The Burning Shore - Smith Wilbur - Страница 84
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Why is she weeping? O'wa demanded from beside the fire.
Because she is happy. That, O'wa opined, is a most stupid reason. I think this female is a little moon-touched. He stood up, and still shaking his head, began the final preparations for the night's journey.
The little old people were unusually solemn, Centaine noticed, as they adjusted their cloaks and carrying satchels, and H'ani came to her and checked the sling of her bag, then knelt to adjust the canvas booties bound around Centaine's feet.
What is it? Their serious mien made Centaine uneasy.
H'ani understood the question, but did not try to explain. Instead she called Centaine and the two of them fell in behind O'wa.
O'wa raised his voice. Spirit of Moon, make a light for us in this night to show us the path. He used the cracked falsetto tone which all the spirits particularly enjoyed, and he performed a few shuffling dance steps in the sand. Spirit of Great Sun, sleep well, and when you rise tomorrow be not angry, that your anger burn us up in the singing sands. Then when we have passed safely through and have reached the sip-wells, we will dance for you and sing our thanks. He finished the short dance with a leap and a stamp of his small childlike feet. That was enough for now, a small down payment, with the balance promised when the spirits had honoured their part of the contract.
Come, old grandmother, he said. Make sure that Nam Child stays close and does not fall behind. You know that we cannot turn back to search for her if she does. And in that quick, swaying jog, he started up the slope of the beach into the mouth of the valley, just as the moon broke clear of the darkening horizon and started its journey across the starry heavens.
It was strange to travel in the night, for the desert seemed to take on new and mysterious dimensions, the dunes seemed taller and closer, decked in silver moonlight and dark purple shadows, and the valleys between them were canyons of silence, while above it all the vast panoply of the stars and the milky way and the moon were closer and brighter than Centaine had ever believed possible. She had the illusion that by simply reaching up she could pluck them down like ripe fruit from the bough.
The memory of the ocean stayed with them long after it was out of sight, the soft hiss of their footsteps in the sand seined to echo its gentle kissing surf on the yellow beaches, and the air was still cooled by its vast green waters.
They had been following the valley for almost a half of the moon's rise to its zenith when suddenly Centaine trotted into an eddy of heat. After the ocean-cooled airs it was like running into a solid barrier. Centaine gasped with surprise and H'ani murmured without breaking the rhythm of her gait, Now it begins."But they passed swiftly through it, and beyond the air was so cold by contrast that Centaine shivered and drew her cloak closer about her shoulders.
The valley twisted and as they came around the corner of a towering dune on which the moon shadows lay like bruises, the desert breathed upon them again.
Stay close, Nam Child. But the heat had a viscosity and weight so that Centaine felt that she was wading into a lava flow. At midnight it was hotter than in the boiler room at Mort Homme with the furnace stoked with oak logs, and as she breathed it into her lungs, she felt the heat entering her body like an invader, and with each breath expelled, she could feel it taking her moisture like a thief.
They paused once, only briefly, and drank from an eggbottle. Both H'ani and O'wa watched carefully as Centaine lifted it to her lips, but neither of them had to caution her now.
When the sky began to lighten, O'wa slackened his pace a little, and once or twice paused to survey the valley with a critical eye. It was obvious that he was choosing a place to wait out the day, and when at last they halted, it was close under the lee of a steep dune wall.
There was no material for a fire, and H'ani offered Centaine a piece of sun-dried fish wrapped in seaweed, but she was too tired and hot to eat and afraid also that food would increase her thirst during the day ahead. She drank her ration of water from the egg-bottle, and then wearily stood up and moved a short distance from the others. But as soon as she squatted, H'ani let out a shrill reprimand and hurried to her.
No! she repeated, and Centaine was embarrassed and confused, until the old woman fished in her satchel and brought out the dried wild gourd that she used as a bowl and ladle.
Here, this one - She proffered it to Centaine, who still did not understand. Exasperated, the old woman snatched back the gourd and holding it between her own legs urinated into it. Here, do. She offered the bowl to Centaine again.
I can't, H'ani, not in front of everybody, Centaine protested modestly.
O'wa, come here,H'ani called. Show the child."The old man came across and noisily reinforced H'anils demonstration.
Despite her embarrassment, Centaine could not help feeling a touch of envy. How much more convenient! Now, do! Rani offered her the gourd once again, and Centaine capitulated. She turned away modestly and with both the old people encouraging her loudly, she added her own tinkling stream to the communal gourd. H'ani bore it away triumphantly.
Hurry, Nam Child, she beckoned. The sun will come soon. And she showed Centaine how to scoop a shallow trench in the sand in which to lie.
The sun struck the face of the dune on the opposite side of the valley, and it flung reflected heat at them like a mirror of polished bronze. They lay in the strip of shade and cringed into their trenches.
The sun rose higher and the dune shadow shrank. The heat rose and filled the valley with silvery mirage so that the dunes began to dance, and then the sands began to sing. It was a low but pervading vibration as though the desert was the sounding box of a gigantic string instrument. It rose and fell and died away and then started again.
The sands are singing, H'ani told her quietly, and Centaine understood.
She lay with her ear to the ground and listened to the strange and wonderful music of the desert.
Still the heat increased, and following the example of the San, Centaine covered her head with the canvas shawl and lay quietly. It was too hot to sleep, but she fell into a sort of stupefied coma, and rode the long swelling waves of heat as though they were the sound of the sea.
Still it became hotter, and the shade shrivelled away as the sun nooned, and there was no relief or asylum from its merciless lash, Centaine lay and panted like a maimed animal, and each quick and shallow breath seemed to abrade her throat and burn the strength from her body.
It can't get worse, she told herself. This is the end of it, soon it will begin to cool. She was wrong. The heat grew stronger yet and the desert hissed and vibrated like a tortured beast, and Centaine was almost afraid to open her eyes lest it sear her eyeballs.
Then she heard the old woman moving and she lifted the corner of her head cover and watched her carefully mixing sand into the gourdful of urine. She brought the bowl to where Centaine lay and plastered the wet sand over her baking skin.
Centaine gasped with relief of the cool touch of it, and before it could dry in the fierce beat, H'ani filled in the shallow trench with loose sand, burying Centaine under a thin layer and then arranging the shawl over her head.
Thank you, H'ani, Centaine whispered, and the old woman went to cover her husband.
With the damp sand next to her skin and the protective layer over that, Centaine lasted out those hottest hours of the desert day, and then with that African suddenness she felt the temperature on her cheeks change, and the sunlight was no longer stark dazzling white, but shaded with a mellow, buttery tone.
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