Who Will Catch Us As We Fall (13 page)

‘Do you have extra socks?' she asked Tag.

After he came down with a pair of old superhero socks, he led her into the living room, where she was immediately overcome by the smell of sandalwood and rose, scratching her throat and disturbing her vision. Her feet slipped on the polished, laminate floor and she slid-skidded over to the sofa, as far away as possible from the incense sticks. She focused on the framed picture of his deceased grandmother, the garland of marigolds strung over her photo in accordance with the Hindu funeral tradition. The standing lamp at the side of the room cast a low light into the endless layers of flame-colored petals, making them appear as if platelets of gold – the expensive steps to a next life.

‘I have an idea that I'm sure will work.' Tag snapped his fingers. ‘Earth to Leena. You're going to be very important in all of this.'

Leena dragged her eyes away from the fiery frame and attempted to pay attention. She was beginning to regret having approached Tag last week, storming out of the house after finding that Jai and Michael had gone to the fruit market without telling her. It was her favorite place – Jai knew that – and he'd never failed to ask her to go.

‘I hate him,' she had told Tag when he discovered her kicking stones at the wall. She had picked one up and threw it with such force that it cracked into gray shrapnel. ‘I just want him to go away.'

It wasn't a secret that Tag disliked Michael. The boy wasn't one of them. ‘Have you seen his shorts?' he had asked Leena, coming to stand beside her. ‘Full of holes. His sandals too.'

At this image Leena had felt a little sorry for Michael, though she had told Tag she had never noticed. It was something about the way Michael carried himself, so assuredly, as if none of what the other children were interested in mattered. It had the effect of making her feel slightly silly, more infuriated with him than she already was.

‘Jai says you shouldn't hate people just because they don't have as much money as you.'

It was true, you couldn't blame someone for being poor, but that didn't mean you had to be kind to them out of pity either. Tag was tired of being humiliated, beaten in soccer, thrashed in cricket and marbles – his blood had fumed the last time they played. Not even Jai had managed to outsmart Michael at games.

Now, on his couch, he finished telling Leena his plan and she played nervously with the print on the socks he had given her. It came away in her hands – blue and red flakes – broken pieces of Superman. ‘Maybe there's another way?' she suggested. ‘I can talk to Jai and tell him how upset we are.'

Tag shook his head firmly. ‘This is perfect. Perfectly believable.'

That was what made her so uneasy: the certainty that it would work. ‘It seems a little mean.'

‘I'll find someone else to help if you don't want to.'

Outside, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. The sun pushed through the clouds, fire-lighting their edges. Leena watched Jai emerge from the house with Michael. They were laughing about something, struggling with each other – pulling at T-shirts and shoving shoulders. One of them dropped a soccer ball and it was bounced back and forth as they trotted to the center of the street to begin a game. She willed Jai to look up, to give her that familiar smile and wave, gesture for her to join them. When he didn't, she turned back to Tag, sighing in relent. ‘Just tell me what I have to do.'

A few days afterward, Michael caught up with her on the street.

‘You're doing it wrong, you know.' He had come up behind her as she was practicing a hands-free technique on her bicycle. She ignored him, spreading her arms out as the bike quivered so violently beneath her that even reaching out to grab the handlebars didn't stop it from spilling her onto the sidewalk.

It was early and the street was deserted. Only the hushed voices of women whispering goodbye to their husbands and the high-pitched calls of morning birds interrupted her activity. Although it was not yet eight o'clock her parents had already left the house. Jai was still asleep so she had slipped out into the cold daylight, bumping her bike down the front stairs.

From her position on the ground, she glared up at Michael and thought she detected his mouth twitching. He always seemed to be laughing at her.

‘What do you know about it?' she snapped. ‘I've never seen you ride a bike.'

Unperturbed by her rudeness, he held out his hand. ‘Let me help you up.'

Though moody and unpredictable, permanently glowering at him, Leena intrigued Michael. He felt sorry for her, the way she constantly followed her brother around, eager to be allowed into their games, their conversations, and felt guilty for having come between them.

‘I don't think your sister likes me very much,' he had told Jai once, watching as she stormed into the house after he had beaten her at a game of marbles.

Jai had brushed it off. ‘She's just competitive – she'll get over it.'

But Michael noticed the way she whispered with the other children, the narrowed eyes and stiff shoulders he received whenever he tried to talk to her. That morning, as he pulled her up easily from the ground, he asked, ‘Are you okay?'

His hand was dry and pleasantly coarse and her voice softened, despite her irritation. ‘Yes, thanks.'

‘What are you doing?'

‘I'm practicing riding without hands.' As she answered, her eyes went carefully from window to window, saw that most curtains were still drawn.

‘I can help you if you want,' he offered, seizing this opportunity to win her over. ‘It's all about physics.' Spotting her confusion, he pointed at the bike he had lifted from the ground. ‘Do you mind?'

She hesitated a slight second, which stopped his breath, causing his cheeks to burn with hope. She shook her head. ‘Go ahead.'

He settled on the bike while adjusting the height of the seat. ‘You're quite short.'

He bit down guiltily on his words, but it was difficult not to tease her.

‘I'm only twelve and I'm a girl,' she defended herself.

With a tug of the metal chain, he began to pedal. ‘Walk with me.'

Michael's grandmother had once traded her best chicken for a rundown silver and red BMX. He had come back from school to see it leaning against the fever tree that grew close to the shamba – a bright and beautiful image – and he had asked her, breathless, what it was for.

‘It's a tool,' she had barked, forcing him upon it. ‘You are going to learn how to be just like them, understood? Even silly things like riding this machine.'

He had left it in Eldoret with a heavy heart, lending it to a boy down the street, who promised safe-keeping, although Michael knew he would never see it again.

‘Everyone thinks they have to start off slow,' he told Leena, picking up speed. ‘But the truth is, it's much easier when you're moving faster and have more momentum.'

She was forced to break into a jog to keep up. He straightened his back, lifted his hands smoothly from the handlebars, stretching them out until his fingertips grazed her shoulder. The bike never veered and eventually he brought it to a slow halt.

‘Why don't you try it now?' He readjusted the seat, knowing exactly what height to slide it back into.

She did as she had watched him do and he walked with her – his strides matching her pace exactly as he instructed her. ‘Put more weight on the back of your seat. Good, now take your hands off but leave two fingers on each bar.' He started to jog, pushing her into a faster speed. As she moved past him, she heard him call out, ‘Now take them off.'

Stretching out her arms, she pulled up her back and let the wind fuss her hair. She was distracted by it, the low, sweet whistle in her ears and the tarmac speeding by, and almost didn't hear him shout, ‘Stop!'

It was too late. By the time she had reached the bend, her bike had already tipped over the curb and sent her somersaulting onto the grass.

Michael sprinted after her, falling to his knees when he reached the bike. ‘Are you okay?' His voice was urgent, eyebrows furrowed with worry. ‘Leena, answer me.'

To hear him say her name was jarring. Up until then, they had been strangers, hardly speaking a word to each other. He was the boy she despised without knowing why, the one she scowled at suspiciously at every chance she got. He was also the boy who had taught her a new trick and made it seem easy. Who laughed and teased her as if it were the most natural thing to do, and when he said her name it was in a way that made it sound not like how it was but as it should be.

‘Answer me,' he was saying.

She took his offering fingers once more, grinning hugely and throwing her leg back over the bike. ‘Let's do it again.'

He relaxed under her untroubled manner, pleased with the way she was looking at him. But before they could begin again, Angela was calling out for him.

‘I have to go.' He waited for a moment, giving her the chance to say something and she almost asked him to stay. But then her feet were pedaling once more, the racing power back in her thighs. He kicked away a stone, his gaze trailing her until she turned the corner. Then he spun around and headed back toward his mother.

The next morning she was woken early by a stomach knotted with excitement. Her parents were downstairs, filling the house with the opening and closing of kitchen cabinets, the kettle's steamy whistle, their low conversation. When she heard Angela's voice through all the commotion, her anticipation grew until her body couldn't contain it and her knees began to jerk impatiently. Finally, both the front and back door sounded, followed by the revving of the Nissan. She threw off her blanket and leaped out of bed. She was half-way across the room when Jai woke up.

‘Where are you going?' he murmured sleepily.

‘To the washroom.'

The fib came swiftly, confusing her because she had never been deliberately untruthful with her brother. She waited, frozen mid-step until the muscle in her calf began to pulse and protest, but she refused to move until she was sure he had fallen back asleep. Yanking the bicycle from the cupboard where it was stored, she sped down the stairs and into the thin morning light.

But the street was empty.

He wasn't there.

As the realization hit her, she was overcome by a feeling of foolishness. Hearing Angela's voice downstairs, there had been no doubt in her mind that Michael would be waiting for her, as eager as she was, but there was no sign of him, no sound or activity – just a lonely, wide circle of houses.

She climbed onto her bike and began a slow ride around the compound.

She thought of all the things she would say to him.
Traitor. Deceiver. Liar.
He had never outwardly promised her anything and yet she felt betrayed by him. Perhaps she wouldn't say anything at all. She set her mouth and nodded to herself. Yes, she would never speak to him again.

‘Good morning.'

The voice pulled her bike to a bumpy halt.

‘What are you doing here?' She kept her back turned to him, trying to swallow down her relief.

‘I thought you might want to practice some more.'

She wrung her fingers around the handlebars, flicked the pedals and let them
whirr
manically as he came around to stand in front of her. ‘You're late,' she pouted, and when she lifted her eyes, saw that he was regarding her seriously.

‘I know. I'm sorry.'

At his apology, her anger faltered. ‘Come on,' she said, pushing past him, a smile on her face.

For the rest of the week, he waited for her as she slipped out onto the quiet street with her bike. And when she saw him leaning against the veranda gate, kicking a small football between his feet, she admitted to herself that she was glad to see him. She tried not to acknowledge the rush of pleasure when he looked up and seemed equally happy, waiting patiently as she cycled toward him.

He would walk beside her, run as she went faster, eventually having to stop and catch his breath, no longer able to keep up as her delighted shrieks rid the morning of its peacefulness.

But then the sun would rise up from behind the misty cover of clouds and, slowly, the other children would emerge from their houses and the two of them would lose each other. But every morning as he watched her riding toward him, Michael would quickly forget that he had been forced to watch her leave the previous day – how she had disappeared into her own circle of friends as he had turned back to the pile of dirty dishes and vegetables ready to be peeled and boiled, his heart tightening at the reminder of why he was really there.

Following the unjust refusal of his request for a raise, Constable Jeffery Omondi discovered a dance called Bribery. It involved several intricate steps, a willing participant, a lead and a mutual whirling, spinning and climax, which left both partners with a satisfied outcome of relief.

David stayed with him for the first day on the promise that he would receive some part of whatever exchange happened. They stationed themselves at the very same roundabout and instantly Jeffery felt his temperature rise, a hotness spreading through his body. His mother would have been disappointed to discover what he was doing, and under normal circumstances he would have been ashamed, but death had a way of putting things into perspective. Still, his arm remained paralyzed by his side; every time he tried to lift it to stop a car, it stayed stubbornly immobile.

‘If you don't stop one soon, I'll stop it for you,' David snapped, growing impatient.

The next car was a trundling old Subaru, wheezing its way toward them, and Jeffery stepped out onto the road and raised a palm, having to chase the vehicle for several steps before it came to a jerking halt. He rapped on the passenger window and motioned for the driver to open the back door. As they climbed in, David rolled his eyes.

‘What's the matter?' Jeffery asked.