A NOVEL SET IN PREHISTORY
The Oak People
Chapter 8: Ansa remembers
Ansa
Her face burning with shame, Ansa stumbles around in the twilight, looking for wood. Here, by the Salt Water, there are only spindly trees with sharp thorns and soon her arms are covered with scratches. When she has gathered as much as she can carry she heads back to the camp, heavy with dread. Voices reach her on the wind; the men are back from the water’s edge with more shellfish. They will see that there is no fire.
She drags herself on, only to find that Bidari is waiting for her on the ridge. He runs down to meet her, grains of sand spurting up into the air.
‘Give me that,’ he says. He takes the brushwood from her, cursing as the thorns prick his fingers.
His voice is harsh; Gashi must have told him that she neglected the fire. The thought comes that he might punish her as Garoa used to, but he only walks on ahead with the firewood. Just when it seems that he is not going to say anything, he turns back, his voice like a sulky child’s.
‘Hadn’t you better check? You might have lost your precious Balqa stone in the bushes.’
Ansa’s hand flies quickly to her waist, but the bag is where it should be. Her forefinger and thumb easily find the tiny sphere, through the kidskin covering. Relieved, she looks up and catches the hard grin on Bidari’s face, a grin with no laughter in it. He strides ahead now and does not look back. Why did he ask about the Balqa stone?
Ansa stumbles blindly back towards the camp, weighed down by the events of the day. Bo and the boys have brought more wood and now the fire is blazing. The nefafa lie in heaps and, for once, they will all sleep with full bellies. But Ansa crouches on the ridge, trying to find the courage to face the stares and the whispers.
Someone is teasing Bidari about the branches he has just added to the haul. ‘Look! Bidari has taken to women’s work now.’
Bidari laughs with the others but then Gashi’s voice comes out of the darkness, sharp as a blade. ‘He will have to get used to collecting wood: his wife can’t seem to do it.’
The hollow becomes quiet and Ansa shrinks back, away from the light of the flames.
Bidari sounds startled. ‘What do you mean? Ansa gathered that wood herself.’
Ansa keeps out of sight, confused. Doesn’t he know that she fell asleep? That it’s her fault there was no fire?
The contempt is still there in Gashi’s voice. ‘We knew she wouldn’t be able to collect nefafa. That’s why we left her with the boys — to build the fire. But instead, she just slept.’
Gashi buries more nefafa in the bed of ash, then turns to the others. ‘Anyway, it’s done now — come and eat.’
Ansa kneels in the darkness beyond the firelight, watching the others rake shells from the ashpit, then sit on the sand to eat. Hot tears are rolling down her face. How can she join them in the hollow now? Behind her lies the lonely expanse with its dark, hidden dangers. She searches the sky but there is no comfort there; Balqa is nowhere to be seen.
She watches as Bidari leaves the fire’s light and warmth to climb up out of the hollow. He doesn’t see her at first but then he is dropping down onto his heels beside her. He lifts her chin roughly and peers closely into her face. Even in the dark, Ansa can feel the turmoil behind his eyes. She saw a look like that on her father’s face once, when they came upon an injured goat in the wadi. He was standing, spear in hand, his teeth clenched for the kill, staring into the eyes of the animal.
Ansa tries to turn her head, away from his gaze. But then he is touching her wet cheek more gently, the same Bidari who ran shrieking and laughing into the water with her. Was it only today? She begins to sob and he sinks down into the sand beside her, sighing heavily. He embraces her, making soothing noises as if she were a child. When her crying has come to an end, Bidari helps her up and together they climb down to join the others.
It is very dark. Among the sleeping forms Ansa stirs, half woken perhaps by the rousing of the wind. The cloud is dropping away to reveal a sky crowded with blinking, jostling stars, but the face of Balqa is still absent. Troubled, she turns over, the sand giving way beneath her, then sleep comes padding silently and takes her once more. This time, she is carried away and set down on a beach, near the water’s edge.
It is morning and each wave sparkles as it surges towards her over the sand. She hears a voice, calling. Bo is waist high in the Salt Water. She is laughing and jumping with each wave.
‘Ansa! Come and play with me!’
The salty breeze plays with her hair, teasing and tempting her. She wants so much to run into the water, to feel the cold slapping at her legs, but there is something she should be doing. What is it? She walks along the beach, searching, searching, but there are no trees for firewood. She looks down and, with a pang of dread, sees that her hands are empty.
The sand beneath her feet has changed. The Salt Water is gone and now she is back home in the desert. There is the akazia tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of the bad rock, lying flat on the desert floor and she turns away so as not to see the mean black slit where it meets the ground.
The bitter smell of smoke comes wafting through the heat and now the old familiar voices. Home! There is Ama, sitting on the ridge. She runs to curl up in the nest between Ama’s legs, but what is that wailing? There are tears on Ama’s cheeks. In her lap lies the baby — still and quiet. He is the wrong colour. Ama is looking at her but she doesn’t seem to see.
‘Ama! Ama!’
She doesn’t answer — just keeps on staring through her. Now Ama has the face of Gashi and her eyes are angry and cold. When she speaks, she is looking past Ansa, at someone else.
‘Look after Zeru for me,’ she says to Bo, ‘Ansa cannot be trusted.’
Ansa wakes with a small cry. She is trembling. Zeru. That was her brother’s name. How could she have forgotten? Rolling over onto her back, she opens her eyes and stares at the stars, busy about their night-time work. They are calling to one another but their voices are swallowed up in the vastness of the sky.
Her brother was named Zeru, after the sky. Now she can remember Ama singing his name when she fed him, and how Ama cried after he had gone, and how she did not want Ansa near her after that.
A heavy dew has fallen and Ansa’s whole body is chilled. She lies still, remembering, and though Bidari’s body is warm beside her, it is a long time before the trembling stops.
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