where the rock had dented it. An arrow of fear pierced Isa’s exhilaration, deflating her back into her sulky self. She lowered her foot and turned to see how far they had run. The Corsales’ garden was big enough to encompass a small field of maize and greens, which Isa glimpsed now through the tangle of mulberry bushes to her right, with their slight limbs and stained roots. She turned to look ahead. Another patch of green, the vegetable garden behind the servants’ quarters, was visible in the distance, just beyond the avocado tree with the old tyre swing. She really ought to go and tell Mama about the dog.
When Isa turned to inform Chanda of this with her most grown-up voice, she found herself surrounded by three other children. There was a boy who looked just like Chanda, and two younger girls, toddlers, who looked just like each other. Isa stared at them. She had never seen twins in person before. They stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, their bellies protruding like they were pretending to be pregnant. Isa sometimes played this game in the bath, pushing her belly out as far as it could go until her breath ran out. But this did not seem to be what the girls were doing. A picture of Cassava’s low stomach from last week flashed through Isa’s head. One of the girls was probing the inside of her cheeks with her tongue. The other was making stuttery noises.
Chanda apparently understood her because she replied in Nyanja, pointing at Isa and shaking her head. The boy looked at Isa, smiling broadly. He stepped forward and held out his hand, making the same upturned tray Isa had made for Doll’s goblets. Isa stepped back, unsure.
‘Bwela,’ Chanda implored. ‘Come. Come.’
She pointed to the servants’ quarters to show where Isa was meant to come. There was bluish smoke and the sound of splashing water coming from it. Isa relented.
* * *
The children walked together through the tall grass towards the building. It was squat and grey and had no door, just a gap in the facade for an entrance. There were no windows, either, just square holes drilled into the concrete for ventilation grilles. As they approached it, the boy ran around to the back shouting something. A young woman Isa had never seen before appeared from behind the quarters, carrying a metal pot, her wrists and hands wet. She wore a green chitenge wrapper and an old white t-shirt. Isa noticed immediately that the woman wasn’t wearing a bra: you could see the shape of her breasts and the dark outline of her nipples.
The woman smiled at Isa and waved, and called out, ‘Muli bwanji?’
Isa knew this greeting and replied in an automatic whisper, without smiling, ‘Bwino.’
When the woman reached Isa, she stretched her hand out to shake but didn’t bend at the knee or touch her right elbow with her left hand as blacks usually did. Halfway through the handshake, Isa realised that she was the one expected to curtsy. She hurried to bend her knees but they seemed to be locked and she managed only a jerky wobble. The woman lifted her nose imperiously. She turned to Chanda and demanded something. Chanda shrugged and ran up the three steps and into the quarters, dribbling a forced giggle behind her.
‘Ach,’ the woman said and sucked her teeth. As she headed back to the rear of the building to finish her washing, she gestured for Isa to follow Chanda inside.
Isa gingerly made her way up the steps and into the velvety darkness within. The concrete floor wasn’t dirty – it was polished to a slippery shine – but the dust on her bare feet rasped as she entered. There was a strong coppery smell of fried kapenta with a tinge of woodsmoke. As she pressed forward, the smell took on an acrid note that she dimly recognised as pee. It was so dark that she couldn’t see anything except the gold grid on the floor where sunlight had squeezed through the ventilation grille. The fuzzy squares seemed more radiant for having been through that concrete sieve. As she moved into the lattice of light, it travelled up her legs until it was glowing on her stomach. She raised her hand into the light and it made her palm glow like the orange street lamps on Independence Ave…
A chuckle from the corner interrupted her reverie. Isa looked around, concentrating on the darkness,