The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 8
“What is that?” I asked Papa, the popping still around us. We were walking so quickly and his skin was wet with sweat. He moved branches out of the way so that Ol’ Ma’s path would be clear. He moved branches that made the faces of grieving men.
“Drums,” Papa said. “That’s a drum.” And Torma and Ol’ Ma glanced at him, then looked away, and I felt like I had learned something I was not supposed to know, like that the drums were secret or magic.
“I hear another one,” K said and Papa was shaking as we ran. In the distance we heard yelling each time we heard the drum, and the air became smokey, as if something was burning on the stove, and cars were honking, and in the distance people were shouting and the sound of those drums came nearer.
“That’s Malawala Balawala?” K asked, sobered a bit by the thought of festival dancers celebrating not too far away.
“Yes,” Papa said, panting heavily. “Gbessie Kiazolu is dancing to the drums with the Malawala Balawala country dancers.”
“There’s another!” K shouted. I heard it too. It was so loud that I felt the sound behind my eyes. People were running on the road when we left our house, not just us, but it felt like we were alone. Papa and Ol’ Ma, Torma and my sisters and me. I missed Mam and if we did not go back to our house, we could not see her if she came back. So I cried.
“Sh, sh,” Papa said, tapping my leg.
“The people will hear us-oh,” Torma warned.
“What people?” Wi asked, turning to face Torma.
“The bad people,” she answered.
“Sh, sh,” Papa said. “You don’t want go see Malawala Balawala? Want to go dance?”
I looked behind his shoulder. The color of the house was first to disappear through the leaves, then the shape, then the hammock that swung between two posts on the back porch. Sun-dried leaves and sticks cracked beneath Papa’s shoes.
“Where is Mam?” Wi asked.
“We are going to her. We will see her soon, yeh?” Papa said, and he smiled as we worked our way through the branches, the drumming all around us. This made me more happy than I expected to feel. We would see Mam soon.
“But how will she know we left the house? She will wait there?” I asked.
“Just walk quick quick,” he said, at first too fast. “She will know,” he said, slower this time, and smiled. I clenched his shirt between my palms as the drums escalated. I wondered who was dancing on the other side, and if we would be allowed to sit with Papa and Ol’ Ma or if we would have to dance with other children. Who would I see there? If this was all for Hawa Undu, then he certainly was a mighty dragon—one who needed thunder and drums to announce his battles.
“Gus, the people will enter the woods? They saw us?” my Ol’ Ma asked. Her voice shook as she lifted Wi up so that her legs dangled over a large tree stump.
“No. I don’t think so. Just keep going,” Papa answered, moving even quicker.
“I tired, Mr. Moore,” Torma gasped behind us.
“No, no. We can’t stop,” he said. “Pastor house will be right there on the other side.”
“We going to Pastor house to dance?’ I asked.
“Yes, that’s where we going.”
A willowy stream of sunlight bled through the high branches and rested on the side of his face.
“Papa,” I whispered into the light.
“The man now come make his trouble everybody trouble,” Ol’ Ma murmured, louder than me so Papa did not hear me.
“Ma, we will be fine. Pastor house coming. Just pray,” Papa assured her.
“No, that Charles Taylor trouble here,” Torma said between heavy breaths behind us. “He want be president, that’s not the way to do it. Go find boys and give them guns to fight your war? Now look.”
The man she spoke of was the prince. He was the prince who had come to kill Hawa Undu. In their stories, the prince was born in Liberia but he moved to America after stealing from Hawa Undu. He came back with boys from Burkina Faso and Guinea, the rebels, and now he would force the dragon out of the forest.
“The monsters came for the dragon?” I asked, and Papa and Ol’ Ma glanced at each other again in that language that only the old ones spoke, and they agreed.
“Torma, come!” Papa said, turning around as he noticed she had stopped to lean against a tree and catch her breath. She continued behind Papa, scratching her exposed legs as bristly weeds rubbed against them.
“We have to find phone to call Ol’ Pa in Logan Town,” Ol’ Ma continued, pulling her lappa over her knees as she stepped over a large branch, the colors paled and ruined. I thought the woods would come alive with every mystical creature that had ever scared me as I walked behind Papa, the breaking leaves underneath his shoes, the heavy breathing and the splitting of the afternoon light.
“Papa, I’m scared,” I said and he finally heard me.
“Nah-mah. We will be out here soon, yeh?” he said.
“Then we will go to Mam?”
He sounded as though he was about to say something else, but before the words could leave his mouth a loud crack made us stop.
“Down!” Papa said, kneeling. Torma ducked to the ground and covered her head. Ol’ Ma leaned against a large tree with Wi’s head pressed against her stomach. She was shaking as she looked back at the path that led us away from the house.
“Gus! Look!” she shouted, pointing to the trunk of the tree that she thought would protect her. Up from the buttress, a slowly rising vapor of smoke ascended from a dark hole where Wi, just a few moments before, was standing, and Ma