The Liminal People Page 20

  “Has your time in London limited your scope of vision so severely that you can’t see the difference between control and love?” His rage radiates, turning not only the sea but also the sky red. But my table, my tea, and my mind stay the passive blue that I will always associate with the good times in Biya. “When I brought you to Suleiman, did you think I didn’t know his wife was having a hard time conceiving? Do you think I didn’t know he would love you for your minimal efforts and hence ease your transaction into the razor-necks? Do you think I don’t know how he still watches, forever concerned that you might take his position as my right-hand man? And do you think I don’t know how you do the same with him?”

  “I know how you used me, Nordeen,” I say, borrowing the technique Samantha taught me of speaking without judgment. “But I think in this one case, you didn’t realize how affected you would be by your tool. I know you started off wanting me to be your dog, your slave. But I think you’ve come to love me.” His gaze is intense. I have never seen him so enraged. But when I’m done with my cup of tea, I pour him another—and watch as once more he is utterly confused.

  “So be it.” He begins to walk away. “May your delusion dissipate enough for you to be a worthy opponent by the time my principals and powers come to fetch you and yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What? Child . . .” He stops, realizing the implication of his word choice. “I am declaring unholy war on you and yours.”

  “I know. But before the mayhem begins I just want to thank you, while I still can. For all that you gave me, all that you showed me, Nordeen. For your love. You’ve been more than a father to me than my own blood. You’re right. I wouldn’t have gotten the exposure to so much if it hadn’t been for you. I wish we could part under better terms. I didn’t come here for us to fight. I came so that I could tell you that I appreciated what you did for me. Most of it, anyway.”

  “You will not stay my hand with this sentimental—”

  “There’s no ploy in this, old man. I am actually not your enemy. I just no longer wish to be under your wing. You have to know what that feels like, to want to strike out on your own.” With spirit eyes, I close the distance between his yellow orbs and mine, and for a second I see nothing but questioning. I realize then he does not know what it means to be your own individual. He has always served someone else.

  “Stay out of Africa, Taggert!” He walks down spirit steps to the spirit beach as it slowly compromises between his violent crimson and my passive blues. As he gains distance, I still hear him clearly. “Tell your whore the next time she sees me she’d better have the protection of her god firmly established. Guard your children like a hawk and raise them well. If they wash up upon any of my beaches, they will not be returned.”

  I wake up. The day is new. Samantha wraps her powerful thighs around me. Her scent is intoxicating. But responsibility calls already. I’ve left the girls alone overnight. I call them. They’re making waffles. Tamara quips, “If the first shag is for secure contact, what’s the second time for?” I tell her I quit. She says so there’s no need for more sex. I hang up.

  “Who was that?” the miniature Ethiopian goddess asks.

  “My daughter.” We both smile at the sound of that. “I don’t think she likes you.”

  “It is not uncommon for a girl to be jealous of her father’s . . . paramours.” I nod. Over chocolate tea I tell Samantha about the entire conversation with Nordeen.

  “You were wrong about one thing,” I mention softly.

  “Only one?” She smiles, showing me brilliant teeth.

  “Nordeen did protect me. He showed me the world. This world, our world.”

  “There are better ways,” she starts.

  “But that was his way. Look, I’m not saying I’ll do the same for the girls, but when I had to get Tamara ready to fight, I trained her in hours. If not for Nordeen, I never would have been able to.”

  Samantha stands from her table and finds one of her special-blend joints to smoke.

  “There is more to this world than fighting.”

  “I agree, but—”

  “Then let us be happy that we agree on that, if nothing else,” she says, lighting her joint. Her inhale is deep.

  “I’ve offended you.”

  “Oh no, dear healer. Not at all. If I seemed distracted just now it’s because I’ve received a message from the herald of the new god.” She smiles and exhales an impossibly large puff. The smoke acts as a living thing, forsaking the rest of the world and circling my body.

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Never.” She winks. “I think I am supposed to meet your daughters.”

  “Tamara is my only . . .” And then I stop, realizing Nordeen made the same “mistake.” Biologically, Prentis is not my child, but if anyone knows how mutable and ultimately inconsequential biology is, it’s me. What matters is family. Alia was willing to rip London in two to make Tamara part of hers, and Tamara bisected herself—one part teenage girl, the other liminal killing machine—to avenge hers. Prentis would have been happy with her animal family had Alia not screwed it up. Samantha speaks of her religion as though it’s the ultimate family. Even Nordeen scoured the world, probably for centuries on end, trying to make sure his “family” was controllable. His only weakness was his love for me, his “son.”

  I’m the only one who’d given up on family. Maybe it was Mac, my mother, maybe even Yasmine, but somewhere along the line I’d simply allowed the dream of being in a stable and supportive community to collapse around me. Yet somehow, through no conscious effort of my own, I now have two “daughters” to care for, and a gorgeous Ethiopian woman who seems determined to join us for waffles at least.

  Nordeen is right. There is no way we can all stay under the radar in the coming storms. That’s the one thing he and Samantha seem to agree on. But I know that whatever comes, we’ll all be able to weather it better together than apart.

  About the Author

  Ayize Jama-Everett was born in 1974 and raised in Harlem, New York. Since then he has traveled extensively in Northern Africa, New Hampshire, and Northern California. He holds a Master’s in Clinical Psychology and a Master’s in Divinity. He teaches religion and psychology at Starr King School for the Ministry when he’s not working as a school therapist at the College Preparatory School. When not educating, studying, or beating himself up for not writing enough, he’s usually enjoying aged rums and practicing his aim.

  Since 2001, Small Beer Press, an independent publishing house, has published satisfying and surreal novels and short story collections by award-winning writers and exciting talents whose names you may never have heard, but whose work you’ll never be able to forget:

  Joan Aiken, The Monkey’s Wedding and Other Stories

  Poppy Z. Brite, Second Line: Two Short Novels of Love and Cooking in New Orleans

  Ted Chiang, Stories of Your Life and Others

  Georges-Olivier Chateaureynaud, A Life on Paper (trans. Edward Gauvin)

  John Crowley, Endless Things: A Novel of Ægypt

  John Crowley, The Chemical Wedding*

  Alan DeNiro, Skinny Dipping in the Lake of the Dead

  Hal Duncan, An A-Z of the Fantastic City*

  Carol Emshwiller, The Mount

  Carol Emshwiller, Report to the Men’s Club

  Carol Emshwiller, Carmen Dog: a novel

  Kelley Eskridge, Solitaire: a novel

  Karen Joy Fowler, What I Didn’t See and Other Stories

  Greer Gilman, Cloud & Ashes: Three Winter’s Tales

  Angélica Gorodischer, Kalpa Imperial (trans. Ursula K. Le Guin)

  Alasdair Gray, Old Men in Love: John Tunnock’s Posthumous Papers

  Elizabeth Hand, Errantry: Stories*

  Elizabeth Hand, Generation Loss

  Julia Holmes, Meeks: a novel

  Kij Johnson, At the Mouth of the River of Bees: Stories*

  John Kessel, The Baum Plan for Financial Independence

 
Kathe Koja, Under the Poppy: a novel

  Nancy Kress, The Fountain of Age: Stories*

  Ellen Kushner, The Privilege of the Sword

  Kelly Link, Stranger Things Happen; Trampoline (Editor); Magic for Beginners

  Karen Lord, Redemption in Indigo: a novel

  Laurie J. Marks, Fire Logic: a novel*

  Laurie J. Marks, Earth Logic: a novel*

  Laurie J. Marks, Water Logic: a novel

  Eduardo Jiménez Mayo and Chris Brown, eds., Three Messages and a Warning: Contemporary Mexican Short Stories*

  Vincent McCaffrey, Hound: a novel

  Vincent McCaffrey, A Slepyng Hound to Wake: a novel

  Maureen F. McHugh, Mothers & Other Monsters

  Maureen F. McHugh, After the Apocalypse

  Naomi Mitchison, Travel Light

  Benjamin Parzybok, Couch: a novel

  Benjamin Rosenbaum, The Ant King and Other Stories

  Geoff Ryman, The King’s Last Song: a novel

  Geoff Ryman, The Child Garden: a novel

  Geoff Ryman, Paradise Tales

  Geoff Ryman, Was: a novel*

  Geoff Ryman, The Unconquered Country*

  Sofia Samatar, A Stranger in Olondria*

  Delia Sherman & Christopher Barzak (Eds.), Interfictions 2

  Jennifer Stevenson, Trash Sex Magic: a novel

  Sean Stewart, Mockingbird: a novel

  Sean Stewart, Perfect Circle: a novel

  Ray Vukcevich, Meet Me in the Moon Room

  Kate Wilhelm, Storyteller

  Howard Waldrop, Howard Who?

  Big Mouth House Titles for Readers of All Ages

  Joan Aiken, The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories

  Holly Black, The Poison Eaters and Other Stories

  Lydia Millet, The Fires Beneath the Sea: a novel

  Lydia Millet, The Shimmers in the Night: a novel*

  Delia Sherman, The Freedom Maze: a novel

  *Forthcoming

  Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet

  A twice-yearly fiction &c. zine (“Tiny, but celebrated”—Washington Post) edited by Kelly Link & Gavin J. Grant publishing writers such as Carol Emshwiller, Karen Joy Fowler, David J. Schwartz, Molly Gloss, and many others. (The Best of LCRW is available from Del Rey.) A multitude of subscription options—including chocolate—are available on our website.

  Weightless Books

  Our DRM-free ebooks are available in multiple formats (along with many other titles from independent presses) from our ebooksite, weightlessbooks.com.

  Read excerpts, follow our trail, find out more at

  www.smallbeerpress.com