Page 5 of Twice

When you are lonely and you suddenly find a friend, it fills up your world. Although I was just eight years old, my time with Princess felt like something more than companionship. Puppy love, I guess. Saturdays became the only thing I looked forward to.

The last time I saw Princess, Lallu sprayed us both with water and we had to change clothes in the trees. I peeked at her naked back as she pulled a borrowed shirt over her head. She turned, caught me looking, and smiled.

“We should build a house here one day, Alfie, by the ocean. And then we can get married and Lallu can live with us. OK?”

“OK,” I said.

She smiled. I smiled back. I felt the afternoon sun drying my skin. It’s the best memory I have of Africa.

Then came the worst.

?

Eleven months into our stay, my mother got sick from a bug that bit her and had to go to the hospital, where she remained for several weeks. When she came home, she was thin and weak, but I took her return as a sign she was getting better.

I had been into comic books back in the States, and before we’d departed, I’d begged my father for a Superman costume. In Kenya, I slept every night with the red cape on. A reminder of home, I suppose.

When I awoke that particular Saturday morning, I bounced to the mirror with my red cape over my white undershirt and posed, hands on hips, flexing what little muscle I had.

“What are you doing?”

My father was at the door. I dropped my arms.

“Nothing.”

“Go sit with your mother.”

“Why?”

“Just go sit with your mother.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to, that’s why.”

“But I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Do as I say. I’m going to get her medicine.”

“Can I go?”

“No.”

“I’m still going to play with Lallu later, right?”

“We’ll see. Go sit with your mother. Move it.”

I dragged down the small hallway until I heard the front door shut. I peeked in my parents’ room. My mother was in bed, her eyes closed under the white mosquito netting. I held there, listening to her breathe. I told myself if she didn’t stir within a minute, I wasn’t supposed to wake her, and I should go outside and play.

A minute passed. Absolving myself, I scooted out the door and ran to the local soccer field, which was really just a large patch of cinnamon-­colored dirt. It was empty, so I raced from one end to the next, my cape flapping behind me, leaping every fifth step, as if I might lift into the air.

The sun was high and the breeze was light. After many failed launches, I lay down in some nearby kikuyu grass and stared up at the long white clouds. Eventually, I nodded off.

When I awoke, I meandered through the village. I caught the usual stares of our neighbors. The red cape didn’t help. I passed the church where my parents worked and saw the local pastor, his tweed suit coat draping a clerical collar.He was tending a goat. I waved. He waved back. The goat bleated. It was almost noon.

I walked back home in the oppressive heat, listening to my sneakers grind the gravelly dirt. I noticed a green jeep parked in front of our cabin. When I entered, I heard mumbled conversation, then my father yelling, “Alfie? Is that you? Alfie, don’t come in here!”

Suddenly, he was in front of me, having shut the bedroom door behind him.