Fana did not answer aloud this time, except to continue her near-silent sobs. Jessica wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shuddering frame, closing her eyes.
“We are not witches. You are not a witch. You’re just a very powerful child. People are afraid of power. They’re even more afraid of what they don’t understand. And since there aren’t many people like us, how can they understand us?”
“How come we’re diff’rent?”
“Our blood makes us different.”
“What’s in our blood, Mommy?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
All I know is I that I never get sick. Wounds vanish overnight.
The voice in Jessica’s head, this time, was David’s. Rocking Fana, Jessica, eyes still closed, could see her husband’s piercingly beautiful brown face as though he were in the room with her. As if he had never left. As if she had never sent him away.
And Fana knew it. “Daddy had it, too?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about my daddy.”
Fana rarely asked to hear about her father, and Jessica had never felt prepared to discuss him. What could she say? That she hadn’t been able to forgive him for building her a normal, happy life she’d cherished, systematically destroying it, and then turning her, and her unborn child, into creatures beyond human understanding?
“He gave me his blood when you were in my belly, so we both got it from him. Like you, and like me, if he drowned in a bathtub, he would wake up in a few hours as good as new.”
“You’re mad at him, Mommy?”
“Yes,” Jessica answered, not thinking first because the question caught her off-guard.
“That’s why you made him go ’way? When he came to our house?”
South Africa! Could Fana really remember that visit from David when she’d been only eighteen months old, still wearing diapers? As far as Jessica knew, Fana hadn’t even seen David that day. Or was Fana borrowing her memories? Jessica’s heart tripped. She certainly hadn’t expected to have to explain this to their daughter so soon.
“Yes, Fana, I did send him away. I blamed him for something that happened to Kira, even though he didn’t mean for it to happen. But he wouldn’t have stayed with us to be your daddy even if he’d had the choice. Your father and the other people like him, the people with our blood, don’t believe anyone else should know. They don’t believe the blood should be used to help people. Your father only gave it to me because he didn’t want me to die, just like him. He used a special ritual, a ritual I don’t understand, to make us like him.”
At this, Fana pulled slightly away. She gazed up at Jessica with wide, clear eyes. “Are there a lot of them, Mommy? The blood people?”
“About sixty, he said. They live in a colony all by themselves.”
“Children, too?” The eagerness in Fana’s voice tugged at Jessica’s heart.
“No children. No women either. All of them are men.”
Fana’s face soured. “No children . . . in the whole world?”
Silently, Jessica shook her head. There was no way to avoid the truth, which was the last thing any child wanted to hear. “Darling, there’s no one else like you. Remember how you drowned in the tub? Well, David put me to sleep, too, then he gave me the blood to wake me up. But we didn’t know you were already in my tummy. And when the blood woke me up, it woke you up, too. It made you into something completely different. I think that’s why you can heal so much faster than I can, and I think that’s why you can do what you did to Moses. You’re more special than anyone else there is.”
Fana’s voice grew guarded. “And, Mommy . . . I can do other things, too. Like . . . that day with Moses . . . I made it rain. Not for long. Just a little. To show him.”
So, Alex had been right about the rain, Jessica realized with awe. Her heart fluttered, then steadied itself into strong, pulsing beats. “How did you do that?”
“I went up to the sky, right? Not for real, but . . .” Fana paused, searching for words.
“In your imagination?”
Fana’s face lit up. “Yeah! For pretend. Then I pulled on the air an’ made a cloud. And it rained on top of the tree! But the rain scared Moses. He called me a witch. He was scared, Mommy. He’s not brave like he said.”
Jessica ignored the numbness sweeping its way through her bloodstream, to the soft core of her bones. She couldn’t pay attention to the flailing of her rationality, which wanted her to flee from the room. Fana had made it rain!
“Have you always been able to do that?”
Fana shook her head. “Uh-uh. Only one time. Don’t be scared of me, Mommy,” Fana suddenly implored her, as if she’d felt a surge of fear in the air.
“I’m not scared, honey, I’m just very surprised. Surprise and fear might seem the same to you, but they’re not. Tell me what else you can do.”
Fana seemed to consider what she should say, then went on, “Moses had a trick. He put a marble behind his back, then . . . he told people I did’n know what the marble looked like. But I could see it, like, in my head. So I knew. People gave us money when I said the right color. Moses bought me candy!”
“Unh-hnh,” Jessica said, deciphering that Moses had long ago figured out how to capitalize on Fana’s gifts for street bets. Moses was a shrewd kid. Considering how his family struggled, she’d wondered how he’d been able to spend so much money on Fana, buying her candy, sweet drinks, and fresh fruit at the market every time he took her to Serowe. “What else?”
“Things happen when I don’t mean it. Like, ’member I was mad at Sarah when she cooked the chicken? Well . . . my book fell down on her foot, all by itself . . . an’ she said ‘Ow!’ ’cause her toe hurt. But I did’n know it would happen, Mommy. An’ before that, this man slipped on the ladder. He thought you were pretty. In his head he took off your clothes an’ he was kissing you an’ I knew you wouldn’t like that, Mommy, right?”
“What man?” Jessica asked, stunned.
“A long time ago. He fixed the roof.”
“Lord have mercy,” Jessica muttered. That old, gap-toothed laborer from Serowe must have been old enough to be her father. Wait until Alex heard that one. And, yes, now that Jessica thought about him, she remembered seeing him lose his footing on his stepladder, how he’d had to grab at the rung above his head with all his might to swing himself steady, and the sheepish, half-frightened grin he’d given her afterward. If he’d fallen from that height, he’d have bruised much more than his ego. Did Fana just admit she’d nearly made that man topple over because he was having a sexual fantasy about Jessica, or had he just made a coincidental misstep at the instant Fana saw what was in his thoughts?
“I dunno if it’s me or not,” Fana went on, as though Jessica had voiced the question aloud. “Like, when Moses went to sleep, I did’n know it was me. I shook him, but he would’n wake up. Then I ’membered how I got mad when he called me a witch, an’ I thought ‘Off with his head.’ An’ maybe that’s why he went to sleep.”
Well, thank you, Lord, Jessica thought. Thank goodness Fana hadn’t killed him.
“Mommy, I did’n wanna hurt him,” Fana said quickly, sincerity quivering her voice.
Jessica paused, confused. It had happened again. Had Fana literally read her thoughts, or was she just continuing her story? It would definitely be good to know. Jessica squinted and tried to convey her thoughts with as much concentration as she could: Fana, can you hear this? Can you hear me thinking these words to you?
Fana looked up at her blankly. “What’s wrong with your eyes, Mommy?”
Jessica smiled. Thank goodness for small favors, she thought. “I’m trying to understand how your head works. Could you hear what I was thinking just now?”
“You’re worried ’bout Moses.”
“But what words was I thinking?”
Fana simply shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t hear words ’cept sometimes, a little bit. I jus’ know like when people are scared or happy or sad.”
/> “You know what people are feeling, then.”
“Uh-huh. I can smell it. Or it jus’ comes to my head.”
“Have you always been able to do that?”
“Uh-huh, I think so. But I can do more now.”
“Since when?”
“Since . . . when I was in the tub.”
For the first time in nearly a minute, Jessica allowed herself to exhale and gather her thoughts. She’d known that, too, somehow, hadn’t she?
“What happened when you drowned, Fana?”
Now, for the first time, Jessica sensed that her daughter was weighing whether or not to divulge information. Fana’s hesitation was naked on her face as her lips parted and her eyes drifted beyond Jessica’s shoulder.
“Does it have something to do with your trances?” Jessica prompted gently.
Fana nodded. “That’s when The Man calls me,” she said softly.
The phrase The Man woke up the terror that had been trying to claw into Jessica’s reason ever since Fana had appeared in the bedroom doorway with her confession about Moses. It was one thing to accept that Fana had powers of some sort, but another to consider that an outsider had some influence over her life. “What man?”
“He’s not scary, Mommy. He’s nice. He talks to me. He gave me a new name.”
An imaginary friend, Jessica’s mind spat out at her, relieved. Fana’s unconscious might be helping her cope with ideas she couldn’t understand by giving her thoughts a physical form, a guide of some sort. That was all, like when Kira used to blame someone she called Sally whenever crayon scribbling turned up on the wall or a page was torn out of a book. Nobody’s playing with your daughter’s mind, Jessica reassured herself.
“Why did you need a new name?”
“Because he said I’m a princess, an’ I’m strong. Fana is a strong name.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“I think so, but . . . I can’t ’member everything. Just my name.”
“Did he help you put Moses to sleep?” Jessica figured if Fana had some kind of imaginary alter ego, she could enlist him to teach her daughter how to control her impulses. She could tell her that The Man was not always her friend and warn her he wanted her to do naughty things.
Firmly, Fana shook her head. “Unh-unh. I did that by myself.”
“Are you sure, Fana?”
Fana bit her lip and nodded, her eyes lowering with a guilty wince.
Jessica sighed. Damn, damn, damn. She barely even knew where to begin. How could she train Fana not to hurt people when she didn’t seem to always have conscious control? Pondering that question, Jessica felt a rising sense of helplessness.
There was so much to learn about this child. So, so much. Jessica realized she should have started trying to learn about Fana a long time ago, instead of accepting her strange gifts as a harmless novelty. If she had, maybe the incident with Moses could have been avoided. And what if something worse had happened? Her failure to explore painful possibilities had already cost her enough, once. In fact, it had cost her everything.
Jessica stroked Fana’s hair, tugging slightly at the ends of her long plaits. “Let’s talk about Moses now, okay?” she said quietly.
“I did a bad thing.”
“Yes. Very.”
“I shouldn’t’ve been mad he called me a witch, right?”
“That’s true. But that’s not why it was bad. We all have a right to get mad sometimes.”
“Then why?”
“The same reason it would be bad for a grown-up person to kick a smaller person, Fana. You have powers other people don’t have. That power also gives you a responsibility. One day, you and I are going to do wonderful things together. We already do some pretty wonderful things here, don’t we?”
Fana nodded.
Jessica went on, “That’s right. But God didn’t give us this power to hurt people with it. So you’re going to make me some promises right now. First, you’re going to promise that Moses will wake up right away, and that he’s going to be well. And even though you’re going to be extra nice to him to show him you’re sorry, you can’t ever tell him what you did. Not ever. And you’re not going to let him see you make it rain. And you two are going to stop playing tricks with colored marbles. For good.”
“But—” Fana started to protest, then her voice broke off. “Okay. Promise.”
“And the second promise is even more important, Fana,” Jessica said, cupping her daughter’s smooth chin in her palm. Jessica bore into her eyes as if it were she, not Fana, who could read another person’s thoughts. “Promise me, right now, that you will never use your mind to hurt anyone else. You’re not going to abuse what God has given you. Not just because it’s wrong—but because hurting people has a price. Do you feel good about what you did to Moses?” Blinking away new tears, Fana shook her head as much as Jessica’s grasp allowed. “Well, just imagine how you’d feel if you did something worse. You wouldn’t be Fana anymore, sweetheart. You’d turn into someone else, someone you won’t like at all. Believe me, I’ve seen it, so I know—it will change you. So, promise. You will never again hurt anyone. Promise me, Fana.”
“Did my daddy hurt people?” Fana whispered, knowing.
Jessica could almost feel Fana’s probing, and she resisted, this time. They weren’t talking about David now. Jessica tightened her fingers around her daughter’s chin. “I said to promise me, young lady, and I meant it.”
“I promise, Mommy.”
“Then say it. Say what you’re promising.”
“I promise I won’t hurt people. Or put them asleep.”
What did Jessica see in those eyes? Sadness, shame, even a little fear. No guile. None. Maybe, God help her, Fana really meant it.
“Mommy, I’m gonna be sooo good,” Fana said, suddenly sounding cheerful. “You’ll be happy like before. I’ll help you be happy. Okay?”
“Good. I’d like that.” Jessica relaxed her grip with a small smile. But she realized Fana probably knew perfectly well what really lay in her mind: There was no such thing as Before, not anymore. There was only now, and the infinite years stretching ahead in both their lives.
Happiness, Jessica figured, was nothing to her but a memory. And for her own peace of mind, if she was going to face whatever was ahead for her and Fana, she’d better learn to put that memory to rest.
8
Even with her window closed, Jessica could hear the celebration fully under way in the backyard. Alex had taken her portable CD player outside, and the cheerful guitar riffs and brass flourishes from her sister’s African-music collection were playing at full volume: the Bhundu Boys from Zimbabwe, Baaba Maal from Senegal, township jive from South Africa, and the more subdued sounds of Ladysmith Black Mambazo and the Soweto String Quartet, the music Alex had embraced with fervor since they had left the States. When Jessica gazed outside through her open bedroom curtains, she saw a dozen children and adults bundled in layers of sweaters laughing and dancing in the grass, their feet stirring up wisps of dust. She smiled when she saw Moses twirling Fana in a silhouette against the setting sun. Fana shrieked with glee.
Jessica hated the part of herself that was thinking, Please don’t let anyone step on her foot and make her cry. Please don’t let anyone piss her off. But she couldn’t help it. As much as she wanted to relax, Jessica could feel tension locking across her shoulders as she watched Fana dancing with Moses.
Immediately noticing her mother was there, Fana turned to wave at Jessica over her shoulder. Jessica waved back and blew a kiss at her daughter, whose features were shadowed and obscured in the bright orange dusk light. Come outside, Fana motioned with her hand. Jessica shook her head no, flipping her wrist to encourage Fana to keep playing. Eager to show off for her audience, Fana grabbed Moses’s hands to whirl faster.
It’s okay, Jessica told herself. Everything’s fine.
The braii—the local word for barbecue—had been Alex’s idea. Since their family was to blame for Moses
’s illness, Alex had reasoned, they should buy one of his father’s goats, have it slaughtered, and invite the village to the celebration of Moses’s recovery. Frankly, a party had been the last thing on Jessica’s mind. Oh, she was relieved Moses was healthy again, but that was only the first problem. Now, their only priority was Fana. She’d told Alex she wanted to sit down and seriously map out all of the implications of Fana’s gifts and brainstorm on how to control her. Alex had agreed, but insisted on hosting a party first. “Girl, please. I feel overloaded, and I need to breathe,” she’d told Jessica, pleading. “Fana will behave today.”
Through the window, Jessica was both amused and envious to see how easily her sister had learned to fit in with the villagers; Moses’s brother Luck was schooling her on a dance step, his thin hips whirling, and Alex was following the energetic teenager’s lead with her head thrown back in midlaugh. Sarah, watching, clapped her approval as her own hips swayed instinctively to the beat. The scene reminded Jessica of the times David had taken her to salsa clubs in Miami, when she’d witnessed the way the Cuban club-goers radiated so much joy as they danced to the African-inspired rhythms of their own homeland.
Home. The word cleaved itself to Jessica’s consciousness. Welcome home, a South African man had told her kindly, squeezing her hand in greeting soon after her family’s arrival in Johannesburg years before. He’d apparently noticed she was American from her dress and accent. At the time, the unexpected words had brought Jessica to tears. She’d been touched by the man’s sense of brotherhood, but his words had filled her with grief over what she’d left behind. How could anyone meet her when her life was in turmoil, when she was a stranger in a strange place, and claim that she was home?
But that was then. Did she dare hope she’d actually found another home at last—
Suddenly, Jessica stepped away from the window, struck by severe dizziness that made her press her fingertips hard against her temples. Her stomach curdled.