Limbani.

The ferry crosses the river twice a day and the fare costs little. Chisomo paid it one night, when her brother was halfway through his set and the flat ground by the kiln was full, and went over to the other side on her own. She was back before he had finished. She told him one single thing: that he could be heard. What exactly could be heard from over there, at what distance, whether the words came through or only the noise, that she did not say. Not that night and not since. She has not crossed again either.

Before he answers, whatever it is he is going to answer, he runs his thumb along the edge of his hand to get the dried mud off. He does it whether there is mud on it or not. He does it too straight out of the water, with the hand clean. It buys him the second he needs to decide whether to answer. That night, when his sister came back, he did that first and then said the little he said. She did not push it. She started clearing up and there the matter rested.