Uncontacted 2.0

Chapter 25 Katavia

Peter was angry andit jarred me. He had been distant since I had been here, but thisanger pummeled against my last memory of him in the forest.

I lowered myshaking left hand and closed my eyes as his voice washed over me,scraping me raw. He almost sounded like Tocoi now, except that he didnot put barbs in sentences that should have been soft.

"How will youlive, Katavia?" he asked, but did not want an answer. I did notgive one. There was none I could give with the tube in my mouth andthe weight still pressing on my chest.

Peter's footstepspaced around the room and the girl's voice picked at him again inPeter's language. The sounds were short and stunted as though theyhad been bitten off early and half-chewed.

Peterand the girl continued to argue, their voices rising, but hersfaster. She had a fire in her voice that relaxed me. My body pressedinto the soft bed and images played in my mind, re-enacting thosedays.

I did not know if Iwould live. How I would live was a distant promise. Until then, Iwould wrap myself in memories. My memories of the dry seasons were myfavorite and the last one held an intensity that made me shiver.

Thatwas the season I recognized my restlessness for what it was. The itchin my belly as the rainyseason waters started to recede had grown every cycle until I couldnot sit still. I walked to the nut tree daily though I knew it wastoo soon. The waters were still too high. I wold lose what I wasdoing and fall into memories, standing in the village garden staringat the sky or stopped on a forest trail looking at a leaf. My fingerstapped out a rhythm until Mama banished me from the hut.

"Getout before I smack you and those fingers," she'd said, throwing achunk of tarot root at me.

Ihadn't responded, just walked to the tree again. I climbed it as faras I could, shimmying up the bare trunk until I reached the leavestowering above the other trees and I was breathless. The tingling inmy legs and pattering of my heart were enough to compete with thedrumming in my belly. Soon. He would be here soon.

Thenhe was there waiting one morning, standing near the tree and my feetwent faster. He had grown.

"Youshould do something with your hair," I said, my smile big like thesky as I touched my fingers to my forehead in greeting. "It lookssloppy." It was nothing like the crisp edge to the hairstyles themen in my tribe had, that stretched all the way around their head ina blunt, level circle.

Hisshoulders did the up and down thing. "My people like this style."But he was looking at me and I don't know if he even knew what hesaid.

Ididn't know what I was saying. My lips were moving, but my thoughtsspun around. He is here. He is here. He is here.

"You'vegrown," he said, but he was much taller than anyone in my tribe. Hecould be a tree and I could sit in his shade forever.

"Iam a woman now. I've had my first blood," I said. The words spilledout and I cringed. I had saved the words, cradled them in my mind andpracticed them. We were supposed to be walking or looking at orchidsor something where my news fit, sliding into our conversation. Theywere not supposed to tumble out, garish and unexpected on our firstmeeting.

"Whatdoes that mean?" he asked, but his face turned red and the wordswere stiff.

Istared at my fingers, intertwined in front of me. "It means I amold enough to marry," I said. My mother and her sisters wouldchoose for me. It would be a match that would fit my station as thedaughter of the chieftess, probably a boy from another villagewanting to create an alliance with ours. I wondered if Peter'svillage would be interested in a political alliance. That boy wouldbecome a member of our village and I would not have to wait, wait,wait for him to visit.