The Disappearing Sun

Chapter 3

The inversion of day to night has slowed the marching of time, or perhaps my distress over Masega's whereabouts have stretched each minute to seem like hours. I'm not sure how long I've been looking, rungu at the ready, but it must be nearing what would be dusk, because what day can last this long? There's nothing of her, not even footprints, despite my exhaustive struggles. Every rise and fall of my foot reverberates with tiredness, and each time I stoop to upturn a stone, the weight of the sky crashes onto my shoulders. If the hyenas came across me in this state, I doubt I'd muster the strength to look at them before I was torn apart.

I don't know where I am or how far I've wandered. Ever-widening circles around the hut morphed into a sweeping back-and-forth arc opposite the forest, but any telltale landmarks are out of sight, and I've become pathetically, hopelessly lost. The panic I harbored has dulled into a vague concern, as if my fatigue has sapped away even my most primal protective instinct.

Keep going, I think. She's out here somewhere.

I call for her, once, twice, thrice, then fall silent. It's futile, and I know it. If she was in earshot five steps ago, she'd be in earshot now. Even with her debilitating cough, I have no way to find her, and no way to even ensure that I'm going the right way.

I sink down onto the dirt and curl up, shivering from grief and cold. In my desperation, I forgot anything practical other than the rungu - and now I'm lying on the ground, not even a blanket to drive away the piercing chill of the breeze. I think of Masega, of the winter-cough, facing these same wretched conditions, and again my heart twists for her. If only I had the strength to go on....

I'm not sure how long I stay there, motivationless, unwilling and unable to continue. A horrible guilt soaks into me. If I found the knob faster, would she have been inside? If I hadn't left to look for Mama, could I have prevented this entire situation? There's more to this than me, but my heart can't stop crying it's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault.

I don't sleep, but rather slip into a murky, restless half-consciousness. Masega, Mama and I sit on the plains, reciting the fish song together, laughing and feasting on a gazelle - but the frigid night gathers just beyond, so close yet so distant, so real yet so untouchable. I jolt up and take five deep breaths. That can't happen. Not anymore.

In no way refreshed or reassured, I lean forward. Halfway hoping that the Sun returned while I drowsed, I peek out through almost-closed eyelids, but the savannah is still dark, still silent, and still menacing under the Moon's frosty glare.

Sighing, I pull myself to my feet. The darkness is disorienting after that vision of sunlight, and I stand completely still, allowing a moment to adjust. The rungu lies beside me, and I stretch down to grab it. I don't want to be caught out here and not be able to defend myself.

"Masega?" I try, hesitant, unsure of what could hear me so far from the hut. "Come out, Masega!"

The bushes sway, and I turn, not believing that

her. And I'm right: it's the tall, lanky silhouette of a man, with skin a darker ebony than the deep aubergine that encompasses my home. I pull the rungu into attack position, my pulse quickening. "Who are you?"

"I am the apothecary," he says in response, and as he draws closer I note how weak he looks, leaning on a knobbly walking stick and limping. He stops a few feet away and regards me. My grip on the rungu wavers.

"Have you seen my sister?" I demand.

The apothecary blinks, as if he doesn't understand my question, and then blinks again. He holds one hand out palm-up in a gesture of trust. I look back and forth from his hand to his face. On it is a knowing smile, albeit a feeble one. "Come with me," he invites, his voice rasping yet smooth like warm honey, and puts out the same hand out for me to take.