Changer's Daughter (15 page)

“Yes?” Katsuhiro says, the word short and clipped.

“I am here to meet you on behalf of people who hope to do business with you.” The speaker’s accent is Nigerian.

For a moment Katsuhiro is crestfallen, believing that Anson has anticipated his little joke. This emotion vanishes when something small, cylindrical, and hard pokes into his upper back.

The porter comes trotting up, smiling: “This is your lucky day, mister. My own brother is driving a cab. He will take you into Lagos fast and safe and so cheap...”

His words dribble off into silence as he realizes that Katsuhiro has company.

“Go, boy,” says the man holding the gun.

If Katsuhiro had not been certain that the danger was real, the expression on his porter’s face as he suddenly flees into the crowd without even waiting for payment would have been warning enough.

That he could disarm the gunman, Katsuhiro is certain. That he could do so without harm coming to one of the people in the airport crowd is less certain. He has never been one to take war to civilians, so he replies mildly:

“Meeting with those who wish to do business would be interesting. I am here with business in mind.”

“Very wise. We have a limousine just a few meters down the curb to your right. If you will walk in that direction, I will make certain that your bag is taken after you.”

Katsuhiro turns his head slightly.

“I see the limousine,” he says, and walks.

None of the dark-featured and sweating throng who enviously watch him slip into the air-conditioned car realize that he has just saved their lives.

Shahrazad had expected the jackalopes to tell Frank about the eagle-puma and the Eyes, but one day passes and then two and nothing is said about it. The puppy decides that either the events had not been as important as she had thought or that Frank knows already. She stops vaguely dreading an encounter with him, keeps clear of the rocks where she had seen the Eyes, and falls into something of a routine.

The autumn days are slipping into winter now, sometimes overcast, sometimes, when the sun is out, warm and golden. Because the sun’s heat makes such a difference to her comfort, Shahrazad falls into a diurnal pattern. She rises near dawn (which isn’t so early now as it had been, something of a puzzle for her, as are the shorter evenings) and slips out one of the many door flaps to hunt for breakfast.

The Changer, she has discovered, will not let her go hungry, but he no longer brings her interesting food. If she does not hunt, her meal is hard, dry dog kibbles. Since she is forbidden table scraps, and knocking over the trash can is a major crime, she chooses to hunt.

Even in this, there are rules. Her presence in the barnyard upsets the quarter horses and domestic fowl. Their alarm inevitably brings either a unicorn, Tugger the horse, or sometimes, most embarrassingly of all, one of the athanor barnyard cats.

These are entities distinct from the Cats of Egypt, the sand-colored magical cabal who had attended the Lustrum Review and who are now—so she has gathered—residing with Lovern, making it possible (according to the cats who remain) for him to have any chance at all of getting his magical Academy up and running.

The king of the barnyard cats is a great golden tomcat called Stinky Joe. Most of Joe’s time seems to be spent asleep, sometimes curled on a horse blanket, sometimes rolled on his back in the straw as if he is trying to tan away a white spot on his stomach. However, he has a disconcerting talent for finding Shahrazad in the wrong and jumping squarely on the center of her back.

Even with her heavy winter coat, his claws hurt. His yowling brings his cohorts and whatever other athanor are in the vicinity. Just a couple such encounters had been enough to convince Shahrazad to stay away from the barnyard unless she is in the company of Frank MacDonald.

She notices that the Changer also makes the horses uneasy, even when he is in human form and takes comfort in the fact that he is apparently perceivable as a coyote even when he is not shaped like one.

Shahrazad’s favorite hunting ground—at least for breakfast—becomes the pastures. Feed from the horses’ mangers and water from the tanks attracts all manner of mice and small birds. Since the horses are regularly rotated, there is always a pasture not in use. Farther out, there are rabbit runs. Her jackalope escort never seems to care if she hunts their apparent kin, so she usually begins there, knowing that if she fails, mice are easier prey. As a last resort there are always kibbles.

After breakfast, sometimes she returns to the house, sometimes she ranges out to explore more of her domain. The Wanderer has departed, wandering presumably, and the Changer is often busy assisting Frank with some chore that goes more smoothly with two sets of hands.

Still, almost every day her father finds time to play with her, sometimes running with her, other times demonstrating a fine point of hunting. The three athanor dogs who reside with Frank occasionally deign to play with her, but she prefers being alone (or almost alone, for Hip and Hop follow her everywhere). The ranchlands are nothing new to the dogs, but to her they are a great adventure.

Even with all of this to fill her time, there is one ritual that Shahrazad never fails to perform. The time of day at which she performs it varies, but never the routine itself.

When both Frank and her father are busy elsewhere, Shahrazad sneaks into the ranch house. The jackalopes consider their duty done once she is back in the barnyard, so she is perfectly alone. Walking as softly as she can, the young coyote makes her way down a corridor that leads to a back section of the house. Here there is a thick door made from wide boards painted white. Behind it is a room that—she has found from investigating without—has no windows and no other door.

Shahrazad has never been in this room. The few times she had tried to slip in after Frank he has shooed her back. Still, she knows that something very important, something intimately associated with her, is behind that door.

So each day she sneaks to the door, stands on her hind legs, and tries to push it open. It never opens, but every day Shahrazad returns and tries once more.

If the young coyote could talk, she might try to explain the attraction of this door to her father or to Frank, but she cannot talk human; nor does the coyote language have the concepts she would need. Therefore, she cannot tell either the Changer or Frank how each night she dreams about this door and how in her dreams she pushes it open and lets out what lives inside.

6

Evil is a hill, everyone gets his own and speaks about someone else’s.

—African proverb

I
n the end, the family sleeps on the street that first night, and the night after that. When Aduke’s sister Yetunde calms down, she remembers that there is a place where the market women who come from outside of Monamona camp. These, of course, are those women who do not have family to take them in or friends to shelter them.

“Just like us,” Aduke says briskly. “That would be perfect. Iya Taiwo, can you finish preparing dinner—perhaps with one of my sister’s help? There is no need for us to go hungry. The landlord must give us time to pack. Perhaps we should insist on waiting until morning to leave.”

Taiwo’s mother accepts the paring knife that Aduke proffers.

“Send me Koko and she and I will finish dinner. Aduke, I do not think we should wait to leave until morning. I saw the eyes of our neighbors. Some were afraid, some were just greedy. If we stay, the one will stir up the others, and we may be chased away with nothing.”

Yetunde begins to lament again at this. Aduke thrusts a basket of laundry into her arms.

“Yetunde, start making bundles of clothing and smaller goods. Get some of the older children to help—work will steady them.”

Nodding, Yetunde starts giving orders, her hysteria vanishing. Aduke permits herself a smile; she knows her sister well. She is only weak when unfocused; focused she might well be the best of them all. It had been a pity she had chosen to marry so young and not to finish school.

Next, Aduke snags one of the older nieces by the arm.

“Fasina, your job will be taking care of those children too small to help with the packing. Don’t worry about the infants. They can stay with their mothers.”

The girl, eleven or twelve and, by the old way of seeing things, almost a woman, nods seriously. She gathers up a half dozen or so children and herds them into the hallway outside of the apartment. Within a few minutes, she has them singing alphabet and counting songs, their fear, at least, forgotten.

Now that something like order is restored, Aduke stands, finger flattening her nose (how, when she was younger, had she longed for that nose to be thin and narrow like that of an Englishwoman or even a Hausa!) as she plans. She feels the warmth of a human close by and finds Kehinde beside her.

“What are your orders for me, sister?” he asks, his tone playful but respect in his eyes.

Here, then, is a modern man!
Aduke thinks in surprise. Even her father would not have asked a woman for direction in a crisis. With a pang, she wishes that Taiwo were here. He would not ask for direction. He would take over, and she could go join the women making bundles and fussing quietly in the other rooms. She shakes the thought away as if it is a fly. Taiwo is not here, and she should be grateful that Kehinde is modern enough to work with a woman. Trying to speak with proper respect and yet keep certainty in her bearing, Aduke addresses him, her voice low, for she doesn’t want the other women to hear what she must say.

“We cannot take the furniture with us, brother. Yet if we leave it, the worst of our neighbors will steal it. We also must contact our sisters’ husbands so they will know where we are.”

Kehinde nods. He works as a private tutor and as a letter writer, so is often at home. Yetunde’s husband drives a lorry. He won’t be easy to find. Then there is Koko, Taiwo and Kehinde’s sister, and her husband. Taiwo, of course, must be notified by letter or perhaps by telephone.

“The furniture must come first,” Kehinde states, “as that can be stolen. Let us go together and speak with the landlord. Between us, we can play on his guilt and his greed and get something like a fair price.”

Aduke nods. Crossing to where the old mother is efficiently transforming the groceries into a meal, she tells her where they are going. Malomo reaches and pats her on the cheek.

“It was a lucky day for me when my son Taiwo brought you into the family, Aduke. You and Yetunde are good daughters to this household.”

Feeling her face warm, Aduke gives the older woman a quick embrace and hurries outside, stepping over the gathering of little children and down the stairs to the landlord’s apartment. Behind her, she hears Kehinde’s tread, firm and measured, counterpoint to the piping voices of the children as they sing a traditional song that Kehinde had taught them.

This, she realizes, is what Oya meant when she talked of being a mother, even without a child of her body. Only with that thought does Aduke realize that sometime in the chaos following Yetunde’s announcement Oya had vanished.