The Birds
The rains stopped two days ago. We’ve decided to leave the day after tomorrow at dawn. On this mild afternoon the sky is clear, but the leaves of the trees are drooping. The village is deserted; no one is to be seen on the highway.
I can hear Mam’Soko tottering along like a praying mantis. Her steps are getting slower and slower, and the tapping of her cane ever more irregular.
She’s at our door. She’s just come in. Without interrupting my writing, I nod to her to take a seat on the mat. She’s just now understood that we don’t wish to stay here even one more day. Her face is somber, filled with unease, as if she were wrestling with her chronic rheumatism. Her gaze has something disquieting about it. The old lady wants to say good-bye to us. But she’s pacing back and forth.
She’s right behind me.
“What are you doing? You haven’t been out since this morning,” she says.
I reply that I’m writing. She’s surprised, and she leans down with difficulty.
“What are you writing for? Oh, I get it, it’s your husband you’re writing to. Don’t worry, things will sort themselves out, marriage matters are always like that.”
She’s back on her feet now, and she’s about to go. I ask if I can rub ash on her feet. She replies in little more than a murmur.
“There’s no need, I’m fine.”
She takes Maribé by the hand and disappears into the orchard. I can see them from here. They’re sitting at the foot of the tree that the old lady likes to touch.
I have to organize my notebooks. Everything is in a mess around me. Torn pages. Pieces of lead from pencils I’ve broken while sharpening them with a knife.
Someone comes in. It’s Maribé. Without looking at her, I ask what the old lady said as they sat under the tree. She hesitates for some time before coming out with it.
“She told me that it makes her very sad to see us leave. She’s going to be left alone. She’s gotten used to us being here. It’ll be too much for her.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she take you all the way to the orchard if it was only for that? I’m certain she said something else to you that you’re not telling me!”
“She had a bad dream last night, a very bad dream.”
“What was it?”
“Birds.”
“Birds? What’s so special about birds?”
“They were black as can be, and they perched on the roof of the house where we’re staying.”
“Did she explain what that meant?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“She said that above all else I shouldn’t tell you. It might make you lose heart.”
The Horizon
I’ve never seen so many crows crossing the sky as this evening. They’re skimming over the rooftops in their funereal plumage. They take flight heavily, almost clumsily, as if they were coming out of a long hibernation. The trees in the vicinity have been invaded by these black birds. Some have landed on the ground, others on top of our house. I decide to leave my notebooks for a moment and go ask Mam’Soko about it.
Maribé stays at home.
I didn’t stay long. I’m back in my corner writing these lines. The old lady seemed strange to me. I can’t stop thinking about it. When I came to her door, I found it wide open. Inside, in the semidarkness I could see a thin body, half-naked, stretched out on her simple woven bed.
“Come in,” she said, as if she’d been expecting me.
“The village is full of crows!” I announced as I sat on the ground next to her bed.
“I know, it’s always like that.”
I got straight to the point: “You told Maribé that yesterday you had a dream of black birds.”
“I dreamed of those birds the day before my husband left for the other world. Of all the birds, crows are the only ones whose omens should be taken seriously. Something is about to come to Louboulou.”
“What are the omens?”
“Something is going to happen. That’s all I know. It’s a matter of when. The crows will remain in the village up until the moment it happens. I can’t tell you anything precisely. But watch out for the little one, because the way you’re going to take is long, very long, and I can’t see the horizon in front of you.”
I left the old lady chewing her tobacco.
Night has just fallen; another day will break, our last day here. Maribé asks if I want to eat something. I’m not hungry. I’m preoccupied by the crows cawing in the darkness.