Night in a Drum A Short Story by Emmanuel Sigauke I felt the
urge to just run into those arms, to enjoy the embrace while
it lasted. I wanted to beg for forgiveness, to tell him that
I didn’t mean to hurt myself. Maybe he would just give me a
warning. But what had looked like a smile turned out to be
something I could not name. My head spun the way it did when
I was in fear, but my body surprised me when it managed a
sharp reversal and a turn. Flight. This time I was running
towards somewhere. Everyone in
Mototi knew about kupotera; if an adult was beating a
child and the child just ran to someone’s house, the adult
was supposed to stop the chase. In fact, the adult was
supposed to forgive the child immediately and walk back
home, or if he entered the house too, it was just for the
purpose of greeting and joining the family for dinner or to
talk about the rains or the war. So I ran towards Chiombe’s
home. Chiombe, a respected man who sometimes worked in the
towns. I could not remember if he was one of the few men of
the village who had not joined the war and if he was home or
not. But I knew that running to his home and entering one of
his huts would be a safe refugee. Chiombe’s
wife, Mai Kundai, was cooking when I shot into the hut. She
sprung up, gasped and gathered her skirt tightly around her
legs, but let it go when she saw it was me. “Go play
outside! This is not a cave for hide-and-seek. Sva! Go! Do you–?” Then she frowned and jerked her head
backwards. I saw a shadow emerging from the door behind me
and my heart started racing. That shadow looked even angrier
than Mukoma. Mai Kundai stood open-mouthed. I turned to look
at the door and saw that Mukoma had just stepped in,
coasting to a halt. He started advancing, fists raised. Mai Kundai
jumped into action, planting herself between us. “Stay out of
this, woman!” said Mukoma, in a low, but shaking voice, as
if something was choking him. “But you are
in my house!” shouted Mai Kundai , who was known for not
tolerating nonsense from anyone. “Your house
has my prey!” Mukoma said. My stomach
growled and cramped. “Are you not
ashamed, such a grown man, storming in after a child apotera? How rude!” “Woman, I
don’t care who you are. I’m not your husband, and stop
talking to me like you want a good climb. I’m not the one
who sent your husband to the war, you hear me?” “What did you
say?” She was shaking now, her whole body. “Let me remind
you, mukuwasha, this is my house, and you see that
boiling sadza on the fire? I can empty the whole pot
on you.” She bent her head to the side, then gathered
herself up like a bird about to take off. “Out!” she said,
but Mukoma did not respond; then she looked at me, “Out
now—both of you!” That was the
wrong thing to say because something possessed Mukoma, who
pushed her aside, and reached out to grab me. When she
moved, I moved, making sure I remained behind her the whole
time. And Mukoma jumped in an attempt to catch me. His eyes
were red, his anger creating a sneer on his face. He thrust
himself forward, and Mai Kundai dodged, and for a moment we
seemed like we were inventing a dance, siki-nzve-e,
siki-nzve-e. Mai Kundai screamed, bringing Mukoma to a
standstill, but then the scream, too dry to be effective,
was short-lived. Mukoma advanced, but Mai Kundai turned her
back to the door, giving me the advantage of remaining
behind her on the exit side. Before Mukoma realized what was
happening, I shot out of the hut, and took off towards
Chigorira hill. I was
breathing in gasps, but my legs were telling me that
stopping would not be good. I ran and ran and ran, turned
and noticed Mukoma standing outside Chiombe’s hut, still
talking to Mai Kundai. I knew he was not done with me, that
I had just done something I would regret the rest of my
life, and with these thoughts I found myself entering Mai
Ranga’s compound, where a group of men sat around a fire,
drinking beer. They were loud, as if they were arguing about
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