Laugh with the Moon (16 page)

This morning, all the girls in our class complimented
Memory’s new belt—all except for Agnes, who said it’s even more
kunyasa
—ugly—than mine.

It’s hard to believe, but we’ve actually got worse problems than Agnes. The witch doctor said the ninth night of March would have the most moonlight, so now we’ve got the jitters. And yesterday, Mr. Special Kingsley told us that he invited the chiefs to bring the villagers from all the surrounding villages.

Now Memory and I have added 171 roles to the original script, so every standard one student is a member of the cast. There are fifty hippos, fifty hyenas, and fifty hunters. Plus, twenty-five kids will play the howling wind in the storm scene. And then, of course, there is the
nkhuku
, performed by Innocent. Our actors will speak in English, and Memory will translate into Chichewa for all the parents and other villagers in the audience, since many of them haven’t gone to school and don’t speak much English at all.

The good thing is that between listening to Memory translate and studying my vocabulary words from Mrs. Tomasi, I’ve picked up enough Chichewa that when Saidi says it’s time to plan our trip to Lake Malombe, I can tell him,
“Nkhani yabwino! Ndakufunitsitsa kunyanja!”
In other words, “Wonderful! I can’t wait to relax at the lake!”

Saidi told me he’s been saving his money from selling reeds on the weekends for a surprise he’ll give to us during our outing. Memory and I are all about trying to guess what he’s got planned. “There is a restaurant at the lake. Perhaps he shall purchase an ice cream sundae,” she whispers to me.

Today I’m coughing and sneezing like mad. “Saidi will
get an ice cream sundae for each of us,” I suggest, and pray that these allergies don’t get the best of me before we set out for our road trip. I kick my backpack to the side of our table. Memory hands it over, and I pull out a packet of tissues I brought all the way from the good old U. S. of A.

By Saturday morning, the allergy medicine is working and I feel a lot better. My nose is hardly running anymore. I grab my Red Sox cap. “And don’t forget to put on the sunscreen,” Dad says as we bump down the narrow path to the main road.

“As if!” I tell him. With fair skin like mine, I’m not about to forget. Even with daily sunscreen, my skin has turned a reddish cinnamon hue.

“And make sure you’re back by dark,” Dad says. “I’ll be home from work by then.”

“Okay,” I say.

Dad turns on the main road. “Been meaning to ask you, how are the practice tests going?” In addition to the horrible assignment, Mrs. Middleton also gave me a pile of MCAS practice tests.

“Clare,” she had said, “I’m letting you do this because I know you’re a smart girl. There are plenty of students who are homeschooled, and you are going to be homeschooling yourself. Now learn a lot and have a wonderful experience. I know it will do you good to get away.”

Even though Dad thinks MCAS stands for Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System, I know that it really means Most Clueless Arrangement of Stuff you could ever think to ask anybody ever! They list problems like:

But they never list the real answer: E. Who cares!

Still, I tell Dad that the studying is going fine, because I don’t want him to ask for evidence. I’ve only taken two practice tests this whole time. I can’t bear to do another one.

Speaking of things I can’t stand, when Dad pulls over at the kiosk near the Slow but Sure Shop, I glare through the windshield at the party crasher. I sure as heck hope she isn’t the surprise Saidi has planned! Agnes stands on the edge of the dirt road, her arm threaded through his.

Dad opens his wallet. “Here’s a few thousand
kwacha
. Should be more than enough to help you and your friends get to the lake.” He hands me the bills, which I tuck into my backpack before I slide out of the Land Rover with a big fake smile on my face.

“Moni!”
I call like everything’s cool.

“Moni,”
everyone says, and waves.

Agnes turns to Saidi. “It shall be lovely to feel the sunshine at the beach today,” she says.

I definitely don’t want to stand near her, so I go into
the Slow but Sure Shop and buy a bottle of water for each of us.

While we wait at the minibus stop, we guzzle our bottles of water. “I never did drink the expensive water in the bottle,” Memory says.

“I did,” Agnes calls over to us. “When my auntie visits from Lilongwe she always buys me the water in the bottle. I did drink it already three times in my life.”

I swallow. I wonder what Marcella would do if she was here. Would she be amused by Agnes and all her drama? Maybe, but I’m not, so I hang around with Innocent and Memory instead.

I’ve already taught the standard one class to count to ten in English, so I figure Innocent’s ready to learn one of my favorite childhood games. “I one the cake,” I say. “Now you say, ‘I two the cake.’ ”

“I two the cake,” Innocent says, and giggles.

“I three the cake,” I say.

“I four the cake.” He catches on.

But after he says “I eight the cake,” he doesn’t laugh.

“Get it? You
ate
the cake!” I say.

He stares at me blankly with his enormous brown eyes, so I have to spend the next five minutes explaining why it’s funny while Memory translates. After that, we play all over again. This time Innocent laughs.
Hello, Dimples!

By the time the minibus arrives, we’ve finished our water. The driver opens the back door and I dole out enough money for us all. Even though Saidi offered to pay for Memory and Innocent, I let him know that my father insists he save his money. There’s a smelly goat standing in
the aisle. Innocent plops down on his sister’s lap, and I squeeze between the two of them and the window.

Once we’re all settled, the driver moseys into the Slow but Sure Shop. It isn’t long until he returns with three sacks of maize. He shoves one under my feet and one under Memory’s feet. Then he plops one bag onto my lap without even asking if it’s okay. I want to throw it on the floor but it weighs a ton, and there isn’t room for it anyway.

Somehow I manage to turn my head to glance at Saidi, who’s stuck in back beside Agnes. “Poor thing,” I say. Memory turns to take a look for herself.

“Poor boy!” she agrees.

The driver starts the engine, and I take another quick peek. That’s when I notice something strange: Saidi’s got a big fat grin across his face. “Look!” I tell Memory. After she does, we both gag out loud. We can’t decide which is making us sicker: seeing Saidi so happy, or the smell of the goat mixed with the heat and the bumps.

I think about asking Memory all my questions: about whether she carries a bucket of tears inside her heart, and whether the bucket gets lighter or heavier as the years pass. I want to tell her about my mother, but I don’t really know how to begin. Instead, as we wind through Machinga, Memory and I make Innocent practice his lines for the play, but our leading man falls asleep right at the start of our rehearsal. So, for more than an hour as we bump along, Memory and I discuss the casting, the costumes, and the set.

At last, I spy a thin line of turquoise out the window. The line gradually expands to a glimmering, sparkling lake
that’s so big it looks like an ocean. Two moped drivers whiz by. Memory nudges Innocent awake. “I ate the cake,” he mumbles before he opens his eyes. Memory and I crack up.

The second I step out of the minibus, a warm breeze blows through my hair. I inhale the clean, fresh air. Restaurants built on stilts dot the side of the beach, and sunbathers relax under the palm trees on the warm gray sand.

We walk down to the beach, where I unbuckle my sandals. It sure does feel super to squish the sand through my toes. I spread out my towel under a palm tree and take off my shirt and skirt. “Want to go swimming now?” I ask.

That’s when I notice Agnes and Memory staring at me, and Saidi looking out at the water for a long, long time. “It is interesting, this purple uniform, with your bare skin for all boys to see,” Agnes says.

In an instant, I feel sunburned all over, like I don’t even have a bathing suit on. No wonder Saidi is staring at the lake. He’s embarrassed! Even though Agnes has had several bottles of storebought water in her life, apparently this is her first trip to the lake. I must be the first person she’s ever seen up close in a bathing suit. I’m mortified! I grab my shirt and pull it over my head. I put my skirt back on as fast as I can while Memory says, “It is interesting this swim clothing. All the tourist have this, Agnes.”

Agnes looks around and I do too. Memory’s right. There are lots of people on the beach in their bathing suits, but I won’t be one of them. I don’t want to be a tourist. I guess my friends were planning to swim in their clothes.

“I think Innocent need some water,” Memory says. He’s fallen back to sleep in her arms.

“Malawi kwacha,”
Agnes says, and holds out her palm. “I shall do the job. I shall fetch the clean drinking water for my friends.”

Saidi is obviously saving his money for something else, so I reach into my backpack and pull out a few bills. I give them to Agnes just so she’ll leave me alone. She takes the money and walks over to the Chomp and Chew Stop while Memory sits on the sand, rocks Innocent, and sings to him like she’s his mother.

I stretch out on the towel and let the sun wrap me in its rays. I close my eyes and think about how good the last few weeks have turned out. I’ve already made friends, and I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.

Ten minutes later, though, the sand castle of good feelings I’m building crumbles. My lips are parched. My tongue is dry. I need a drink, and Agnes still isn’t back with our water. “Did she fall in the lake?” I ask.

Saidi decides to explore. He walks across the sand and into the Chomp and Chew Stop. When he finally comes out, we can see that he’s furious. Agnes is with Saidi, but she isn’t carrying any bottles. Instead, melted chocolate ice cream dribbles down her face. “I do apologize,” she says, and giggles. “It looked divine. I could not refuse.”

“Where’s my money?” I glower.

“I do apologize,” Agnes says again. “But you did not give me enough
kwacha
for water as well.”

I grab my backpack and stomp across the sand to the shop, where I buy another water bottle for everyone except the crook. Memory holds one to Innocent’s lips.
“
Imwa
, Innocent,” she says. Innocent takes a couple of sips. Then we all follow Saidi down to the shade beneath the Chomp and Chew Stop.

Chained to the wooden stilts that prop up the restaurant are four wooden rowboats, each a different color. “What is your best color, Innocent?” Saidi asks as he rolls up the cuffs of his pants.

Innocent points to the green rowboat.
“Biriwira,”
he says.

“You must not steal a boat,” Memory tells Saidi.

Saidi puffs out his chest. “I have paid the fee inside the Chomp and Chew Stop. Remember, I am a businessman.”

Saidi unwinds the rusty chain that ties the rowboat to the stilt. He must have spent a lot of his income from his weekend work on this trip, so Memory and I say,
“Zikomo kwambiri,”
which means “thanks very much,” and Agnes says, “This is a man who provide.”

Sand swishes under the bottom of the rowboat as he pushes it down the beach and into the water, where he holds the boat steady. Memory sets Innocent on the sand and wades in. She lifts the skirt of her
chitenje
and hoists herself into the rickety boat. I slosh in too, and set my backpack in the rowboat. The water is incredibly cool and refreshing, and I dive right in with my clothes still on. When I stand up, I wring my hair out with my hand. A bright yellow fish with orange spots circles my waist. “Look, Innocent!” I point. “A freckled fish.”

Innocent doesn’t come to see. He stays there on the beach, staring into the distance. Leave it to a six-year-old to do exactly the opposite of what you request.

Saidi slogs out of the lake, scoops up our little friend,
and places him on a bench inside the boat. After Saidi gets into the boat himself, he reaches over the edge to help pull me up. It’s not like I mean to notice that his hand is strong and warm, but it is, and I do, and when I hold on to it, a strange wave rushes through me.

Even though I want to sit next to Saidi, I wouldn’t do that to Memory, because she adores him. So I sit beside Memory and Innocent instead, and when Agnes gets in, she sits next to Saidi up front. And of course, I don’t want to be jealous of Agnes, but I can’t help it, I am.

Saidi picks up the two oars lying at the bottom of the boat. “I can paddle,” I tell him. It’s true. Our entire seventh-grade class went canoeing on Walden Pond last spring. By the end of the field trip, I wasn’t half bad.

“I shall like to try,” Memory says.

“You girls begin. When you are tired, then my turn.” Saidi hands us the oars.

“What about Agnes?” I ask.

“I am queen. I do not row,” she says. “Saidi know that.”

I look to Saidi. He only shrugs like there’s nothing he can do. Then he points to a cluster of brightly colored rowboats wobbling way out on the horizon. “This way to wonderful little fish,” he says.

So I show Memory how to hold the oar and how to slice it into the water, but for the first ten minutes, we only manage to go backward or in circles while Agnes snickers. Once we finally get going, Agnes lifts her chin to the sun and closes her eyes. It’s a good thing, because that way she doesn’t notice the faces Memory and I make behind her back.