“How’s Kujaguo?” Pêro asked.
Rafa briskly approached him and Jawoli before the kiln. “He’s all right. Made it through the night. Grandmother is tending him now.” Rafa climbed up to join Jawoli on the scaffold, relieving him of the sledgehammer, taking over breaking down the sealed kiln door.
Scalding air escaped from holes, and the men worked more carefully and slowly than usual as not to be burned by the hot air’s forceful exit. They removed the broken bits gingerly as if afraid the bricks were cursed and might somehow leap out and strike them.
Pêro watched as they hopped, staying light on their feet, and looked around as they worked.
Soon, a thick wall of heat exuded from the body of the kiln.
Pêro paced below. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. “Rafa.” Pêro stopped dead in his
