Freshwater(32)

The clacking continued, and under it I could hear a soft brushing that made my bones start to itch. That was definitely not Vincent. I turned around with my fingernails biting into my palms and I saw the first one. It was moving across the floor toward me, wearing a hooded bodysuit woven from twisted raffia that had been dyed red and black and fringed with grass at the wrists and ankles. It was clacking with its carved teeth, low to the floor, sweeping its legs out in wide circles.

I took a step back. “Who the fuck are you?”

The thing laughed, like rattling fingers. Eh henh, it said. We knew you would forget, nwanne any?.

The hair on the back of my neck went taut and electric. I knew that voice from somewhere. The thing stopped moving and unfolded itself upright. A hole opened in its chest. Xylophone music hammered out and the second thing tumbled forward from inside it. This one looked like a young girl, short hair stained with camwood, skin dusted with nzu, coral slings over the chest. It sprang up and laughed at me.

See your face, it said. Were you not expecting us? After you went and became just one, by yourself! It danced a short burst to the xylophone music still spilling from the first one.

Oh, I realized, of course. I should have recognized them—the brothersisters, children of our first mother, nd? otu. A spike of exhilaration shot up through me and I laughed. These were the mischief-makers, you see, the tricksters; they were like me. They didn’t give a shit about humans, they enjoyed causing pain—they were me and I was them. It was the best visit I’d ever had in the marble, a thousand times better than having Yshwa show up with his sanctimonious nonsense.

The first one scratched the raised black spots on the sides of its mask-face, slowly rotating its head all the way around like an owl, following me as I walked around them.

“Okay,” I said. “No wahala. So it’s now you decided to come?”

Come, come and see, come and see you, little animal. The second one had a lighter voice, like thin metal. Little evil of the forest.

The first one was chains dragging on broken shells. Yes o, come and see you, see if you know who your people are.

Who you belong to, chimed the second one.

The first nodded. What you smell like.

I stopped walking. “And what do I smell like?” I asked.

The second brothersister curled its mouth up till the lips almost touched its nose.

Like flesh, it spat. Bad flesh.

That annoyed me. “I didn’t ask to be put here,” I pointed out.

‘I didn’t ask to be put here,’ mocked the first. And what are you doing about it? It’s like you like it.

We don’t like it, said the second. Who told you to come here?

The first answer that came to mind was Ada. That she was the one who called me and I came for her. Instead, I shrugged. “I already told you, I didn’t ask for it.”

Who told you to stay here? You don’t know road again?

“Road to where?”

The second one shook its head and turned away, hissing. The first one sighed and lunged toward me, flicking the grass cuff of its wrist on my face. It’s like you went and forgot everything, it said.

Its touch was like a machete running me through. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, shocked. Pain was not a feeling I was familiar with—that was Ada’s thing, not mine. Everything around us slowed down. I could see dust lightly sifting through the air, settling on the marble and the creases of my skin. The two of them smelled strange, like hope, like something fucking with the fine edges of my memory, something I was hungry for but couldn’t remember the taste of. It hurt. I felt tears fill my eyes and I doubled up, trying to fight it. I didn’t want to cry in front of them. The second one turned back to me and reached out its arm, holding a sheaf of young palm fronds. It brushed the bruisable green against my skin, from my forehead to my chin, and smiled, its teeth filed sharp.

Yes, it said softly. It pains like that. Imagine how the rest of us feel, twenty-times-twenty times worse than that, since you went, since you did not come back. Imagine, watching you stay on this side, away from us, watching you and watching you, and now you smell different, so we said, ‘Let us come.’

Still bad flesh, marked the first. But different.

The second brushed my face again and I closed my eyes. Do you know who your people are?

The first leaned forward with its mouth full of shards. Are you remembering yet?

My skin readjusted slightly. “I never forgot,” I whispered, and somehow, I wasn’t lying.

Eziokwu? It dragged its voice sarcastically. Who are your people?

Goose bumps rippled over my skin. “You,” I said.

Is that so? They were testing, teasing.

I opened my eyes and put some irritation into my voice. “Who else?”

They spun in small, precise circles.

Ask us, they said. It was rhetorical. Maybe you think the small girl and those humans are your people.

I thought about it. I had come for Ada. I had stayed for Ada. I loved her and they knew I loved her. Still, I shook my head. “No, I don’t belong. I know I don’t belong.”

They clucked in mock pity and the first one ran its grass cuff under my chin. It tickled and I moved my face away. The second one squatted and its coral slings drummed against each other.

Are you not hungry to go home?

The machete twisted as they said that, opening a cave inside me. I felt like I was starving, being eaten up by myself. I couldn’t tell if it was real or them.