3.

“Wake up, Miisi,” his mother whispers. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Got to go.”

“Where?”

“The stench is unbearable.”

“Stench?”

“I hope it will atone.”

“Atone?”

“Are you an echo? I said get up, it’s not safe.”

“Why?”

“Your brother, Baale. I know the path he took.”

“But it’s night!”

“Shhh, you’ll be safe with me.”

“When the police catch you, they will take you away.”

“Did you hear the police coming?”

“I hear boots. Listen . . . they’re coming,” he whispers. “They must have heard you wake up, Mother. Hurry, run to bed.”

Miisi’s mother jumps back into her bed. She is shivering. “Tell them to go away,” her teeth chatter. “I won’t do it again.”

Miisi gets out of bed, goes to the door, opens it and calls out into the darkness: “Go away, she’s sleeping.” He closes the door and smiles at his mother even though it is pitch black in their bedroom and she can’t see his smile. “They’ve gone, Mother. They won’t touch you.”

“Thank you, Miisi. You’re the only one I trust.”

The shivering is subsiding. Her breathing is even. Miisi is falling asleep again.

“Miisi, do you smell it?”

Miisi pretends to be asleep.

He marvels at himself. He can speak and contain his mother’s impulse to flee, yet he is just a baby lying on his back in his basket crib looking at the woven handle.

A squeak, then the rustling of sheets. She is out of bed. She is getting dressed. Miisi should stop her but he cannot be bothered to wake up. He feels her hands seek his underarms. He is airborne. As she swings him onto her back, his arms and legs open in anticipation and grip her body. He should wake the family, but it is so cozy on her back. No doubt they will hear her leave. She has stepped out of the bedroom. One, two, three, four, five steps in the hallway. She unlatches the back door. Someone shouts, “She’s escaping. She’s got Miisi.”

Struggling at the door.

“Let me go.”

“Who left the key in the door?”

Strong hands wrench him off her back. He does not wake up. He is laid back in his bed. The house is quiet. Miisi is surprised that he did not wake up through it all. He must be dreaming. It does not make sense: dreaming when he is lying awake in a crib? Yet when he wakes, his mother is gone and there is a vast silence. No one talks to him about his mother. They think he is a baby. Yet, he sees everything. This bothers him. He wants to say, “You think I am a baby, that I don’t see what you do to my mother, but I do.” But when he speaks they smile at him and make gurgling sounds.

Bump, bumpy, bumping. Miisi wakes up. She’s escaped. He did not hear her wake up or swing him onto her back. It is all right. He loves sleeping with his arms and legs wrapped around her. He can feel her buttocks rise and fall rubbing against his own as she walks: it is reassuring. He will not open his eyes: the dark will be frightening. What if a bad animal attacks them? She stops, bends over slightly, and tosses him further up her back. She tightens the cloth tying him. “Sleep,” she whispers. But his left ear, pressed hard on her back, hears deep vibrations running up her spine when she says “sleep.” She cradles his bottom in her hands to support him.

Noises.

“Poor child. On her back all night.”

“Where were they this time?”

“On the river banks as usual.”

“What is it with her and Kiyira River? One day she will jump in.”

“The child should be moved out of her bedroom.”

“He won’t sleep anywhere else.”

Yanked.

Miisi moves from one set of hands to another. He does not open his eyes but he sees everything. His mother is struggling.

“Give me back my child.”

“Take the child away.”

“Give him back.”

“Ah ii . . . she’s bitten me.”

“Hold her tighter!”

Someone is running with him but Miisi turns and sees his mother’s face. There is blame in her eyes. Miisi shakes his head at her, “I didn’t call them.” Why does she blame him? Can’t she see he is just a baby? How could he have set them on her? “I was on your back all night,” he cries, but she looks right through him. They hold her hands and tie her. Someone says they should use a strong piece of cloth not a rope. Miisi tries to wiggle out of the hands holding him.

“Don’t tie her like that,” he shouts.

“He’s tired, poor child.”

“Leave her alone.”

“Oh, the baby smiled at me, did you see that?”

Miisi kicks, throws his body around, and sinks his gums into someone’s flesh. The person smiles and gurgles at him.

His mother cries.

He cries too.

They have brought his mother back from hospital already although they took her just a moment ago. She sleeps all day. Miisi has stolen her tiny red, yellow, blue, and green tablets. He sucks the sweet color off and spits the bitter white out. He is feeding his mother with a spoon even though he is a baby. When people see him, he expects them to marvel and say, “look, a baby is feeding his mother,” but they don’t, as if it is normal for a baby on his back in the crib to feed his mother. She has grown fat.