Binti--The Night Masquerade Page 10

  The moment he heard the sound of cracking, he said, “Dele, go!”

  “What? Where?” Dele asked. “What is … what is happening? What are you doing?”

  “Go where the cellar is,” Mwinyi said. “You know this house better than I.”

  “I see it,” Okwu said, floating onto the charred foundation.

  Mwinyi and Dele followed it. Mwinyi gasped, ran to the spot, and stared. He shut his eyes, as Dele knelt down beside him. Mwinyi could hear the plant’s voice in his head now and it was so broad that his head pounded and his vision blurred. It spoke no words he could understand, but there was relief and a sigh. Mwinyi waited as he heard more cracking and then the sound of Dele grunting and pulling and kicking.

  Mwinyi held his breath, his eyes closed as he waited a little longer. He saw them with his feet. Then he heard other voices and he sank to the ground, his head in his hands. Binti should have lived to see this. How ecstatic she would have been to know that every single one of her family members was alive and well.

  * * *

  Dele had lain on his belly, reached down, and one by one pulled them out. Mother, father, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins, and even a few family friends. They ran about, jumped and sang and danced with joy. They didn’t care that their skin and hair were nearly free of otjize. They kneeled and prayed to the Seven. Sobbing and hugging. Binti’s father was the only one who could speak through his joy. He explained to Mwinyi about how they’d all fled into the large cellar and when the Root had been attacked and set aflame, something had made it react as one of the family. It enclosed and protected. And inside the Root, there had not only been supplies that they could eat, but pods of water that grew from the walls of the cellar.

  “The Root is true Himba,” Binti’s father said.

  Then he asked, “Where is Binti?”

  * * *

  The sun shone bright now and the war happening over Khoushland and in space just outside of the Earth’s atmosphere felt more and more distant. It was not the Himba’s war, and so for the time being, they were not concerned. News spread fast about Binti and her family’s survival through word of mouth. And now that they were out of the protective cellar, they could reach people with their astrolabes, too. Soon a large crowd had gathered at the Root, yes, now it was the Root, again. They brought joyous jars of otjize and baskets of food. Home or no home, the Root had been burned, but its foundation was alive and well and strong, as were those who’d lived in it.

  Most feared Okwu, but Binti’s father stayed at its side well into the day, forcing people to look at and speak to it when they came to wish Binti’s father their condolences. Binti’s mother stayed with Binti at the place where Binti had fallen. She’d placed a red blanket of mourning over Binti’s body, as she hummed to herself and rocked back and forth to keep from tearing her hair out.

  Over and over, Mwinyi told Binti’s family and those who came about what Binti had tried to do and what she died for. Mwinyi watched their faces; all of them looked upon him as if he were a wild man who had something they wanted—especially Binti’s older siblings. Still, Mwinyi told of Binti’s bravery and the betrayal of the council and answered their questions because they needed to know.

  When the Himba Council arrived at the Root, Mwinyi walked away, heading to Binti’s mother. Okwu joined him.

  “I don’t want to hear any of what they have to say,” Mwinyi said.

  “We should leave,” Okwu said.

  “Soon. First, let’s talk to her.” Mwinyi pointed at Binti’s mother. She was cradling Binti’s head in her lap and humming. The tips of her long otjize-rolled locks dragged on the ground, collecting sand. Even covered with old otjize, the bright sun couldn’t have been good for her skin. Sweat rolled down her face, dropping into an otjize-red damp spot in the sand beneath her.

  “Mma Binti,” Mwinyi said, sitting before her. When he glanced at Binti’s face, every muscle in his body tensed up. When he spoke, his voice quivered. “I’m sorry.”

  “She didn’t know,” her mother said. “She didn’t know her family was alive. She must have felt … homeless.”

  Mwinyi glanced at Okwu, who floated over. “She loved you all,” it said. “She fought for you.”

  Binti’s mother looked at Okwu, then nodded. “My husband … he was too afraid to see me do it. He thought I was delirious with panic.” She frowned and then continued. “When everything was burning above, I was the one who woke the Root,” she said. She held up her hand and gracefully made a waving motion. “Everything I see fits together, even all this. I see both sides of the equation, the path that leads to the death of my brightest daughter.” She closed her eyes and when a minute passed and she still had not opened them, Mwinyi was about to get up. Her eyes suddenly flew open and she was looking intensely at Mwinyi.

  “Are … are you alright, Mma Binti?”

  “No,” she whispered. After a pause, she said, “You have eyes like hers.”

  “I’m a harmonizer,” he said.

  She nodded, vaguely, looking down at Binti. “You know, those equations that Binti and her father work to create current, I can see just by opening my eyes. Binti got some of this, but she has trained it toward current. I have no training, I just see it. At the door, the center of the cellar, then the wall, that was where the spot was. While everyone cowered in the center, moving from the walls where the heat and smoke were coming through, I went to the place directly across from the door. Across the diameter. I could see the line. Do you know plants can do math? They measure what they need to survive and thrive. The Root has survived long.

  “The Root had a spot. I could wake it, if I gave from my own life force. We all have current running through us, that’s why we are alive.” She held up her right hand. The palm was an angry red and covered with crusty blisters. Mwinyi gasped, reaching for her, but she pulled her hand away. “That’s how the Root knew to protect its people.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “But once it closed, it would not open. You saved us too, Mwinyi.”

  She took his hand with her uninjured one. Then she quickly let go and her eyes fell back to Binti.

  “We want to take her,” Mwinyi said, after she’d been quiet for several moments. “Into space. That’s where she always said she felt most … natural.” When Binti’s mother didn’t say anything, Mwinyi continued, “She once told me that she thought she needed to go to the rings of Saturn; that a vision was calling her there. That’s where I think we should take her.”

  He waited, holding his breath.

  “Why’d you come here?” she finally asked, without looking up. “Why couldn’t you both have just stayed there?”

  Mwinyi sighed and sat down across from her. He looked at her puffy red downcast eyes and then slowly reached forward and took the hand that was not holding Binti’s remaining hand. “I didn’t want to come,” he admitted. “It wasn’t safe. And even as I rode out with her, I felt something was off … with her.” He looked cautiously at her mother. She still looked down at her daughter. He continued. “She’s a master harmonizer, but what harmony did she bring? I couldn’t understand her. She seemed broken.” He held his breath. But now that he had started, he might as well finish. “But Binti was … was more than a harmonizer, I realized. There is no word for her yet. I knew she’d do something amazing.”

  “But she didn’t,” her mother said, looking up at him. “She failed.” Her face was naked as tears ran from her eyes.

  “She didn’t fail, Khoush and Meduse did,” Okwu said, from behind Mwinyi.

  “Binti did what she was born to do. Even the most ancient of my clan could not have done what she did, been what she was, carried it as she did, and understand, my people are old and advanced.” He waited and when she didn’t speak her mind, he continued, “You Himba know us as the Desert People. We are—”

  “The Enyi Zinariya,” she said. “I know. I married one of you … who also was a master harmonizer.” She looked down at Binti. “I always knew that sh
e was meant to do something great. We knew when she got into Oomza Uni, though she didn’t know we knew. I knew when she agreed to the interview. Her father was so angry when she left … but I … I wasn’t. I understood.” She leaned down and kissed Binti on the forehead and then her shoulders slumped. She looked up at Mwinyi, waiting.

  “Can we take her?” he asked again.

  “How?”

  “By neither Meduse ship nor Khoush,” Mwinyi said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “To the rings of Saturn?”

  He nodded. “It’s where she wanted to go next.”

  She stared at Mwinyi for a long time and he did not look away. This was part of their conversation and Mwinyi relaxed into it, letting Binti’s mother in. When she finally looked away, her tears had stopped and she smiled weakly to herself. “The women will have to prepare her, first,” she said. “But, yes. Take my daughter where she wanted to go.”

  * * *

  Binti’s brothers erected a tent around her, so that no one would see. Then the women spent the rest of the day preparing Binti, right there on the spot where she’d fallen. The chief of surgery, a stern woman who’d tied back her waist-length otjize-heavy locks, repaired Binti’s insides as best she could and sewed up her chest, and the opened wound left where her arm had been. They bathed her with water from the Sacred Well. They massaged her flesh with sweet-smelling oil and then applied Binti’s mother’s otjize. And lastly, one of the seamstresses presented the “homecoming” dress she’s sewn for Binti as the other women worked. The long dress was the red-orange color of the richest otjize, with a light blue sash that the seamstress refused to explain.

  When Binti was ready, she was placed on top of the costume of the Night Masquerade. Because so many had seen it, those in the secret society would need to create a new, different one. And both Chief Kapika and Dele felt that it belonged to Binti now, anyway. Binti was change, she was revolution, she was heroism. She was more Night Masquerade than anyone had ever been. Then the chief called a ceremony and had a girl climb a palm tree and cut a large leaf. The traditional leaf was sent from home to home, though messages about it via astrolabe traveled faster.

  The evening was windy again. Another electrical storm thrashed itself out somewhere deep in the desert, but close enough to give the air a tangy charged smell. Dele spoke the words of dedication and love to what was probably all of Osemba. And as he spoke of his best friend, his voice loud and strong, from the west, in Khoushland, the distant boom and crack of Khoush and Meduse arsenal finding purchase distracted many. The darkening sky flickered as the Khoush and Meduse battled in space above.

  All the while, Mwinyi and Okwu stayed on the outskirts of it all. These rituals were not for them. Not really. These were not their people and, in Mwinyi’s opinion, much of this was done out of guilt. As they’d waited, Mwinyi had spoken with everyone back home and then he’d stopped because they were so angry and disgusted with the Himba and he didn’t really want to hear them express what he was working not to feel. He’d only told Binti’s grandmother of the plan.

  “Take her home,” was all she said.

  Come evening, everyone had said their goodbyes and all that remained were Binti’s parents, siblings, Mwinyi, and Okwu. Boxes of packaged foods, including dates, green plantains, flour, stacks of a dried edible weed, boxes of roasted grasshoppers Okwu liked to eat, and other supplies were stacked beside Okwu. They were quiet as they stood around Binti’s body in the dark. Mwinyi walked away from them all and stood on what was left of the Root. It still smelled of smoke here and some of the pieces crumbled beneath his feet as he walked and listened.

  Through his rough feet he saw many things of the past, when the Root had stood. He saw Binti’s mother singing mathematical equations to a large grasshopper that had flown into the cellar, holding her hand out for it to land, and watching it slowly fold its beautifully decorative wings as if to show her its mathematical pattern. He saw Binti arguing with her sister so many years ago about a dance and her sister laughing and rolling her eyes. He saw Binti’s father sneak into the cellar to use the zinariya to speak to his mother.

  Mwinyi opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He loved being able to “ground,” absolutely loved it. The universe was a singing connection of stories and he could listen to that song anywhere he went now. “I’ll never wear shoes again,” he whispered to himself.

  He looked to the stars and then smiled. It was time. And sure enough, there were the lights. She was coming. He looked to the group; several of Binti’s sisters had begun to cry. Binti’s father was standing with his head in his hands. And her mother was looking mournfully at Mwinyi.

  Shrimplike in its shape, the Miri 12 luminesced a deep purple blue in the night, with pink highlights running around the windows of its front. But this wasn’t Third Fish. This Miri 12 was nowhere near as large, barely the size of the Root when the Root had been intact. This was Third Fish’s baby, New Fish. She zipped swiftly around them in a large circle, playfully blowing them all with warm air, though remaining careful not to blow dust on Binti’s body.

  “Praise the Seven,” Mwinyi whispered.

  He’d called Third Fish last night when he’d walked out into the desert from the Osemba House. The great elephant Arewhana, who’d taught him so much (including how to call large animals from afar), would have been proud. Unlike Binti, Mwinyi hadn’t been so confident that things would turn out well with the truce. And so he’d used his harmonizing skill to reach out to Third Fish. The first time had been yesterday, as he stood near the lake. Surprisingly she responded in her deep soft voice. She said she’d help if he needed help, that she was nearby. All he’d have to do was call.

  And he’d called. And Third Fish had sent her child to take this sad journey.

  * * *

  The goodbyes were quick.

  Binti’s brothers had carefully picked up her body and taken her into New Fish. Soft blue lights on the soft ship floor guided them to where New Fish wanted her kept. Mwinyi assured them that this was fine, and no one questioned the ship’s decision. In actuality, Mwinyi knew as little as any of them, aside from what the ship told him in its strange voice. But he was struggling with the very idea of leaving Earth, so the smoother and faster this departure went, the better. Mwinyi took one step onto New Fish, stopped, rubbed his now throbbing temples, and put his sandals right back on. Best to deal with his first experience of leaving Earth before anything else.

  The room New Fish led them to was one of its upper breathing rooms, a place full of green leafy Earth plants that were just taking root in the newly born creature. The floor here was a soft, almost raw-looking pink and this was where New Fish told Mwinyi they should set Binti. Mwinyi immediately thought of Binti’s grandmother’s room where she kept so many plants she’d discovered and nurtured. The smell here was wet sand during rare rains, water-filled leaves, the ozone smell after thunderstorms, and the soil Binti’s grandmother collected from the bottom of wells and used to pot plants. It was fresh and full of life here.

  Okwu had squeezed itself into the room, but moved out of it a moment later. “She loved this place in the Third Fish,” it told Mwinyi and Binti’s brothers as they put her down. “She said she liked the damp, the warmth, and the smell. All I smell are microbes.” Then it left to explore the rest of the ship.

  Binti’s brothers Omeva and Bena didn’t linger either. They clearly wanted to leave the room, to get away from their little sister’s body. Binti’s mother had to be taken away by Binti’s father before the ship took off, for she’d begun to tear at her clothes and had even torn one of her locks out. The sisters had started to keen and sing a mournful song that Mwinyi never wanted to hear again and the other Himba people only stood there staring, still in shock about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  Mwinyi remained in the room for a while longer, then he left, and the door slid shut behind him.

  Chapter 8

  Space Is the Place

&
nbsp; “I’m glad to leave Earth,” Okwu said. It exhaled a large cloud of gas as it looked out the window.

  Mwinyi still clung to the pillar in the middle of the pilot chamber. He had been born and raised in the desert and never had he dreamed of leaving the Earth. He’d been happy protecting his people when they went on journeys across the desert and communing with the various peoples of the desert, from fox to dog to hawk to ant. His life had been simple; however, the moment Binti entered his life, he’d known that simplicity was over.

  He would never be able to describe what it felt like to sit strapped to one of New Fish’s strangely molded chairs and leave the Earth. Even an hour later, he wasn’t able to speak. Okwu seemed to understand this, for it left Mwinyi alone as it hovered near one of the wall-size windows in New Fish’s cockpit. Okwu hadn’t needed to strap itself down and didn’t seem to be affected by the change in air pressure or gravity as the ship balanced out its insides to reflect an Earth-like atmosphere.

  When Mwinyi did speak, it was to New Fish.

  After? it asked, hours later as Mwinyi slept in the large room near New Fish’s top called the Star Chamber. It felt like a vibration on his back that formed words he could understand in his mind.

  Mwinyi had chosen this room because its ceiling was all window and he could rest on his back and look into space in a way similar to how he looked into the sky when he went off into the desert alone back home. He’d been asleep on the floor, which was so soft that he didn’t need his mat. He rolled over, resting his hands on the purple luminescent floor. “After what?” he said aloud.

  After Saturn. After we set her free.

  “Oh,” he said, his shoulder slumping as it all came back to him. The deep exhausted sleep he’d been in gave him respite from Binti’s death and the fact that he’d just left his home without mentally preparing to do any such thing. “I … Okwu says we should go to his school. Oomza Uni.”