The Tuner of Silences Read Free Page A

erected, but had never got as far as working. All the other poles that had been stuck in the ground had turned into green shoots and were now trees with magnificent foliage. This particular pole was the only one standing there like a skeleton, solitary in the face of infinity. That pole, according to Ntunzi, wasn’t a post stuck in the ground: it was the mast of a ship that had lost its sea. That was why Ialways gave it a hug, as if seeking comfort from an old member of the family.
    I would linger by the river in far-ranging reveries. I would wait for my brother who, at the end of the afternoon, would come down to bathe. Ntunzi would strip off his clothes and stand there, defenceless, gazing at the water with exactly the same look of yearning as when I saw him contemplating the suitcase that he packed and unpacked every day. Once, he asked me:
    â€” Have you ever been under the water, sonny boy?
    I shook my head, aware that I didn’t understand the depth of his question.
    â€” Under the water —Ntunzi said, — you see things you’d just never imagine.
    I couldn’t decipher my brother’s words. But little by little, I got the idea: the most truly living thing in Jezoosalem was that nameless river. When it came down to it, the ban on tears and prayers had a purpose. My father wasn’t as unhinged as we thought. If we had to pray or weep, it was to be right there, on the riverbank, upon bended knee on the wet sand.
    â€” Father always says the world has died, doesn’t he? Ntunzi asked.
    â€” But Father says so many things.
    â€” It’s the opposite, Mwanito. It’s not the world that died. We’re the ones who died.
    I shivered. I felt a chill pass through me, from my soul to my flesh, and from my flesh to my skin. So was death itself the place where we lived?
    â€” Don’t say such a thing, Ntunzi. It scares me.
    â€” Well, get this into your head: we didn’t leave the world. We were pushed out, just like a thorn expelled by the body.
    His words pained me, as if life had skewered me, and in order to grow, I would have to prise its barb out of my body.
    â€” One day, I’ll tell you everything —Ntunzi drew the conversation to a close. But for now, wouldn’t my little brother like to take a look at the other side?
    â€” What other side?
    â€” You know, the other side: the world, Over There!
    I looked around me before answering. I was afraid our father might be watching us. I peeped up at the top of the hill, at the backs of the outbuildings. I feared Zachary might be passing by.
    â€” Go on, take your clothes off.
    â€” You’re not going to hurt me, are you, brother?
    I remembered he had once thrown me into the muddy waters of a pool and I’d got stuck, my feet tangled in the hidden roots of bulrushes.
    â€” Come with me —he beckoned.
    Ntunzi sank his feet in the mud and entered the river. He waded out until the water was up to his chest, and urged me to join him. I felt the current swirling around my body. Ntunzi gave me his hand, fearing I might be swept away by the waters.
    â€” Are we going to run away, brother? —I asked, trying to contain my enthusiasm.
    I couldn’t understand why it had never occurred to me before: the river was an open highway, a channel that had been cleaved without let or hindrance. Our escape was right there and we hadn’t been able to spot it. As my resolve grew stronger and stronger, I began to make plans out loud: who knows, maybe we should return to the riverbank and make a dugout? Yes, a little dugout would be enough for us to escape that prison and flow out into the wide world. I looked at Ntunzi, who remained impassive in the face of my daydreaming.
    â€” There’ll be no dugout. Never. So forget it.
    Had I by any chance forgotten the crocodiles and hippos that infested the river further down? And the rapids andwaterfalls, in a word, the countless dangers and traps that lay