Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Terez Rose
Although she has grown used to stares, they haven’t been like this—
the appraising scrutiny of a juror who knows far more about the
defendant than the defendant does. This, she decides, is why Africa
makes her uncomfortable. There is too much mystery lurking in the
shadows, the trees. Late at night like this, it scares her. And the lame
woman somehow knows it.
When Carmen turns her attention back to them, the woman steps
back from Kate. “They will come back to you,” she says to Kate with a
decisive nod before turning around and limping away.
Kate stares at her retreating figure. “What was that all about?”
Carmen asks.
“I don’t have a clue. Something about how I’ve seen her friends
and they’re going to visit.”
Before Carmen can reply, a more forceful drum cadence begins and
a frisson of anticipation sweeps through the crowd. The dancers in the
center clear a path. Clearly the New Year’s Eve show has just begun.
Four women stride to the center, attired in traditional dresses,
white slashes painted on their faces, and begin to dance. Their
practiced moves, more incisive and energetic than those of the other
women, tell Kate they are professionals at this kind of dancing. The
fifth woman, arriving last, is in a category of her own—a prima
ballerina of tribal dancing. She is huge, solid like a mountain, her
hair braided in tiny tresses that poke out in all directions. She has
protruding cheekbones and a wide mouth that draws focus to her face.
Her eyes are dramatically outlined with black liner. The fierce light
shining from them and the authority in her movements make Kate
take a respectful step back.
Henry comes to stand between Carmen and Kate. He tells them
the women have spent the past twelve hours fasting and meditating,
to assist them in their communication during the ceremony. Kate
doesn’t ask Henry with whom they’ll be communicating. She isn’t
sure she wants to know. Just watching the leader’s movements makes
Kate’s skin prickle. The woman, as she dances, nods periodically to
herself as if in agreement with an invisible guide, before launching
into another sweeping movement. She is like a cyclone, commanding
everyone’s attention, sucking up the energy around her only to fling
it back out to the spectators.
The drummers increase their intensity. The dancers grow more
frenzied. Some start trembling like epileptics. Another dancer arches
back, eyes shut, an ecstatic glow on her face. She begins to spin in
Crab Orchard Review ◆ 137