What Tears Us Apart. Deborah Cloyed

with a smile.

      “So I can finish the paperwork piling up, and later I can take you to the clinic. Would you like to go with me?”

      “Can’t wait,” Leda said. Was it her imagination or did Mary chuckle?

      Ita shut himself in his office and left Leda to star with Mary in a comedy skit. The older woman rambled off explanations to which Leda smiled and nodded and said, “I’m sorry I don’t understand a word,” to which Mary smiled and nodded and in Swahili said, Leda imagined, “I’m sorry I don’t understand a word.” Mainly Mary pointed at pots and rags and Leda had no idea if she wanted them cleaned, carried or filled with something.

      But by the end of three hours, Leda knew many things. For one, she knew the cooking never stopped. Ever. The breakfast pot got washed and put back on the stove to boil water for washing, then for the lunch stew. After that would come dinner, plus more boiled water for tea. Leda wondered where the water came from. It would be an awful lot of water to carry.

      Now, Leda knew that the house had four very important jugs that must always have water in them. Two waist-high jugs in the bathroom area contained water for bucket baths and flushing. In the kitchen, the one on the left was for general cooking and washing. The one on the right was smaller, and Mary made a big fuss over this one. “You, you, you,” she kept saying and pointing at Leda. After a rousing game of charades and bubbling noises, Leda figured out that one was boiled water for the tourist. One peek inside at the swirling sediment and Leda made a mental note to buy more bottled water when she went out with Ita.

      Pantomime can’t help but make for laughter, and it wasn’t long before Leda and Mary were fast friends. Mary got into it and it became a game. Leda even mimed her life back in America, drawing air pictures of the mountains and the ocean and the way Amadeus greeted her at the door. Mary watched Leda with amusement and Leda loved to watch her, too, so strong and capable, so sure. This was Leda’s favorite trait to discover in people, ease and calm, and was delighted to study it up close in Mary. Estella was a bundle of nervous tension, anxiety and impatience. Being around her mother was like tiptoeing through a cactus field.

      Mary’s fingers wrapped around ladles or cups or piled up the logs for the fire with force and grace. If Leda’s fingers were too slow or the logs were crossed wrong, Mary rearranged them with a “tsk” and preciseness that Leda adored. This is how we wash the boys’ clothes, make them look smart and clean, her strong hands said. This is how we keep the men fed and happy, her smile said. “Ita,” Mary said, and she straightened up her back, pretended to sit up straight in a chair. She spread out imaginary items—a cup of tea to the right, four stacks of paper lined up, just so. She jabbed at an imaginary calculator with a serious look carved into her face. She tapped a pretend pencil against her forehead.

      Their combined laughter continued until Ita stuck his head out the door and called, “What’s so funny?” making them laugh all the harder.

      A moment later, Ita stepped out of the office entirely. He looked at the two of them with a fresh smile and a warmth Leda was starting to crave like kids crave summer. “Ready?”

      The slum outside burst at Leda with clashing colors and sounds and smells. Ita took off at a brisk pace, and Leda scurried to keep up. The paths between houses were so narrow they barely fit two people, especially being divided down the middle by a ditch of wastewater. At times, Leda could stretch out her arms and touch both sides. In other spots, the path was soaked in slime and turned to slippery, splattering mud.

      Everywhere, beneath the houses and the stalls and the latrines, was the same red dirt mixed and packed together with every kind of trash: broken glass, plastic bags, rags of clothing, empty lighters, soiled cardboard, food wrappers and bits of wood and metal.

      Leda discreetly peeked into some of the homes that were open. Most of them looked to be one room, no more than eight feet by eight feet, filled to the brim with teakettles and buckets and clothes, plus people who jumped when they caught Leda looking. A dozen people slept in one house, it appeared.

      Intermittently, the narrow pathways opened up and a tiny store—a duka, Leda reminded herself—would appear. Soft drinks, candy, cigarettes, cooking oil—all were displayed on a stand like a desk.

      When they made it out onto a main road, wooden vendor booths lined the street as far as Leda could see, often two deep. Before them, on the ground, other vendors laid out their wares. Vegetables, clothing, electronics, phone cards, hair products, lotion, fried sweets—the assortment was mind-boggling. After a bit, the booths gave way to giant garbage piles that industrious children, goats and chickens hunted through.