accident, they’re okay, or at least not hurt badly.”

  Jane turned to face her students, one hand on the door handle. “Class dismissed, see you all Thursday.”

  She flipped open her cell before flying down the stairwell to the underground garage.

  CHAPTER 2

  The bus jolted from side to side along the dirt road, stopping at regular intervals to let off a few schoolchildren at a time. The kids jumped down and ran from the vehicle as fast as they could to avoid the clouds of dust that would coat their blue and white uniforms if they walked at their usual dawdling pace. The rains had been particularly hard on the roads this year, providing months of work for local young men during the dry season.

  Katura looked out the window at the deep potholes and smiled. Tafadzwa wouldn’t be among the road workers this year. He’d finally gotten away. Other girls must have been thinking the same thing.

  “So, when will your brother be back?” The voice came from several rows behind her.

  Katura didn’t turn around. She insisted on being addressed directly.

  “Katura?” Direct, also loud and demanding.

  She turned slowly to confront the girl three years her senior. Massassi was hands down the most beautiful girl in Rakops, and she knew it. Beauty commanded power.

  “Which brother?” Katura asked.

  “Don’t do this,” the girl sitting directly behind her whispered.

  Massassi puffed out her checks and let out the air slowly. She stared at Katura, waiting.

  Katura just stared back.

  “Ta-fad-zwa,” Massassi said.

  “Oh, I thought you’d know,” Katura said. “He’ll be back whenever the apprenticeship is over, probably six months, maybe a year, maybe two, depends on how he does.”

  “Six months, then.” Massassi turned back to the group of older girls sitting near her. “He could’ve gone straight to Chobe, could’ve made a lot of money there, but wanted the best training first. I’d have been scared, but…” She put her hands together to imitate the mouth of a crocodile, the Shona symbol of virility.

  The other girls giggled.

  “Don’t let them get to you.” Kagiso said. She was Katura’s closest friend and they had sat together on the bus since they started school nine years ago. She tugged on Katura’s long black braid. “They’re just stupid.”

  Katura pulled her hair out of Kagiso’s hand.

  “Tafadzwa this, Tafadzwa that, everything is about Tafadzwa. Japera and I are nothing around here except Tafadzwa’s younger brother and sister.”

  “Not to me, not to anyone who has a brain.”

  “Tafadzwa couldn’t have worked in Chobe.” Katura lowered her voice. “He didn’t have the grades, he had to get trained back in Zimbabwe. Good looks and charm don’t get you everything.”

  Kagiso glanced up at Massassi, who was walking down the aisle as the bus slowed for another stop.

  “Not everything, but…some things.”

  Katura laughed louder than she meant to. Massassi turned around to glare at her before stepping off the bus.

  Katura put her hands over her face, suppressing more laughter. She turned to her friend and gave her a big hug.

  “What would I do around here without you?”

  “Get yourself in a lot of trouble, that’s what. You know, girl, one day you’re going to be on your own and you’ll have to watch that smart mouth of yours.”

  Katura sat back and crossed her arms. “Don’t desert me now, you made a promise. We’re going to university together, remember?”

  Kagiso looked down briefly at her bag of books. “Has Japera heard anything yet?”

  “Not yet. Any day now. He’s got to get in. It means everything to him.” Katura stood in the aisle for her stop. “I’ll let you know if we hear. See you tomorrow.”

  Katura kept glancing over her shoulder. She was hoping Japera would come riding up on his bike and walk the final half-mile to their thatched house. It was the time of day she enjoyed most, a few moments of private talk with her older brother before they both got hit by questions from their parents about school, homework, and chores. She startled when she heard something come up quickly behind her.

  “Oh, it’s just you.” She leaned down to beckon the skinny brown neighborhood dog closer. The dog inched in, but just as she was about to pat its head, it backed away. She laughed.

  “Every day the same. Come on, we’ll sit under the tree together.” Katura continued her walk with the mutt trotting along a few yards behind. She looked back at him. “So, what do you think happened to Japera? Did he dump us for his friends today? You know boys. Can’t trust ’em.”

  The dog trotted up closer to her on the familiar route and began wagging its tail. They rounded the bend and cut across her family’s property to a large sprawling acacia where she dropped her book bag and plopped down in the shade. The dog circled and lay just near enough to be petted. She complied, then took out her history book and began reading. She had almost completed the assigned chapter when Japera surprised her from behind.

  “Looks like you already have company.” He laid his bike down and stretched out on the grass.

  “Brownie here figured you were too busy for little sisters, so he volunteered to take your place.” She reached over to pat the dog’s matted fur. He wiggled in a little closer.

  “Brownie, huh? Such a plain name for such a distinguished canine.”

  “He wouldn’t want to seem arrogant.” She crinkled her nose and stuck it into the air.

  “No, not in this town.” Japera’s eyes scanned their house, down the street and back toward the strip that served as the town center. He let out a sigh.

  Katura sat straight up and studied her brother. “Have you heard from the university?”

  “Why do you ask like that?” His face gave away nothing.

  “You have!” Her raised voice had the dog’s ears at attention.

  “Are you sure?” Japera’s voice was calm. “What’s your evidence?”

  She sat back. “It’s obvious. Every other time I’ve asked, you say something kind of superstitious. Like if I ask again, I’ll jinx it. But today you focused on the way I asked—subtle, but a shift all the same.”

  “Very good,” Japera said. His face was relaxed, but his steel-gray eyes looked intently into hers.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Well, what?”

  “All I know is that you’ve heard, not what you’ve heard.”

  “Really?”

  Katura jumped on her brother’s long, stretched-out body and pinned his hands to the ground. She then quickly brought his left arm down to his side and wedged it under her knee as she sat on top of him, her right arm now free to do her search.

  “I know the answer,” she said.

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “You’re letting me do this.” He laughed as she searched each of his pockets until she withdrew a long white envelope, rolled off him, and jumped to her feet. “But I still have to see it.”

  He sat up and brushed the dry yellow grass off his clothes. “You still missed a clue.”

  “What?” She slid a letter from the envelope.

  “I was late. Obviously, I went to the post office.”

  “Agh, I always get so close, but…” She froze. “Oh, my God.” She looked up from the paper. Tears began to form in her eyes. “You’re in, you’re really in!” She jumped on him again, this time hugging him tightly. “I can’t believe it! This is incredible!”

  “Don’t act so surprised. In my moment of glory I could get offended.” He pulled her off him and they both laughed, staring at the paper in her hands. />
  “Thuto Ke Thebe,” she said. “Education is a Shield.”

  Japera drew back, his eyes narrowed.

  “It’s the university’s motto. See, below the emblem?” She pointed to the upper right corner of the paper.

  His eyes narrowed to see the small writing. He then glanced at his sister as the corner of his mouth twitched approval. They sat quietly for several minutes.

  Suddenly Katura jumped to her feet. “Come on, let’s go tell Mom.”

  Japera smiled and grabbed his sister’s arm, pulling her back down to the ground beside him. She didn’t resist.

  “Not so fast. We need to wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For Dad.”

  “Okay.” She folded up the acceptance letter and handed it back to him. “But as soon as he comes, I’m running in with you. I have to see their faces.”

  “No, we’re not running in as soon as he gets home.”

  Katura sighed heavily.

  “We’ll let him put down his things, greet Mom and relax.”

  “They’ll wonder where we are.” Her voice was pleading, but she felt herself giving up. When he had a plan, she knew he wouldn’t be swayed.

  “They’ll know exactly where we are,” Japera said. “We’re where we always are—under this acacia, talking and doing homework. They’ll call us to dinner and we’ll come, just like usual. Then they’ll—”

  “They’ll ask us how our day was and you’ll tell them the news and it’ll be so exciting!”

  He laughed. “No, they’ll first ask you. He always asks you first. And you’ll tell him.”

  “I can’t.” Katura was shaking her head. “No way, I’ll squirm too much, I’ll give it away and ruin it. You can’t ask me to pretend like this.”

  “You’ll do fine. And when they ask me, I’ll pull out the letter and—”

  “They’ll both start crying. You know they will, Japera. It’ll be great.”

  He shrugged. “Mom’ll start crying. Dad will get a serious look on his face. He’ll take out his glasses slowly.” Japera pretended to put on reading glasses and cleared his throat. He spoke with a deep voice. “What exactly does it say here, let me see. Hmmm, well done, boy, well done.” Japera slipped his imaginary spectacles back into his pocket. “Then he’ll set down the letter and quietly tell mother to get dinner on the table in his usual contained and understated manner.” He looked at his sister’s pouting face and smiled. “They’ll both cry when it’s you.”

  “That’s not true. They’ll both cry, only Dad’ll try to hide it.” She turned away from Japera and scratched Brownie’s neck again. She spoke softly. “We’ll all cry.”

  Katura finished her history homework and grabbed the algebra book out of her bag. Maybe that would make time go faster. Numbers tended to hold her concentration. She glanced over at her brother, who lay on his back a few feet away from her with his eyes closed. His arms were folded over his chest and she watched the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing. She found his calm demeanor both enviable and frustrating. Tafadzwa would have made sure that everyone in their small town knew of his good news. He’d have puffed out his chest and bathed in the applause. How could their father, who was so humble himself, not find Tafadzwa’s behavior distasteful? But somehow he didn’t. He’d smile and watch with pride as his eldest paraded his latest accomplishment. She opened her math book and took out a few sheets of lined paper and a pencil.

  “I hope I’m not like Tafadzwa.” She spoke softly enough to be heard only if Japera was awake, but not loud enough to wake him. He opened one eye and turned his head slightly to put Katura into view.

  “Tafadzwa’s not so bad,” he said.

  “Oh, he’s such a showoff and you know it.” She put her name at the top of her paper, then added the date and page number of the assignment before setting down her pencil. “I’d rather be like you—thoughtful and modest.”

  “And boring. Without Tafadzwa we would’ve never taken our noses out of the books.”

  “That’s not true. Anyway, he just used us as toys when his friends weren’t around.”

  “Katura, who taught you to play futbol? Who worked with you on your skills until you made the club team? Who got us to dive head-first into the river off the north cliff before any of the other kids had ever tried? He even let us show them before he took his own turn.”

  She laughed. “I thought Mom was going to kill him.”

  Japera nodded, his eyes still closed. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  Katura lay back. He’d been gone longer than she expected. The house was quiet now. She looked at the large field in front of their porch. It seemed so empty since Tafadzwa left. Suddenly she turned toward her brother.

  “Now that he’s gone, I’m the one causing all the noise, getting into trouble. Sometimes I think there’s just too much of me. I should be more like you than him.”

  It was several minutes before he spoke, eyes closed. “There’s more ways to be than like me or Tafadzwa. You’re a third way.”

  She knew that was all Japera would say about it, but that was enough. She returned to her homework, scribbling quickly across the page, and was halfway down the second sheet when she heard a car approach down the dirt road. She froze.

  “It’s Dad. Oh, no—I forgot our plan.” She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “No, I remember, I can do it, I—”

  Her rapid-fire speech stopped abruptly when Japera sat up and touched her leg, a signal to be quiet. The high-pitched engine sound—not the low growl of her father’s jeep—was moving slowly toward them with intermittent explosions of backfire. Their aunt’s dark green sedan rounded the corner of their property, pulled up to the house, and stopped.

  “Why’s Aunt Maiba here?” Katura glared at Japera. “Did you tell her before me?” But Japera just stared at the car as the front door opened. “Oh, no,” she said under her breath, “there wasn’t time, you couldn’t have.”

  “Shhh,” Japera said. They sat far enough away that they wouldn’t necessarily be seen, but voices traveled easily in the dry plain.

  Katura watched her aunt get out of the car—slowly, probably painfully, because of her arthritis. Her face looked troubled. The screen door opened and Katura’s mother come out onto the porch, drying her hands on her kitchen apron. She rushed to assist her husband’s sister up the stairs, which had no handrails. For the first time Katura wondered if, given her father’s usual attention to detail, this was really the oversight she’d assumed it to be but rather a purposeful deterrent. She turned to ask Japera, but he held his index finger to his lips. Then she heard the slam of the passenger side door. Japera’s eyes squinted.

  “Why’s Thabani here?” Katura whispered. “I thought he was with Tafadzwa in Vic Falls.”

  Japera just shook his head and watched their older cousin ascend the stairs to join the women on the porch. Within seconds their mother had retreated into the house leaving the two guests on the porch in bamboo rocking chairs, moving to separate rhythms.

  “It’s okay,” Katura said. “She’s gone to make tea.”

  “It’s not okay.”

  “She always makes tea.” Katura was pleading with him.

  “It’s too quick.” His low voice was slow and steady. “If it were okay, they’d sit and talk for awhile. They’d ask about each other’s kids. Then she’d offer tea. Aunt Maiba would refuse, Mom would insist and go make it anyway.” He took in a deep breath. “She’s upset.”

  Katura could feel her blood rushing to her muscles. Run. Find out what this is about. Get answers. But her body was motionless, frozen, looking on with Japera.

  Aunt Maiba sat silent, fumbling with the ribbon on the front bodice of her flowered pastel dress. Thabani rocked next to her with his head swung back as if examining the boards of the overhanging roof. His foot was tapping the porch in a violent cadence.

  When she heard the whistle of the teapot, Katura felt relieved. At least something was going to happen. Even the mundane woul
d be a change. But before her mother returned to the porch, they heard the sound of their father’s jeep approaching. It made a great deal of noise as it bumped down the road —they used to tease their father about trying to find every pothole with his tires, just to make sure they were all still there.

  The jeep slowed uncharacteristically when it rounded the corner to face the house. Their father pulled up next to his sister’s car and sat with the engine idling a moment longer than necessary. Out of the back seat he pulled his briefcase stuffed with students’ papers to grade and came up the stairs. Without a word, he passed his relatives and headed straight for the front door. He held it open, waiting for his sister and her son to enter his home. Whatever their business, it was not a conversation to be witnessed by the neighbors. Katura and Japera sat in silence. With nothing more to observe, she began to pack up her books and papers.

  It started as a low wail, almost inaudible, then got really loud. When Katura recognized it as her mother’s tortured cry, she dropped her bag and sprinted for the house as fast as she’d ever run. She could feel Japera right behind her on this path that seemed to take forever. They jumped in unison, skipping all the steps, onto the porch and into the living room. Their mother sat hunched with her hands covering her face, sobbing. Their father was standing by the rear window, looking out. Aunt Maiba watched him stiffly—a cold, defensive gaze. Thabani rubbed the arms of the couch. He kept looking up at Katura’s father, then down at the floor, then back. Katura ran to her mother and stood awkwardly behind her, stroking her hair and waiting to be told what had happened.

  Her father turned to face Thabani. If they were both standing, Thabani would have towered over her father’s small frame, but the young man knew better than to face his elder directly. Thabani sat, head bowed, eyes intently focused on his uncle.

  “I thought you were working for River Expeditions.”

  Thabani hesitated only a moment. “I was, sir.”

  “Was, meaning past tense, meaning not now.” Her father left the window and paced in front of Thabani. “Did your employment end before I sent him to you?” His question was to Thabani, but he was looking at Aunt Maiba.