Driss doesn’t work Mondays. He tried the radio, but there was no word of the drownings. No mention of any arrests. Two days later, he can still feel the water lapping against his ears and the pull of her song. The weight of her gaze. He tries to focus on the former and not the latter.
And that’s why he’s here at Ayub’s barbecue. Driss can’t stand the freshman and his fat wallet, but Karim’s here, too, and Driss needed the escape.
It felt like a good plan until Karim parked his bike.
“What’s wrong?” Karim asks as they cross down to where a throng of people have gathered. Smoke wafts from a grill, laughter rippling.
“I forgot that Ayub lives by the river,” Driss says, scanning the rocks. He spies a girl in red, but it’s not the Qandisa. They’re further upstream, too far from her haunt by that thicket of trees. The water here is shallow, not enough to submerge your feet, let alone drown a man.
Karim laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about the drownings.”
Five men in four days? Is that not worrisome?
“Nah,” Driss says with a laugh of his own, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Good,” Karim replies. “Now let’s eat. Not all of us have a personal chef.”
The heat is made bearable by the river. Ayub’s brother is there, fifteen and innocent as always. Passing around food, smiling too wide, too shy.Youness is one of the good ones, Driss thinks. The food is subpar, but Driss stays by Karim’s side, eating and chatting with people who give him a passing glance. He feels like a tree in front of a landmark, there only to take up space, only to contribute in the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide, nothing more.
It’s why he’s surprised when someone touches his shoulder.
Driss turns, Rubik’s Cube in one hand, half-empty can of Pepsi in the other, and the sounds of the midday party disappear because it’s her.
The Qandisa.
What is it like to feel ten years pass in an expectant silence that lasts seconds? He can tell you.
“You were not on the caged charabanc,” she says in a tone less suited to the time they’re in, and Driss forgets to breathe because he didn’t realize she could speak. As if she was meant to sing for eternity, as cursed as the men who approach her.
She’s looking at him, waiting for an answer.
Ah, right. The caged what?
The bus, he realizes.
How had she evenknownhe was riding the 4:15? He ignores the way his stomach flips at the fact that he was missed by someone other than his grandmother.
“No” is all he can say, a little stunned, and it takes everything in him not to look down at her hooves.I know what you are, Driss almost says, but something stops him. Some strange surge of compassion. Understanding.
She tilts her head, and Driss imagines she has claws and fangs. Her red silks flow like blood, her hair writhing shadows. He blinks the grisly image away, thinking of how she found him, as if she and the river share a bond. Just as it keeps her pinned to its bank, maybe it speaks its secrets to her, too.
“Why?” she wants to know.
“You tried to kill me,” Driss says with a surprised laugh. “You killed those men.”
“It is the price for what they have done.” She looks tothe water. She doesn’t look at all apologetic, and he falls in love with her a little more. “A girl exists, and man sees permission.”
“Until you teach him a lesson,” Driss says.
She turns in surprise, catching him off guard with her stare. It isn’t her beauty he’s drawn to as much as the loneliness in her eyes. The hope that sparks behind the guard. When the furrow in her brow finally smooths away, it’s for the ghost of a smile.
A knot loosens in his chest. Her smile reminds him of the rain. Something impossible, something he’d longed for without knowing if he’d ever see it.
“Yes,” she says. “That is what I do.”
“Ey, who’s this?”
Karim.Panic seizes the Qandisa’s face. She spins away, hurrying to the trees, her red silks wisps of an apparition before she disappears. The disappointment shooting through Driss’s gut is enough to make him grip his middle.
