Shakira Moise Extract from Mami Wata

Shakira Moise

Extract from Mami Wata

They tell me that my Mami bad. They tell me that she good. They tell me that she neva come to land or beach or wood. They tell me that she sneaky eh, sneaky slippery sly. They tell me that she sing a song and you gone say bye-bye.

It’s raining when he leaves. The hat he scavenged for me on the last trip barely helps now, and I can feel the water trickling through the dense brush of my hair to wet my scalp. A line of it trails down the back of my neck, tickling a shiver out of me that makes him smile. He kneels, tall enough that the tip of his hair skims the bottom of the sun, making squiggly black shadows on my arms. “Do you remember what I told you?” He murmurs. Behind him, the old rowboat ebbs with the waves. The rope that ties it to the broken dock is frayed and I wish it would snap. Let the water take the boat far away so that he doesn’t have to leave again. I nod, but it’s not good enough. His lips pull tight, greying where the salt-dry skin stretches. “What did I tell you?” “Stay inside.” I say and squint because there’s something in the water, just past his boat, something slick and–“And?” He quips, squeezing my hands to draw my eye. He looks desperate. I’ve seen him look this way before. Always just before he leaves and the split second before he sees me when he gets back. I hate it. I hope he brings back more chocolate.

“And lock the doors and cover the windows and muffle my ears before sleep.” I recite and he relaxes. Callouses scraping against my skin when he draws away to stand. He never says goodbye. I said it once, whispered it when I thought he couldn’t hear, and he’d stiffened. Turned rigidly and spat into the ocean. I never said it again. He wades to the boat and unwinds the rope keeping it moored. It rocks when he gets in, and I see the right hull and the frayed tape that keeps it from sinking. I gulp but when I look to him, he’s smiling, so I try to smile too, even though I feel sick. “And remember,” he says as he dips the oars into the sea and pushes away from me. “Don’t–” “–let Mami inside.” I finish. He nods once, and then dips his head, concentrating on his task. The sun stings my eyes, but I watch until he is a tiny dot at the sea’s edge and keep looking until it passes over the border of the world and then it’s just blue water and yellow sun and I’m alone.

Mami has long hair they say, long as time it be, She does comb it every day, one time, two time, three. The comb she use is pretty, oui, white as bone and fine, But should you touch the tip of teeth, you will sleep for time.

I keep the door cracked during the sun-hours. It helps to wash the old sweat-air from the room. The new air brings the smell of brine, and it makes my mouth dry. I don’t open it wide, just enough for a moving line of sun to slice into the dark hut. I track the gold line as it slides along the sand floor until it thins to a sliver and then out of sight. Outside the sea laps against the shore and calls to me under my skin but I ignore it. I make a game by timing the sound of the chaseand-retreat of the water to the beat in my chest until spots blink at the edge of my eyes and I stop. Something shines in the corner and I already know what it is as I twist my neck to look.

A long thick square, wrapped in scratchy brown cloth tied six times around with red-knot barrier rope. Every inch covered except for the top left corner that glints in the light. A mi-ror, he calls it. The bottom of its cover is stained black. Sometimes the stains shine like they’re fresh and if I breathe deeply enough, I can catch its faint smell, like rotting fish bones left outside. I’m not allowed to take off the covers. I’m not ready, he says. It isn’t time yet for me to go see. I stare at the mi-ror until the sun crawls back out across the beach and sea and over and under the world leaving me in the night. I shut the door, wedge the chair against it, push the spongy soundstoppers in my ear and tie the chain around my ankle to keep myself inside. Now the only light is a murky, fish-bone white through the grimy window. All along the cloudy glass are deep scratches. I should cover it. Block the light like he does. But instead, I reach up, stretch until my bones pop to trace a cluster of marks. I try to match my fingertips with the lines but they’re too deep and wide apart. Too Mami. Before I sleep, I stare at the stained mi-ror cover and wonder if it’s wet like water or sticky-thick like fruit and maybe, what it would taste like if I dipped the tip of my tongue in it. Time slips.

Mami snatches river-men and drags them down and down, Down beneath the blue and waves, down and down to drown. Wraps them all in rope and vine, she does hear no plea, Smiles her toothy, laughing grin and sings it’s time to see.

I stay inside for as long as I can. The hot-pit where he cooks fish stays cool, the door stays mostly closed. But soon my skin pimples under the building sweat, sores blister and burst and the sea calls and calls until I break my promise.

I scutter outside, flopping onto the beach, sucking in clean air. The sand burns my sores, and the sun stings my eyes. No clouds today. Just blue endless sky and its twin-sea that stretches forever. I lie boneless for a while. Hunched on my side like the fishes we drag from the water and set on the sand to dry. Now I am like them, skin broken and mouth open-shut-open-shut. Soon it’s easier to breathe, and I know that I should go back inside but sea sounds rush into my ears. They wind and twist and fill all the silence from the shack and then I’m moving forwards before I know it, sand scratching at my skin as I drag myself towards the water. It stings at first; my eyes, my nose, my sores, but then it cools, and I let the water fill my mouth and squeeze my nostrils to push the last air bubbles out. I catch a glimpse of myself as I wade in, leaf- shaped hair all tangled into points and then I shut my eyes, push away. I crawl until the water buffets me up. My feet bend and toes skim the settled sand into dust. And then the first true wave lifts me up as it passes and I leave land behind. The first second of floating is terrifying. Like the world has dropped away and you’re falling into nothing. But it only lasts a second. Less than a second. It lasts as long as a blink, just a flicker of fear and then the water comes to cleanse it. All his words that kept me inside wash away, pulled from my head and dissolve. I float on my back, then my front and watch the bundles of fish all swimming below. I wonder where they go when they’re not right there, pippopping in and out of holes the sea scratches into rock. I wonder what they taste like, gooey and wet, not charred like he makes them but burst open red, spilling between teeth and fingers.