And so they go. The royal escort tell the mistress every morning how many more days leave before they reach Fasisi. Quartermoon done, a whole moon to come, if it is the will of the gods. This is what the mistress take with her. Silk cloth she is saving in a chest with four locks, and from a land where people keep worms in their hair that spin the thread. Sogolon see it once when the mistress open the chest and white and purple flutter out like it was going to fly away. Sogolon know from that one day, the greatest pleasure in the whole world will be to touch silk. And these things also, ukuru and aso oke cloth, indigo, a bottle of myrrh she oftentimes use on herself, leopard skins, a cow for beef, a lamb for mutton, gold nuggets that she take out on occasion and slip between her breasts, sighing because she still thinking again about not parting with them, and a monkey that used to amuse the master. This is who come with her. One of the twins, three from the Seven Wings that she pay for in silver, the royal escort leading the way, and Sogolon.
The mistress at the back of the caravan on cushions and rugs and skins and fur that even a woman like her could get lost in. Like a Bintuin tent. Fabric of every make running up the walls in patterns that say Gangatom, Luala Luala, the river people of Wakadishu, and more from above the sand sea. The perfume in the room so thick that it turn into a feeling. Two windows on both sides stay shut most of the day, but open for sunrise, sunset, or whenever the mistress feel there is no dust. The mistress don’t eat much, certainly not much of what the twin cook at night by the fire they make. She nibble the dry meats and fruits that the cook give Sogolon to serve her, but many a time she just drink wine. Sometimes she talk to the master in her sleep, and ask why his cock is sticking out farther than the beam bursting out of his chest. The only other thing she do is look at Sogolon. Every single time she turn to look at the mistress, by the time she see her apart from all the fabrics and furs, the mistress is long looking at her. Sogolon don’t know what to take her face to mean. Looking like she know this girl is the cause of her sorrow, even if she don’t know how. Because of that, Sogolon don’t fall asleep since they set out. She lie on her side, at the far end of the caravan, behind curtains that the mistress told her not to draw. At her back, a stone with many edges jagged, and meant to prick her if she fall over asleep, which she do sometimes in the day. The mistress look at her like she notice. What you afraid will happen if you fall asleep, that the sleep will set your tongue loose? That wicked tongue, living inside you but never truly obedient. What is it waiting to tell me, deceitful girl? Sogolon turn away from answering, until she realize that all this talking is passing in her head.
* * *
—
Third night of the third quartermoon. By light of lamp she see the mistress staring at her again. The mistress not in any mood to talk to this foundling, but still want her wishes known. Sogolon open a cupboard just as the caravan fall into a rut, which throw her and the contents to the side. She hear the twin curse and the escort laugh. She put the food back in the cupboard and take a wineskin over to the mistress, who all this time never stop looking at her. Annoyed now, most surely, but still not thinking she worth the labor of a good scold. Sogolon walk over to the mistress, bracing herself against the bumpy ride until she get to her. She about to present the wineskin, when she see that though the mistress eyes wide open she deep in sleep. Miss Azora had a word for this kind of thing. A god watching what you do at night will take over somebody’s sleep, and use their eye as a window. The next day the mistress say, “Is a trick. Must be.”
“Mistress?”
“All of this, sending for the banished one. Is a trick to embarrass me. You don’t know her ways. The King Sister, fool. Or Princess Jeleza, I don’t even know what she call herself. Royal born mean royal in their pettiness. And the gods know that it not beyond her to have me travel for so many days just to make me the joke of court.”
“Then why you want to go so bad, Mistress?”
“What? How dare this little girl think she can ask me such questions? Intolerable. That is the word, intolerable. I should have you flogged.”
“Beg pardon, Mistress.”
“Yes, you should beg. Not that begging ever got me a damn thing.”
She look at Sogolon plain, like she just noticing her in the space. “I really should have sent you to a fatting house, so you could become an accomplished woman. Some dancing, some embroidery, even a little bit about child-rearing, instead of all this rawness.”
“Mistress?”
“Girl, you tire me, go ride outside.”
Sogolon can’t even pretend she sad about it. The escort take off half the burden on his second horse and let Sogolon climb up. This horse tie to the escort so there is nothing for Sogolon to do, but this is still the first time she on this beast. She adding up all the things that she feel once and want to again. Sinking into silk, riding a horse, thinking she is free.
They stop in open space, almost like sand, with no trees, and in the night the cold turn bitter. Still Sogolon now sleep under two blankets in the open with the other men. Each day nearer to Fasisi, the mistress get more and more excited. Fasisi not like most places in the North, with every custom tie up in the nobility of the man. Women keep their wealth when they marry in Fasisi, and the power that come with it. Even the King, when he chooses to become a god and join the royal ancestors, pass the crown to the firstborn male from his oldest sister’s house. Maybe this why the mistress seem to miss Fasisi even more than the master did, why she had been hungrier to return. But she still wonder out loud why they was summoned back at all. The mistress say more than once that surely the King and Queen didn’t invite them only to hear the master’s dull mouth. Sogolon don’t know how much burden any of this carry. Or which is worse, a secret or a lie, and if a secret is hiding enough of the truth that we see a different story, is that not lying too? The mistress banish her to sleep with men and insects, but she still feel sorry for the mistress, and rebuke herself for thinking she can pity anybody.