18
There comes a day when I take the nets and join Itzel, Ian’s wife, and other mothers with small children, and we walk to the sea to fish. It is a happy event. Bembe is learning to walk now and her cousins hold her hands so she can totter to the edge where waves lap at the sand.
We visit as we throw the nets.
“Ian becomes thin,” I tell Itzel.
Itzel sighs. “He and the shaman try and interrupt the signs to appease the gods, but it is hard without the guidance of his father.”
She looks around to make sure no one is listening. “Tu Yope struggles to understand the rituals and Ian grows impatient.” Her voice becomes even softer. “Your brother pierces his foreskin for the blood offering and the memory of it makes him moan in his sleep. All this and still the bean and squash vines wither.”
