Splintered

Posted by yz on Wednesday, March 11, 2020 in

She began to pay attention when the first cracks began. Or maybe the first cracks began when she began to pay attention. Either way, there was a splintering deep inside. She didn’t have the words for it but she felt it. She didn’t know it was the beginning of an end but she felt it.  A closing of sorts. Seven years old and realising that he wasn’t coming even though he said he would. He promised but then he never showed up. She sat in the living room and waited. In her favourite dress and the shoes he bought her. Brightly polished Clarks that gleamed against the cement floor. The lace of her socks stark white against the cocoa of her skin. The scent of Vaseline and Sulfur 8 wafting off of her as the day went on.

“Come and have lunch,”

Katogo. Matooke and groundnuts. The same thing they had for lunch everyday or so it seemed. Groundnuts were her favourite when Patience cooked them but her mouth dried at the look on Patience’s face. She would learn the word later. Pity. 

“No, I’m going to eat where I’m going,”  Silence and then the slap of slippers as Patience went back to the kitchen. 

“Come and play Lina,”

Francis, the askari’s son stood in the doorway. He wasn’t usually allowed in the house. His mother’s rules, not hers. She didn’t like their friendship. Respect your father’s boss she’d say every time she caught them doing something  they shouldn’t like raiding the flower bed so they could cook in old Blueband tins over stone sigiri or practicing their lessons on her mother’s old VW. “My father has gone to the market so we can take the bicycle and see if we pass St. Johns,”

The old Anglican church was way past the boundaries of how far they were allowed to play from home and so, the peak of their goals. Could they ride there and back, her balanced side saddle and in control of the Hero’s brakes while he held her shoulders and peddled. They’d broke the luggage seat the year before and were technically not allowed anywhere near the vehicle. Today, his words stung, like teacher Agnes’ ruler across the palm of her hands. 

“I can’t today,”

“But…”

She turned away from him, back toward the window, and beyond it, the driveway which lay empty and barren. She didn’t hear when he left but the smell of him, vaseline, sweat and dust evaporated after a few minutes. She thought of how silent his footsteps were. Why he always won at hide and seek.  His slippers were dirty and probably waited for him at the kitchen door, alongside her own. As if remembering their usual freedom, her feet pulsed from within their leather casings. 

She gave up at 5.00 as the sky turned orange and Sabena crossed over their old bungalow. It was too late for him to drive all the way now.  He wasn’t coming, she realised. There is a potency to the death of hope that first time that cannot be bottled or clearly described. That moment in time when something clicks. The pain is sharp and cracks everything you have ever known about yourself. The universe shifts and then realigns so that everything that was bright and brand new adjusts. Sharp edges become clear. Shadows become living breathing things with malicious intent. Rainbows are dull or barely visible, glimmering in a once bright sky. 

She went to her bedroom and took off her good clothes. She folded her socks and put them back in the drawer and lined her shoes back up with all the others. Then she climbed into her bed and she cried. Her mother came and then her grandmother. What they said as they held her, she would never remember. It didn’t help. If anything it hurt worse. As they spoke, cradling her gently, softly brushing her hair the pain seemed to intensify and she wasn’t sure how she fell asleep. 

When she woke up, Lina wondered if it was a dream but her eyes were sore and there was a heaviness deep inside that hadn’t been before. She brushed her teeth and her hair then got ready for church and it remained. . She ate her breakfast, licking the oil of the fried gonja off her fingers when she said she would wash them. Francis and her walked together.  She said her prayers. On the way back home, she climbed on his shoulders so they could steal mangoes from Mrs. Musiimes compound. They ran down the road screaming with laughter as Simba, the old lady’s dog half heartedly protected his domain. 

In the evening she pulled out her pink diary with little padlock and pen attached with a string. Dear Diary, today was a good day because mummy cooked and I prayed to Jesus for a Barbie like I saw on TV. Goodnight. 

The novel lay flat on her lap. She was ruining the binding and she knew it but she was impatient. He’d said they would only be here for a few minutes but it had been an hour. She knew because she was using the watch he’d given her for her last birthday. He’d even gotten her a new battery the week before. It was 1pm and he had to take her back home before 7. There was no way they’d make it to the centre of the city and then back home in time. She sighed and watched the door he’d gone into hoping for a sign of life. The curtain didn’t even flutter. Lucky she’d brought her favourite book along and she had the chocolate she’d made him buy when he stopped to get fuel. It was a sticky  melted mess from sitting on her lap in the car, so she was careful as she unwrapped it. She broke pieces of the gooey mess with her left hand and balanced the book on her lap so she could turn the pages of the book. 

Lucy and Aslan lulled her to sleep but she woke with a start in the afternoon heat to the sound of a door opening. Groggily she watched a woman giggle as she stepped out of the house in a dress that was too tight. Lina’s eyes followed her father’s hand as they lay on that waist. She watched as the woman knelt and dusted off his shoes then helped him slip them on. They walked together to the car, his hand around her waist as she tottered in heels across the gravel of her driveway.  He walked to the passenger door and opened it then stared at Lina. She stared right back, letting her curious glance slide to the woman slightly behind him. She was light skinned with big doe eyes and bright lipstick. Silver earrings dangled from slightly too large ears below a perm so fresh her hair still looked like it had rollers. 

“Lina go behind”

She stared at him. She did not compute.

“Catalina go and sit behind,” He repeated. There was a tone that he’d never directed at her before. His eyes were hidden behind aviators but the line of his mouth was firm.  She got out slowly and stepped aside so she could reach for the back door. When she looked back at him, he wasn’t even paying attention to her. He focused on the brown leg sliding into her seat, a distracted smile now dancing across his features, lifting the cheek bones she’d inherited. He turned as if feeling her gaze and his face morphed into something she was more familiar with.

“Come Lina, let me open the door for you,” He was as chivalrous as he’d been with the strange woman, holding her book for her and even buckling her seatbelt. Seatbelts were their promise to each other. He liked to go fast and he liked to keep her safe. 

When they were both seated, the adults turned to face her in the back.

“Lina this is my friend Brenda. You can call her Auntie Brenda.  Brenda, this is my daughter, Catalina but everyone calls her Lina,”

Auntie Brenda smelled of Nivea and strawberry sweet stickiness. The brilliance of her smile wasn’t reflected in her pretty brown eyes. “Hello Lina. Your father has told me so much about you. You’re such a pretty little girl. It’s nice to meet you!”

Without looking at her father, Lina nodded but didn’t smile. “Hello,”

There was a giggle and then the car started. They were off. Auntie Brenda and him chatting as they sped through the city. Lina was silent, just watching. The woman had turned to face her father. Her laugh was big and carefree, her conversation punctuated with exclamation marks and a finger running down his arm. 

It was only as they sped through the city  towards Clock Tower without stopping that Lina spoke up.

“Daddy you’ve passed Aristoc,”

He looked at her through the mirror. 

“We’ll go another time. Today we are going to the beach. You like Resort, don’t you,”

“And you already have a book! You don’t need another one. You don’t want to wear glasses when you’re all grown up, do you?” Auntie Brenda had turned to face her in the backseat. She was joking. Lina knew it. Her father’s studied silence said it. It was hard but she did it. She smiled at Auntie Brenda. 

She let them sit by themselves and wandered the shore. She’d wanted to take her soda with her but Auntie Brenda had tut tutted before saying she’d spill it and then ask for another which was just wasting money. Thirst bit at her now. Insistent in its need, her body berated her. She pushed the feeling off as long as she could, wading into the lake so the water seeped up  her thighs even though she knew she was the one who would wash her jeans. Mummy and Patience were conspiring to make her more responsible. 

When she found her way back to her father, their plastic table was weighed down. Her soda sat sweating, a lone warrior in a sea of beer. She pulled her seat closer to him as she sat and then pulled two straws from the basket. Ignoring the conversation, she ripped apart the paper covering and then slid the plastic into her soda. Long sip. Aaaah, refreshing.

“Lina, where did you go? You took a long time and your food got cold,”

His plate was barely touched. Auntie Brenda’s was clean, only smears of ketchup evidence that she’d had a meal. He put a plate in front of her, along with a fork. She picked at a chip as he used his fork and knife to cut her chicken. 

“Don’t you think you are spoiling the girl?” Auntie Brenda said when he was done. 

The girl. The Coke turned sour in her mouth. She put the bottle down, away from the edge like mummy always said. Afraid of the answer, Lina bowed her head towards her food and began to eat. 

“I’m just helping so she doesn’t make a mess. And I know she didn’t wash her hands so I don’t want her to get sick,. You saw the water they brought us. You think its clean”

“Mmm, ok,” 

She shovelled food into her mouth as they talked so they wouldn’t include her in the conversation. Full long before the plate was empty she continued to eat. Her stomach cried mercy and she continued to eat. She stopped when her plate was empty. When she was done, she turned away from them to face the lake. and tried to read but Aslan had been killed and the Witch was winning now. She settled for humming along to the songs and watching the sun set over the lake. She couldn’t draw like her best friend could but she thought maybe if she could, she would draw this. Orange and blue and clear and grey and red. Little canoes bobbing over a dark lake.  

It was late when she got home. They dropped her at home but he didn’t come in to greet her grandmother like he usually did. Instead, he said goodnight in the car.. Auntie Brenda was silent, observing the house, the lit windows and the evening sounds of  TV, onions frying and hushed conversation. He looked at her. She looked at him She felt the crack, lengthen, spiderweb its way further across. 

“Be a good girl. Obey your mother. I know your report card will be good,” He said.  She watched until the lights of his Toyota disappeared into the darkness. How can you bleed without bleeding? He waited until she was walking to the kitchen door then he was gone. Her jeans were itchy with sand, wet and clammy on her skin. She pulled off her shoes and washed her feet at the outdoor tap then entered the house.

“Have you eaten?”

“Why are you so late?”

“Who dropped you?”

“ Nga he didn’t greet,”

“Go and bathe!”

“ You smell like the lake Lina,”

“You didn’t even pack a sweater. You’re not serious,”

“And soak those jeans! You’ll wash them before church tomorrow,”

Grandmother, mummy and Patience almost all at once. Their concern for her washed over her. She muttered responses. Accepted cod liver oil. Sat on a mat as the kettle boiled. Carefully she carried it to the bathroom and set it down.  She filled the basin with a little cold water and then topped it up with the hot. A capful of detail so the water turned milky then cleared. She went to her bedroom to get her towel and stripped, dropping her clothes in the bucket they used to soak clothes. Scrub, scrub scrub. Don’t forget behind my ears. The normalcy  was a balm on a wound that she didn’t know she’d been feeling. She was crying before she knew it. Silent tears that mixed with her bath water. Cracking again but this time the feeling was familiar. Like the scar from when she and Francis had tumbled down the hill on the Hero. Healed over and yet sometimes it pulsed and ached reminding her of what she’d done to her body. Aloe vera helped that. 

A knock on the door “Lina, you’re taking long. Are you okay?” Patience at the door. 

“I’m about to finish,”

“Kale,  don’t waste water. You know it hasn’t rained and the tank can be empty any time,”

“Yes Patience,”

She wiped the tears off and splashed the soap off her body. She was walking to bedroom to dress up when mummy called her. Gentle hands touched her back, and checked behind her ears. 

“Mummy I know how to bathe properly,” 

A halfhearted complaint belied by the way she leaned into her mother’s touch. 

“I am seeing. Why are your eyes red?”

“I got soap in by mistake,” The lie came too easily, sprouting up and out with a will of its own. Her mother looked into her eyes and her gaze searched Lina. Finally she nodded. 

“Ok, go sleep,”

She had always felt like her mother could see through her. Read her better than an Xray could from behind her glasses. For the first time it occurs to Lina that this is not so.  Mummy cannot see on the inside. She does not see how her daughter is like the vase on the table, spiderwebs cracks marring its delicate beauty. She leaves her mother. Turns to go to her bed. 

“Goodnight mummy,”

“You should cry Lina,” Jean, her best friend announces out of the blue.

They are at his funeral. She has stood and been stared at. She refused to speak when she was given the chance. She has not viewed his body. Not properly. She glimpsed him by mistake as she tried to get away and he didn’t even look like him. 

Jean is not even her best friend anymore. Not in the way they used to be. You grow up. You splinter and heal in different ways. That’s how you find that your puzzle piece doesn’t quite fit into the space it used to before. This is their friendship. A jigsaw so old the pieces are bent so you have to bend them again to make them fit. Which they will, but only for a little bit before popping back out again. 

Cry. She didn’t cry when they called her at 3am. She thought she would. She lay in her bed and waited for the pain to hit. It didn’t. She didn’t cry when she went to the hospital and stood by his bed. She didn’t cry at the vigil when everyone was crying. She did feel that old familiar ache throb threateningly but the very first crack had splintered over and over so many times that she wasn’t even sure if there was one stable piece left inside of her anymore. 

Maybe she should force some tears. She looked at her friend, with a baby balanced on one cocked hip. It wasn’t concern she saw in her eyes, it was confusion. Who doesn’t cry when their father dies? Me, Lina tells herself. I don’t cry.  Every tear I could ever shed for this man, I have already shed. This well is dry. 

“I need to find my mother,” She says as if she never heard Jean. She knows Jean will not follow. She knows no one will follow. No one ever has. 

Months pass and her friends worry sometimes but don’t want her to know they worry. Her ability to sift through masquerades is infallible. She gives in because she doesn’t want them to worry but only so much.

“Don’t worry about paying,”

“Dance”

“Will you come out?”

“We never see you,”

“What are you up to these days?”

The questions are different but the same. She hasn’t cried yet. She’s beginning to understand that she’s afraid that if she starts to cry she will never stop. Maybe she’s not a well. Maybe she’s a dam. Maybe that’s why the cracks and splinters are dangerous. She’s breaking and she’s not sure what comes next. 

“Do you want another drink?”

The glass of whisky is being waved in front of her face. She’s seated in a bar with her friends. It’s a drink she can’t afford to take. Drinking for her is letting loose and she can’t afford to let loose. She can’t afford to relax. If she relaxes then all the broken pieces of her will fall. If that that happens, how will she be able to pick up all the pieces of her? How will she know she gotten every piece? Nobody tells a juggler to relax, do they? You leave a juggler to focus on his balancing act. This is her balancing act. Tada. 

“No, thanks.” She picks up her car keys. “I’m actually really tired and I should head home,”

The glass gets passed to someone else. A song comes and a few people get up to dance as she walks out. No one calls out to her. Invisible as usual. 

This moment right here is it. This is the final straw that breaks this camel’s back. She is not cracking anymore. She is cracked. She contemplates what she has done. Head leaning forward so her braids dangle in front of her glasses. The setting sun sparkles off  of her reflecting off her skin and shiny glimmers on her skin.

“Mummy what have you done?!” 

His little voice can carry a lot of horror. Then again, he loved this car. He chose this car. He went with him to Mombasa to pick it up. On bad mornings, the only way they can get him to school is by promising that daddy will take him to school. In this car.

The glass lies all around her. Little pieces are on her skin, her jeans, the vest she threw on. The car alarm is blaring loudly. She drops the gas canister. She didn’t even feel its weight in her arms until a second ago. She came out to go to Shell and get a refill. Also, some milk. The money is in her back pocket. She turns to her baby but something he sees frightens him and he steps back. 

Lina stands there and for the first time in a long time, she begins to cry. Loud, ugly heaving sobs. She feels little hands hesitantly wrap themselves around her legs and cries harder. He runs outside, still in his boxers. She hears this, the slap of his slippers, the slam of the door. She does not stop crying. He finds the two of them there, his windshield glittering around their feet. The little hands squeeze her legs tighter.

“Daddy help her. I think she’s broken,”

She cries harder.