The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 19

Before Mam left for America, I saw him play the game with her one night. He captured her while she was in the kitchen cutting greens and threw her over his shoulder. Mam held her dress down as he balanced her over his shoulder. She screamed just as loudly as we did as he spun her around in midair and her hair draped toward the floor.

“P-put me down!” she chuckled, thrown over his shoulder.

Papa ran with her throughout the house, through the rooms and parlors, ran until he reached the den couch where he stopped and gently laid her down. She caught her breath from the hoots and giggles and pushed her hair back from over her face. The muscles in her neck tightened as she was getting ready to scold him, but Papa kissed her before she could speak, his shoulders dropped.

An aunty told a story once and let me listen. That Papa was not always as tall as he was during the years before the war. Was not always a big big man. Papa’s Ma could not afford to keep him in her care. When he was a young child, his Ma took him to Virginia, Liberia, to live with his father and his father’s wife. At seven years old he was a shy boy, and he stuttered, and his only friends were his half brother and half sister. In Virginia, Papa’s family was part of the Congo middle class who owned stores and rubber farms, living better than those upcountry, but still not as well as the Congo people in Monrovia.

“Gus,” his stepmother called toward the small room where he slept. They said that Papa was led to the living room, where his father held two dogs. One was a white poodle that his sister ran to. The other was a black Labrador.

“Go.” His father commanded the Labrador to go to Papa, who stood bravely still, although they say he was at first afraid. The dog went to Papa, first sniffing his feet and the ground around him, then working his nose up Papa’s leg to the mangled shorts that hung from his slim waist. Certain that the only way to get over shaking in the dog’s presence would be to hug him as his sister was doing, Papa extended his stiff hand into the air, ready for what was to come.

“What will you name them?” his stepmother had asked.

“Sugarlum,” Papa’s father said of the poodle.

“Sugarlum! Sugarlum!” Papa’s sister blubbered happily and jumped around with the dog until it began to bark up at her and its tongue hung from the side of its mouth.

“And the other one?” his stepmother had asked, then looking at Papa and the black dog that now sat loyally by his side.

“Nobody,” his father said without delay.

“What?”

“Nobody. The dog named Nobody,” he chuckled to himself.

“Nobody?” his stepmother joined him laughing.

“Okay then, Nobody, take your dog and go get sugar for me from the neighbor,” his stepmother joked playfully. The dog followed him. He smelled the road in front of Papa as he walked, with the front half of his body leading the way. The houses of Virginia were brick buildings that sat on several acres each, lining a paved road with residents carefully driven around by newly trained drivers, people from upcountry who recently moved into the cities for work.

When he reached the yard of the neighbor’s house, he stopped and looked down at the black dog.

“Stay here,” he said quietly. He turned from the dog but shortly after heard Nobody’s heavy pants behind him. Papa stopped walking and held out his hand.

“Stay here,” he said again, this time slightly louder than before. Nobody sat down in the grass. Again, Papa turned from the dog and headed toward the front door of the house. Also, again, Nobody followed him. Finally, Papa threw the stick in his hand. Nobody’s head twisted toward the stick as it flew in the air and landed on the road behind him. He watched Papa approach the door and, instead of retrieving the stick, darted behind him.

“Hello, boy,” the neighbor said blandly as she opened the door.

“H-hello,” Papa stuttered. He paused a moment and tried to concentrate so the simple request would not take him a long time to say. “H-hello,” he stuttered again. “M-m-my Ma want know if she can borrow sugar.” He wiped his forehead when he was finished.

“What is that?” the neighbor asked, repelled by the black dog that stood behind Papa, who turned around and shook his head at the dog.

“Go!” he said. “Go from here!” he pointed to the road where the stick lay. Nobody sat still.

“That’s your dog?” the neighbor asked, inspecting the Labrador.

“Yeh. My Pa bring it home today,” Papa said.

“Hm. What’s his name?” she asked.

“N-Nobody.”

“Nobody? Nobody is the dog’s name?” she asked and shortly after burst out with laughter. “Well, that’s something,” she said finally after catching her breath and hissed her teeth. “Wait here,” she said and disappeared from the front door into the house. She returned with a small jar of white sugar cubes and handed it to Papa.

“Thank you,” he told her and left her front porch, where she stood and watched him until he left.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay there?” Papa said out loud. Nobody followed him, and continued to sniff the road as he had done on the way to the neighbor’s house. A car drove past them and honked as Nobody drifted to the middle of the street.

“Stay here!” Papa yelled to the dog, as it ran quickly back to his side from the flying rocks that sped through the tires of the speeding car.

Nobody stopped in the road as Papa continued to walk. At first he did not care and continued to walk along with the glass of sugar cubes back to his house. Then he turned around to find that the dog was still behind him sniffing the grass. From the house at the end of a