CHAPTER 3
The Kiss

He was waiting for her on the narrow path that led toward the fields. He took the basket from her hands and sniffed at it. “Mhmmm. This smells good. Bring me some of your cooking one day.” He gave it back.

“Maybe I will,” she teased. “Are you coming with me to greet Father?”

He shook his head. “Take the food to him, you will find me here. I like your hair.”

“I thank you. Naena did it so.”

When she returned, he stood where he was, watching her walk up to him with a smile on his face. He said, “Today we're going to a dismally romantic place.”

They walked up to the new aqueduct where one of his servants was waiting with a horse. He mounted and extended his hand to Nasomi. She took it and he helped her up.

“I will ride home soon,” he told the servant. “As usual…” He put his first finger against his lips.

“Yes, My Chief,” the servant said. “My lips are sealed.” He waved and walked away.

“Hold on tight,” Tambo told Nasomi. “Have you ridden on a horse before?”

“No. I’ve been meaning to. On a good day.”

He gave a short laugh. “This is a good day, then.” He kicked the horse into a trot, then to a gallop when they were on a wide path. Nasomi enjoyed the wind upon her face, the view of the city zooming past, and holding Tambo’s waist.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Tambo screamed to people. He nearly knocked down a merchant’s cart. They went down the road through the opulent Nkuku District, followed along the old aqueduct for a while and branched off into The Dragon District. Although The Dragon was in the middle of Nari, it contained nothing much but a barracks for young warriors, a guild of woodworkers, the palace of the Jaad clan with a few residential spots about it, the amphitheater, and the cemetery.

She was seven years old when she asked, “Father? Why is it called The Dragon?”

“Every district in Nari is named after a creature,” Father had replied. “Some of these creatures are real, like those Kwindi, Kowasa and Nkuku districts are named for. Others, as far as we know are myths, legends, and scary bedtime stories. Ninki Nanka is a gigantic water creature said to be protecting the big swamp of the Shodishu people. Let me tell you about this beautiful beast—”

“Start with The Dragon,” young Nasomi said.

“Indeed. Some say the dragon used to be an Ao’Pan warrior named Yanga. Everyone coming from the south will have heard of his story. He was a mighty warrior, going on quests to kill monsters that troubled villages. He heard of a dragon that couldn’t die, and he said to himself ‘There is no dragon Yanga can fail to kill.’ He traveled to the troubled place and found the dragon. A monster so big you think it’s a tower.”

“Taller than our walls?”

“Taller than the walls! And it breathed fire upon him. But he fought and defeated it. The proud warrior killed the dragon that couldn’t die. And then he became it. That’s why it cannot die because whoever kills it takes its place.”

“That’s scary.”

“Very much so. Many believe the dragon is real is because, so many years ago, before the walls of Nari were built, before the kowasa emerged and our tribes united, the dragon flew over these lands, snatching our ancestors’ livestock and burning those who tried to fight him. But he flew away and has never been seen or heard of again.”

Tambo and Nasomi reached the cemetery. He tethered the horse to a small dry tree and led her by hand onto a black piece of land. Every Season of the Sun, the grasses and shrubs that grew upon the cemetery would be put to the flames. Few people these days really bothered to attend this burning ceremony called Respecting the Dead, or Responding to the Taunt. Nasomi had witnessed it once in her lifetime.

Tiny green plants and tufts of grass mottled the ashen ground, signs of the new life that would be fuel for next year’s burning. Tambo was right about the place being dismal and romantic at the same time. It made her reflect on death, desolation, but it also made her think of the life that carries on after, of the sunrise after night, of the impending rain after months of heat. She experienced again the emptiness of missing Mother, but she also felt the companionship of being with Tambo.

“Mother is buried there,” Nasomi said, pointing to a distant group of mounds.

He took her hand in his and squeezed gently, saying nothing, and Nasomi loved him for that. Their sandals crunched the ashes beneath as they walked, the rising particles clinging to and blackening their feet. He listened to her.

“I sat by the grave the entire day after we threw her body in, but I didn’t dare look in. Father and Naena insisted that we go home, but I stayed, even though I didn’t want to look at her body. I hated myself for it, but I had no strength. I didn’t want her to be dead. I wanted her to rise up from the hole and say ‘Let’s go home, my daughter, I am well now.’ She used to say that a lot. ‘I am well now.’ Even when it was clear to see she wasn’t. I guess she wasn’t strong enough for death.

“It stunk, the grave. There were four other bodies in there. Balsams and other noisome herbs, and a hint of rot from some older corpse or two. But I didn’t move, the stink was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. When evening came, so did the people, families of the dead, Father, Naena, too. For the first time, I understood the collective grief. We were all one person when it came to our dead loved ones. Father cried, Naena cried, I cried and I couldn’t stop even after we covered the grave. We embraced each other, embraced the other families. Father had to carry me home and I cried all night. All I wanted was to die, too. Being alive was painful.”

“I am glad you didn’t,” he said.

She chortled. “I am glad I didn’t, either.”

They walked past mounds, the older ones as ashen as much of the cemetery from burned grass, the newer ones barren and awaiting the Taunt of the Tumina. These underground spirits were what gave life to what grew on the land, but they were sly spirits, too. They demanded that you had to till the land and plant seeds and water the ground to get any crops out. And even then, you’d be lucky if insects and locusts don’t come to devour your crops. The Tumina also accepted the dead, ate up their flesh with worms in order to continue giving life to plants and to cause less trouble in the world. When grasses and plants grew on the graves, the Narites considered this a taunt, a spiritual jest by the Tumina. That was why Narites performed the Response, burning the cemetery out of respect of their dead and to say: we will not demand anything of our loved ones in their death.

A group of people, four boys of which the youngest looked five and the oldest fourteen, a teenage girl and an elderly woman stood beside a newly dug grave. The girl and the three older boys hefted a body wrapped in cloth and tossed it in. Then they moved back a few paces and all began to weep.

“Let’s comfort them,” Tambo said. They approached and spoke words of comfort to the elderly woman, praying the Mara’s blessings on the family, wishing them well in life. This reminded Nasomi of her grief and it gave her the sincerity and kindness to give the children each a hug and to urge them to live a good life as they remembered their dead brother. Burial day was two days away, she could imagine how hard this would be for them.

“I must go now,” Tambo said when they left the mourners. “Father would be looking for me. Let me take you home.” He let her ride the horse. She was nervous, thinking the horse would throw her and Tambo off, or gallop into a ditch. But Tambo’s gentle guidance eased her fears and she felt comfortable enough about riding by the time they got to Mokele District. He left her there and she walked home, rehearsing what to tell Naena.

From then on, she met with Tambo as often as four days a week. He would take her to places she would otherwise not think of going, some of which she had last been to as a child. They scouted for spots they could be alone: in the unoccupied cave houses of Kwindi District, behind stalls in the marketplaces, under trees and beneath bushes, and in the shadows of the towers holding up the aqueducts.

Once, he took her to the amphitheater. Dark clouds were gathering and rain smelled in the air. The wind wafted her skirt, prickled her skin with goosebumps. The amphitheater stood tall and majestic, and it looked like it was moving against the gloomy clouds. The gargoyles perched at the top, rimming the entire structure, looked as though they would pounce down. They were statues of previous kings and warriors of Nari, some of them winged or having limbs of lions. Nasomi’s head span looking up at them, just as it had the numerous times she’d been there for New Year's festivities.

Tambo and Nasomi walked around the amphitheater, naming parts of the panorama of the city that revealed themselves. They stopped halfway around; he took her by the hand into an alcove behind a pillar. He turned to face her.

“Your eyes,” he said.

“What about them?”

“They make me want to do this.” He cupped her neck and part of her face in his palm, drew close and kissed her on the lips.

His lips were soft, full, ravenous with desire. Resistance welled up in her, but she pushed it down, let her own desire swell and meld with his. And as though the kiss unlocked the heavens, rain began to fall.