Where Bones Dance: An English Girlhood, An African War

Trips

56 Trips W e were starving. Bill was whining because he ran out of ketchup, when out of nowhere came this man in a loincloth carrying a bow and arrow. He was walking along the side of the road. When he saw us he went away. When he came back we were still there. We were lost. He brought a basket of red fruit like little peppers. He said, ‘Cashew.’ My father opened the trunk and gave him five empty whisky bottles and three empty ketchup bottles. When the man smiled his teeth were sharpened to points. Bill said he was a cannibal but I didn’t think so. He didn’t have any hair on his legs.” “What’s that got to do with him being a cannibal?” “Nothing. He poured the fruit into a towel and then my father took out his camera. He waved it towards the man and the man smiled but when he pointed it at the man, he put his hand in front of his face and then he disappeared.” “What do you mean, he disappeared?” “He wasn’t there anymore.” “Where did he go?” “I don’t know.” “Was it jungle?” “No, it was bush.” “You’re weird.” “It’s not me that’s weird. I just see weird things.” “People don’t just disappear.” I shrug. “My father says some people believe that if you take a photograph of them you steal their spirit.” “That’s dumb.” Dave bends down to retie the shoelaces on her high-top sneakers . Her face is hidden behind her knee. She says, “I wish my family went on trips.” “You did, in Arizona.” “Here, in Nigeria.” “Maybe you could come with us on one.” “Yeah?” she says. She keeps on tying her laces into double knots. Mom,” I say, when she’s finished taking the bones out of her fish, “the next time we go on a trip can we maybe take Helen along too?” “No darling we really can’t. And don’t talk in that dreadful American accent.” I forgot. Usually I don’t forget. “Why can’t we?” I wait. I can feel my face getting red. “The Lees wouldn’t like it.” “But what if Helen asked them and they said yes?” “They’re our family trips. They’re just for us.” “I want Jerry to come too,” says Bill. He has ketchup on his chin. “But why?” “Don’t argue with your mother,” says my father. 57 C y c l e 1 58 “I don’t get it,” I say to my fish. “What did you say?” says my father. I keep looking at the fish’s white eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” I force my eyes up. “Now, what did you say?” “I said I don’t get it.” “Speak English,” says my father. “I told you we should never have taken her out of St. Corona ’s,” my mother says. I look at my plate very hard. “Let’s drop the subject shall we?” says my father. I can feel his eyes on my neck. “Yes,” I say. “There wouldn’t be room in the car anyway,” he says. The next day Dave says, “I asked Mom and Dad and they said maybe I could. Go on a trip with you.” “Dad said there wouldn’t be room in the car.” I look at her. “I’m sorry.” “Is that true?” “I guess. Bill said he wanted Jerry to come too.” “But you asked first.” “I know. It’s not fair.” We don’t say anything. Then Dave says, “When we’re older we can go away to sea and go wherever we want.” “To the Amazon.” “To the Galapagos.” “To Greenland.” “To Tierra del Fuego.” Dave makes the secret sign and I make it back. I want her to see the things I see. C y c l e 1 ...