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throbbed like this, and the room may spin and add the finishing touches to her
nausea, making her vomit and strain muscles that already ached.
But she knew it had to be faced, so she opened her eyes.
Slowly&
Yeah, it hurt. The light was like an incredible volley of tiny needles that
pierced the membrane, making her wince, despite the fact that it was low
level. Probably a lamp of some kind and not located directly over where she
lay. All she could see was a whitewashed ceiling, decorated with
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
paintings of huntsmen and dancing women.
There was something about it that she knew should mean something to her, yet
she couldn't quite grasp it. The women were dancing a little too vigorously at
present, and she closed her eyes again to try to gain respite from the
spinning. No good, even the lights that danced behind her closed eyelids spun
in a way that made her want to-
Opening her eyes wide regardless of the pain and dizziness, and moving swiftly
despite the pain from her protesting stomach and ribs, Mildred turned onto her
side and leaned over the bed. Rush matting lay at the side, on a packed earth
floor that was remarkably flat and dry& though dry for not much longer, as the
spasm in her gut reached its conclusion and she retched heavily, vomiting bile
and seawater that splattered onto the matting.
Feeling a sweat break out at the effort, she reached down into her guts and
willed herself to vomit again. If she expelled it all in one spasm, then she
may be able to settle and regain her equilibrium. Once more, she splattered
the rush matting, but this time with less force. Feeling the aching muscles
begin to lose the force of the spasm, she spit the sour taste from her mouth
and
returned to her position on her back, breathing heavily. She had closed her
eyes to stop the room spinning as she moved once more, and was surprised- but
too weakened to protest-when she felt her head gently lifted and a wooden cup
pressed to her lips. The water in the cup felt cool and sweet as she sipped
it. Her throat cried for more and she tried to gulp, realizing how dehydrated
she had become. But the cup was taken away.
Mildred opened her eyes once more, holding her breath as the room spun then
slowed so that she could see who had given her the water. The woman leaning
over her was, she figured, about the same age as herself, with lines at the
corners of her large, hazel-brown eyes that creased the skin deeply. Her skin
was darker than Mildred's, almost mahogany in the dim light of the lamp.
Her full mouth was also lined at the corners, the lines being up rather than
down, laughter rather than frown lines. Her nose was pierced with a single
diamond stud on the right side. Despite the darkness of her skin, she was
finer boned than
Mildred would have expected, with high cheekbones that came to a logical point
in a chin that, on any other face, would have seemed pointed. She reminded
Mildred of the Abyssinian women she had met when a child, exiled from
Ethiopia in the early 1970s when Emperor Haile
Selassie had died, leaving the country in the grip of a military junta and a
continuing famine.
Certainly she didn't resemble the central and western Africans from whom the
majority of
African-Americans Mildred had ever known were descended.
And when she spoke, she had the gentlest, softest voice, like the tinkling of
a brook over smooth, worn stones.
"So, you will feel better for that. Nature is like this. That which does not
belong under the skin must eventually find a route from which to emerge, like
the burrowing of mammals that need to come into the light to feed and live."
Mildred tried to speak. At first a dry croak was all that emerged, but as she
swallowed, she regained the power to articulate and express herself.
"Is that how you'd put it? I don't think I would, frankly. How I'd put it is,
Where am I? Who are you? Where are the rest of my people? And not necessarily
in that order."
The woman looking over her laughed, a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]