So Much for Democracy (3 page)

“But…” I want to tell him that it's Gordo's fault. I promised Gordo I wouldn't tell about the planes, so I don't, but the unfairness tears at me. As we walk into the house, I try to catch Gordo's eye, but he refuses to look at me.

This is his fault, and he knows it.

FOUR

On Monday, Mom picks us up right after school and drives us home. She doesn't even come a little late like she usually does so that I can hang out with Thema. I slide into the back seat, behind her, where I don't have to look at her face.

“Good afternoon, Astrid,” she says, but I scowl and stare out the window for the whole drive home.

As we walk in the door, Mom says, “Anyone for an egg-salad sandwich?” but I storm up the stairs, pulling my uniform off as I go. We have some kind of eggs for lunch every day. Mom says eggs are the only things that are reliably available, but I'm sick of them. I never want to eat another egg-salad sandwich again. Plus the last thing I want is to sit at the table listening to Gordo and Mom chew.

I throw my uniform against the wall and count all the things I hate about being here. Number one is being grounded. That never happened at home, because at home, Mom wasn't watching our every move. We had freedom at home.

Number two is getting blamed for everything. Gordo's the one being stupid. All I'm doing is trying to watch out for him. It's his fault we got grounded.

Three, having to hide things from Mom. I hate doing that, but if she's going to be so paranoid, I'm going to have to.

Four is being stared at every time I leave the house.

Five, soldiers.

Six, when the power goes out—like now—and my room feels like a sauna.

Seven, Sister Mary's evil eye.

Eight, Bassam pulling my hair.

Nine, spiders, snakes and mosquitoes.

Ten, nasty-tasting malaria pills.

Eleven, having to boil water before we drink it.

I keep going until there are thirty-five things on my list. When I finally run out of things I hate about Ghana, I lie down and fall asleep.

Later in the afternoon, I take my book outside and pull a chair under a tree. I'm reading
The Dark is Rising
, one of my favorites—at least it was the first three times I read it. I've finished up to
The Grey King
in the series, and I can't wait to read
Silver on the Tree
, but we don't have it with us, and it's not like we can walk down to the store and buy a copy. We'll have to wait until Aunt Alice sends it in a care package. If she sends it. That's another thing for my list. Not being able to buy new books.

At least there's shade under the tree, and at least it's away from Mom, but it doesn't take me long to realize I can't read this book for a fourth time, so I put it down on the chair and walk around to the other side of the house to see what Gordo's up to. That's how bored I am.

The boys Gordo was playing with yesterday mill about under the laundry hanging on the line. There are five of them, all about Gordo's age, and they stand around barefoot with snotty noses and play stupid games like who can shoot a rock farthest with his slingshot and who can make the biggest splat on the pavement with his spit. It's gross, and if I had anything else to do, I would do it. Even seeing them makes me all mad again, because it's so unfair that Gordo has kids to boss around and I'm stuck on my own. I know these are just boys who live in huts along the street—they're not real friends from school—but still.

They're competing now to see who can jump farthest off the wall of the laundry area attached to the side of the house. Two of them already stand in place, one slightly farther out than the other, and they watch Gordo as he swings his arms back and forth before he leaps.

“Astrid, watch,” he says, and he pumps his arms way back and jumps.

“Aww,” he says when he doesn't go as far as either of the other boys, but he stands his ground. I half expect him to try and slide an inch or two past them, but he doesn't. Instead, he says something I don't understand.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“It's Kwame's turn.” He points to a boy climbing up onto the wall.

“Were you speaking Twi?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

I'm amazed. I've learned a few phrases in Twi, but only things like “hello” and “how are you.” Nothing like what Gordo said.

Kwame jumps and lands even closer to the house than Gordo. He crosses his arms and pouts. Then the next two boys take their turns. They're about to declare a winner when I say, “Wait—my turn” and clamber up onto the wall.

When I stand up on the wall, the boys stare at me like they've never seen a girl jump off a wall before. One of them is actually gaping at me. Well, they probably never
have
seen a girl jump off a wall before. Certainly not a white girl with a blond ponytail. I pump my arms back and forth, then leap as far as I can.

“Ha,” I say when I land a good foot farther than the boys.

“Oh, go away,” says Gordo, and he grabs the arm of the boy next to him and tugs. The boy glares at me, and I give him my ice-queen look until Gordo tugs at him again and all six of them run away.

Good riddance. Jumping off walls is kid stuff.

When the boys are gone, there's nothing to do but go back to my book under the tree. Thomas reaches the tree at the same time as I do. He slides down the trunk into a squat, picks up his whittling knife and turns on his shortwave radio. Thomas carves animals out of wood. Whenever he takes a break from gardening, I find him here with a knife in his hand.

“What are you making?” I ask.

He shaves away a tiny piece of wood from his carving, then hands the animal to me. It's a tiny giraffe. Its long neck curves with the bend of the wood, and its legs are as spindly and awkward as a newborn foal's.

“It's beautiful,” I say.

“It needs to be polished,” he says, taking it back from me. He runs his hand over the wood as if he can smooth its roughness that way.

“No. It's perfect how it is.”

He smiles when I say that but keeps rubbing at the wood.

“Will you make one for Piper?” I pick up another piece of wood lying next to the tree. This one is lighter and wider. He hasn't started carving it yet.

“A hippopotamus,” he says. “You can't break a hippo.”

I laugh. “Perfect,” I say. “What do you do with them all?”

“My wife Esi sells them at Makola market.”

I almost drop the piece of wood. Thomas has a wife?

“Really?” I ask, then blush. I shouldn't be surprised. Thomas is handsome and nice, and he's pretty old. Twenty-five at least. It makes sense that he's married. It's just that he spends all his time at our house. I've never thought about whether he has a family of his own.

“Really what?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

Abena bangs out the kitchen door with two mugs of tea in her hand. She offers one to Thomas. “Are you still grounded?” she asks, even though it's only been two days. Obviously, she doesn't know Mom. Being grounded could last forever.

“Yes,” I say.

“I bet your mom won't mind if you go shopping with Abena,” Thomas says.

“Where are you going?” I ask Abena.

“I have coupons for soap, so we'll go and get some later today,” she says. She takes a sip of her tea, then adds, “You can come if you want.”

Even though I want to go and do something, standing in line to buy soap sounds even more boring that staying here, so I say, “No, thank you” as politely as I can.

Abena and Thomas both laugh. Thomas gulps down his tea, hands Abena his mug and stretches. “Back to work,” he says, and both of them go off, leaving me sitting under the tree alone.

FIVE

Being grounded is driving us all crazy. Even Mom. I think she thought it would be good to have me and Gordo around all the time, but one night I overhear her and Dad talking and she uses words like
underfoot
and
moping
. What did you expect, Mom? It's been two weeks so far. When will this end?

It's not so bad for Gordo, because he goes outside and plays with his slingshot and watches spiders spin webs, and most days the kids from the street creep up the driveway into the yard without Mom noticing. But my friends live farther away, so I'd have to arrange for them to be driven over, and Mom always says no, not while I'm grounded.

Most of the time I sit outside under the tree and watch the clouds. I'm bored, bored, bored. Sometimes Thomas comes and sits with me when he takes his breaks. Right now he's whittling an elephant. Piper's hippo lies at his side. So far it has a head with a big mouth and tiny ears, and front shoulders and legs. The back hasn't been carved yet.

“I like Piper's hippo best,” I say, picking it up. The wood is still rough. “I like how fat it is.”

“Me too,” says Thomas. He chooses a scrap of sandpaper from a pile and rubs it up and down the elephant's back.

“Who's that for?” I ask.

“An American lady,” he says.

“What American lady? How does she know you make animals?”

“Just an American lady. She saw some of my animals at Esi's market stall and ordered this and a kingfisher.” He bends closer to his work as he rubs the sandpaper around the eyes until they become smooth and round.

“When will you finish Piper's hippo?” I ask.

“When I have some spare time,” he says.

“Can't you do it first? It's almost done.”

“I have to do these first,” he says.

“Why?”

Thomas lets the elephant fall into his lap. “Because the American lady is going to pay for these animals.”

Thomas's voice is gentle, but I blush all the same. I've never thought of paying him for the hippo. I don't know where to look, so I study my hands until Thomas picks up the elephant and sands it again.

“I'll finish the hippo soon, I promise,” he says. He lays the elephant down next to the hippo and stands up and stretches. “Do me a favor, Asteroid—take my teacup in to Abena? I need to get back to work,” he says.

When I nod he says, “Thanks” and walks away to the other side of the house. The elephant sits on a piece of cloth. Its eyes stare at me, and I stare back at them until I can't stand it anymore. I throw a handful of grass over the elephant's head and leave.

When I come back from taking in Thomas's teacup, Mom's sitting in the chair under the tree with Thomas's animals and tools beside her while Piper wanders around with a stick. Mom smiles as I come out of the house and says, “Astrid, will you keep an eye on Piper for a while, please? I'm going to the market for some fruit.” I want to say no, because I'm still so mad at Mom, but Piper grins her big grin and I say yes. It's better than sitting out here alone anyway.

After Mom leaves, Piper pokes her stick at flowers and dirt and little sandy mounds in the yard. After a while, she plops down and uses her hands to poke around instead.

I stare at the clouds and think about what Thomas said. Should I pay him for Piper's hippo? Even though I knew Esi sells Thomas's animals, I never really thought about Thomas making money from his animals. He already has a job gardening at our house. Why would he need to do both? It seems wrong to pay for the hippo. What if he's insulted if I offer to pay him? I'd have to ask Mom for some money. Maybe Thomas wouldn't like that.

Gordo limps around the house and plunks himself next to me under the tree.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

He stretches out his leg and shows me a scrape along his knee. “I fell,” he says. His fingers pick at the blood dried along the edges of the cut.

“Gordo!” I yank his fingers away. “You need to put some Mercurochrome on that.”

Piper shrieks. I leap to my feet, knocking over my chair. Piper is sitting in the grass, ants crawling all over her legs. Her mouth is open, but no noise comes out. Then she takes a breath and screams again.

I grab Piper and slap at the ants, brushing them off her legs.

“Put her in water,” calls Gordo. He's right. Water will wash the ants away. We run into the kitchen and plop Piper into the sink, then splash water over her legs. Piper reaches out to me, still screaming, and I wrap my arms around her. She digs her fingers into my hair. Tiny black dots float around the water.

I swallow hard and try to stay calm.

“Shhh,” I say to Piper through my tight throat. I stroke her arms and shoulders until her screaming slows to sobs, then wipe her hair out of her eyes. “It's okay, sweetie. The ants are gone.”

Piper gulps and snivels while Gordo and I wash her legs again, and then I pull her out of the sink. Her legs are covered in swollen red spots, each one an ant bite.

“I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry.” I cuddle her, and we rock back and forth until we both calm down. Gordo strokes Piper's hair and sings a little song to her.

When Mom comes home, I'm reading to Piper in her room. Mom's hair is loose and her face is all blotchy red. I figure Gordo's already told her what happened. Then I remember that I never made sure Gordo got the Mercurochrome.

“It happened so quickly. I didn't know,” I stammer.

Mom's eyebrows crease together and she says, “What happened?” And it turns out she
didn't
already know.

I tell her, and she listens with this funny scrunched look on her face, then sighs and sinks onto the bed.

“Come here, sweetie,” she says to Piper. She holds out her arms to let Piper crawl into them, and the two of them lean back against the wall. She strokes Piper's head, but her eyes have a faraway look in them, like she's thinking about home. I lean in to rest against her arm too, but she says, “Astrid, is this what's going to happen when I leave Piper with you?”

Her words make my breath catch in my throat, and I feel like I'm going to faint.