Crap.
I slunk back into my sweater and opened the door.
Jack was standing there, arms folded, leaning against the beam, like he’d been waiting for me.
“It’s a bucket shower,” he explained, anticipating my question.
“No hot water?”
“Only in the morning. But they’ll heat some water for us if we request it.”
“I can wait. I’ll just use a wash cloth for now.” I shut the door again and heard his footsteps recede.
When I came out, I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around myself. It was nice to be wiped clean of the grime and dust, but the water had been cold, the temperature had dropped, and I was freezing.
“You all right?” Jack opened one eye. He was lying on his tummy, fully clothed under the covers.
“Uh-huh.”
“Cold?”
“No.”
“Want to go for dinner?”
“Yes.” If only to warm up in the heated dining area. “Can we go now?”
“Hungry, so soon?” His voice carried the slightest hint of a smile.
“Famished,” I replied.
Jack signaled the watchman with his flashlight.
“Here.” He removed his hoodie and draped it around my shoulders as we stepped outside.
“What about you?” I asked, sinking into its warmth. It smelled like him, and I found it oddly comforting.
“I’m not so hungry,” he said.
A bubble of laughter surfaced and got lodged in my throat. He’d caught on to the fact that I wasn’t about to admit I was cold, so he was playing along.
I swallowed the chuckle because I couldn’t afford to like Jack Warden. Not that way.
Dinner tables were assigned by tent number in the dining area. Jack and I ended up sharing a table with an elderly couple.
“Hi, I’m Judy. And this is my husband, Ken,” said the woman. She had platinum blonde hair, and was wearing a brightly patterned dress.
“I’m Rodel.”
“Jack.”
We shook hands before taking our seats.
“Is that an English accent I detect?” asked Judy, when the starters arrived.
“Yes. I’m from the Cotswolds,” I replied.
“But you’re not,” her husband remarked, taking in Jack’s tanned skin. He had silver hair and eyes that twinkled when he spoke.
“No. I was born here,” replied Jack.
“Well, it’s nice to see a couple that didn’t let a little distance get in the way.”
“Oh, we’re not . . .” I gestured between Jack and me.
“We’re not together,” both of us said at the same time.
“That’s what I used to say all the time, didn’t I, Ken?” Judy laughed. “We’re not together, we’re not together.”
“And here we are,” said Ken.
“Over forty years later.”
“Only because you want to see the world and need someone to carry your bags.”
“We pick up knick-knacks from around the world, for our vintage shop in Canada,” Judy explained.
“A place called Hamilton.”
“It’s by Niagara Falls.”
“Look us up if you’re ever in the area.”
“It’s called Ken and Judy’s.”
They completed each other’s sentences and entertained us with their stories for the rest of the night. Jack and I hung around after they left, watching the flickering lanterns sway in the night breeze.
The watchman did not need his flashlight to show us back to the tent. Someone had built a roaring fire in the center of the semi-circle of tents. A few of the guests sat around on blankets, while one of the guards played a harmonica.
“Stay a while!” Judy patted the empty blanket beside her. “There’s no heating in the tents.”
I wove through the small boulders around the circle of guests and sat down next to Ken and Judy. Jack followed, taking the vacant spot beside me. Above us, a spray of stars hung suspended in the velvet sky. The fire crackled, like leopard eyes in the night, reminding me of ancient men who had come and gone, in the rolling grasslands and volcanic highlands around us.
The warmth from the fire softened my bones. The harmonica played in long, slow drags, lulling my senses. Another guard started beating a drum to the same languid beat. Ken and Judy got up and swayed to the music. The couple sitting next to them passed me a pipe.
“What is it?” I asked.
They said something, but it wasn’t in English.
Another time, I would have declined, but thoughts of Juma and Mo and Lily were starting to crowd my mind. I took a deep puff of whatever it was and handed it back to them. It warmed my lungs and left a woody, astringent taste in my mouth. We went back and forth a few times, exchanging the pipe.
The wood smoke, soft voices, ember light catching on gleaming foreheads, the slow warmth, the cold stars—all melded into a throbbing night sorcery. The music slid under my skin, its drunken notes pulsating through my veins. The valley quaked, the sky glowed in a flame. I felt like a forgotten galaxy in a vast universe, like I was about to float away.
“Dance with me, Jack.” I gripped his hand. It hung heavy, until I got up and tugged.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had danced, let alone asked someone to dance. It was good to be held in Jack’s arms, to shuffle around the fire with his warm hands circling my waist. I lay my head on his chest and heard the drum beat through his heart. I felt like an oracle listening to it. It said I was equal parts earth and stars, equal parts animal and soul. I was hope. I was calamity. I was love. I was prejudice. I was my sister. I was his daughter. I was Juma. I was Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.