“What?”
“Maybe you can learn to Wake?”
“Me?” Eyo’s body was a string pulled taut.
“It is a small chance,” Katulo said firmly. He did not want Eyo to get his hopes up.
“Can I try now?”
“No.”
“What better time is there to learn?”
Katulo laughed. “All right, you can try, but do not expect anything.”
“What do I do?”
“You were about to skin the rabbit. Go ahead.”
Eyo’s left eyebrow perked up.
“I am not trying to trick you. All Wakings need two things to make them happen. One is an action. The other is a memory. You cannot Wake anything you have not done. It is not enough just to have watched. I could not, for example, Wake a birth because I have never given birth. Do you remember the first time you skinned an animal?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it. Tell me everything you remember.”
“It was at my uncle’s farm. It was just a chicken. My brother lopped off its head with a machete. I knew chickens did not die immediately but it was something else to see it. It wriggled and flapped its wings. Blood poured out of its head; it should have been red but I remember it being dark—nearly black—and smelly. I wanted to run away but my brother was watching. He wanted me to run so he could laugh at me…” Eyo broke off. “Oh, I just realised. I plucked the chicken; it’s not like a rabbit.”
“It’s close enough. Think of as many details as you can about that chicken. Think of what the feathers felt like and how slippery the blood made your fingers. Remember what your saliva tasted like. Think of that moment as though you were reliving it, and as you do so, begin to skin the rabbit. It is hard to do but to Wake, your mind must be totally in the past and totally in the present. The old memories in the land want to live again but you have to be a conduit.”
It was hard for Katulo to try to describe what he did when Waking. So many things were happening in his body when he performed a ceremony that it was impossible to break them down. Katulo saw Eyo close his eyes in an effort to concentrate harder. “No. If you close your eyes you are blocking one of your senses and focusing too much on your memories. The present moment is just as important. You must see the rabbit in front of you and everything you are doing.
Eyo opened his eyes and the knife slit the rabbit’s throat. He cut a line across its abdomen. Katulo watched intently, and he felt with his other senses. He felt in the land for any shift. Of course it won’t happen, he warned himself. Eyo, stuck his finger into the rabbit’s lacerated belly and pulled, at the same time he pushed the blade right under the fur. Eyo continued through the motions of skinning and Katulo realised nothing was going to happen.
“It’s…” he began but then stopped. He felt a slight shift. Nothing large, but for a moment he felt a burst of nausea.
Eyo stopped. “I guess I can’t do it.”
“You just did,” Katulo said. He was winded.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not lying. You did it. I can’t believe it.”
“I didn’t see a ghost.”
“That comes much later. You Woke an echo of the revulsion either you or some other boy felt the first time that they skinned an animal. I could feel it.” He was now shouting with joy. He embraced Eyo hard. He had passed on every other skill he knew in one form or other, but he had never been able to find an apprentice for the most valuable. He realised now just how much he had underestimated Eyo because he had not seemed naturally bright. It took him longer to grasp simple concepts than other apprentices. Katulo had tested each for their capacities to Wake but he had not even considered testing Eyo.
Katulo began planning to cancel all other instruction for Eyo. Every lesson would now be about Waking. The rest could wait. Tomorrow, they could… And then Katulo stopped dreaming. Tomorrow he had a more important task. Tomorrow he had to try and use reason to stop violence from returning to Burundi. Harsh memories slipped back into his conscious mind. No, he thought, reaching forwards and taking the now skinned and skewered rabbit from Eyo. He thrust it into the fire. There was a spark and a sizzle. Right now, he decided, he would just celebrate; he would laugh and eat well with Eyo. Let all the pain and tears come tomorrow.
7
When they got back to the village, the first thing Katulo did was check on Chama. He still was not conscious, but his breathing was easier. He let Eyo sleep—the boy had found it difficult to sleep in the forest—and went looking for Osati. He expected him to be at the market. It was the place where most people would be gathered on a Saturday morning. When he reached the market kiosks, his theory was confirmed.
Osati stood on a makeshift podium of six upturned crates. He shouted loudly and his arm gestures punctuated his every word. “Too long we have been pushed down,” he yelled. There was a chorus of assent. Some listened to him as they shopped but most of the people stood still and listened closely. “Because of history we have stayed quiet. Over and over we are reminded of what our fathers did to their fathers as an excuse. They forget what their fathers did to ours. But why should I expect anything to be fair. That is childish of me. After all, there have been no free elections in twelve years. After all, the high positions of the government are all occupied by Hutus. After all, when there is a drought their families get relief while ours have to struggle.
“We have not always been weak and subjugated. We once had influence and Tutsi children could walk with pride. Our children…”
Osati continued on the theme of children for a few minutes and then ended by promising that a new future for Burundi could be shaped. There was clapping and chanting when he finished. Katulo had to admit Osati’s words were stirring. Osati walked through the crowd shaking hands. People looked at him with the reverence they would give a prophet.
When Osati saw Katulo he smiled. “I would not have expected to see you here. You’ve never come to see me speak before.”
“I didn’t want to encourage you.”
“You’ve finally given up hope that I’ll give it all up and decide to be a healer?”
“Maybe.”
“How is Chama?”
“He’s recovering. Not conscious yet.”
“I must apologise to you,” there was a fervour in Osati’s voice. “When I brought Chama to you, I was tired and angry. I did not treat you with respect.”
“I understand.”
“I have been angry with you for a long time. At the wedding, when you did the Waking, I realised part of me resented that you never could teach me that skill.”
“I pushed you too hard.”
“You were right when you said the wedding should go on,” Osati admitted. “We needed that beauty in this time of struggle.”
Katulo felt bothered by Osati’s use of the word “struggle”. His former apprentice fancied himself as a hero, leading Burundi boldly to a Third Revolution. “There are some things that I also have to admit you are right about,” Katulo conceded. “There have been no elections, and the government is mostly Hutu. You are right that changes are needed, but this is not the right way.”
“What way do you think this is?”
“Violence.”
“Did you hear me say one word about violence?”
“You were throwing stones in the city.”
“We hurt nobody. Chama is the one lying in your clinic.”
“I went to see Minister Kalé.”
“And what did he say?” Osati’s voice was rich with contempt.
“He will get the boys who attacked you to apologise publicly, if you apologise publicly for the vandalism.”