The Cinnamon Tree Read Free Page B

height. Then, as Father leaned forward to rise, Gabbin forestalled him. He took a step and lifted his spear. Senior Mother straightened sharply as Gabbin’s voice rang out through the compound.
    ‘Father,’ said Gabbin, ‘since Yola has lost her leg there are those who say no man will give you the money to make her his bride.’
    Yola heard him – everyone in the compound heard him – his voice was clear and very definite. A movement like a sudden wind swept through the gathering. Everyone had been taken by surprise, not least of all Father, who was caught still in the act of rising. They all knew that Yola’s life was ruined, that no one would give a price for a girl who could not dig, or work, or carry. They knew that her fate now was to grow old as a sort of perpetual aunt in the compound. But this wasn’t the moment to speak or even hint at such things. There was a confused movement; people were uncomfortable. Gabbin must be stopped, but how to do it? A delicious tingle ran down Yola’s back; something very special was happening. Father held up his hand, freezing the movements around the compound.
    ‘Go on, Gabbin.’ Father was now towering above him.
    In a clear, challenging voice, Gabbin said, ‘Father, when I am old enough, I will marry Yola. She will be my Senior Wife and my other wives will look after her.’
    Yola nearly exploded. She wanted to stop him, and at thesame time to hug him; he was breaking every taboo imaginable ! Had nobody told him? No boy could marry his first cousin, even as one of many wives. Then there was Sister Martha : she’d be horrified by the suggestion. The Catholic Church took a very serious view of men, even chiefs like Father, who had more than one wife. They had a name for it but she could not remember it. The compound was filled with a stunned silence . Yola was about to move forward when Sister Martha got up and addressed Father.
    ‘Chief Abonda, you have here the perfect little Christian!’ She turned to Gabbin, ‘You wouldn’t see your cousin stuck, would you, little man? I call that noble.’
    Then, to Gabbin’s obvious horror, she swept the terrified boy, spear and all, into her arms. Yola could imagine Gabbin’s face. He’d hardly ever seen a white woman before, let alone been hugged by one. Eventually, Sister Martha released him; he looked shaken for a moment then recovered his dignity manfully. Please don’t anyone laugh, Yola willed. A child clapped, the thin sound of small hands, then someone else took it up, and from there the clapping spread like fire in dry grass. Soon the whole compound was full of it. Not silly clapping, but real grown-up clapping. Gathering his dignity about him, Gabbin did an abrupt about-turn. For a split second, Yola’s eyes met his and suddenly she understood: Gabbin knew that he could never marry her, but he had risked looking foolish in order to give them all a lesson in manners. He wasn’t going to have people muttering against Yola.
    The clapping faded, Yola turned and found that Father was standing in front of her. He looked into her eyes and for a second their minds seemed to touch – yes, she realised, he understood about Gabbin, too.
    ‘People–’ he began but halted. ‘People of our tribe …’
    Suddenly, Yola realised he was fighting against uncontrollable laughter.
    ‘People, look on our daughter, Yola, witness that we welcome her back into our family.’
    At that he could get no further. Like a volcano erupting, he burst into laughter, shaking and mopping his eyes.
    ‘Gabbin,’ he roared, ‘we’ll make a chief of you yet.’
    For a moment, Yola was engulfed in the folds of his robes. ‘Well,’ he chuckled in her ear, ‘not all girls have an offer of marriage at thirteen. You’ll make me rich yet.’
    As he held her, the clapping changed to the happy roar of a party in full swing and, through and above the bellow of the ghetto blaster, Yola heard the shouts and yips of her friends. Father released her.