Memoirs of a Porcupine by Alain Mabanckou Read Free Book Online

several times, to be sure it really was his father, one lying next to his mother and one standing beside him, so there were two identical Papa Kibandis in the house, one asleep in the bed, the other moving around, and in a sudden panic the child cried out, but his father, the one standing, put his hand over his mouth and said ‘you saw nothing, I am me, and the one lying next to your mother is also me, I can be myself and my other self , you’ll soon understand’, little Kibandi tried to escape, the standing-up father easily caught him, ‘I can run faster than you, and if you escape, I’ll send the other me after you’, little Kibandi looked again at the father standing up and the other one lying down, it felt like he was being kidnapped, perhaps he should wake up his father’s other self, and he’d come to the rescue, but then he wondered if the lying down one really was his parent, the standing up
father let him check, then nodded, to say that he was the one the child had to talk to, he was his father, the real one, little Kibandi was speechless, the standing-up father nodded again, gave an enigmatic smile, my young master cast a last despairing glance at his parents’ bed, his mother now had her hand on the lying-down Papa Kibandi’s chest, ‘my other self won’t even wake up till everything’s over, in accordance with the ancestors’ wishes, and if he does wake up now, you’ll find yourself without a father, come on, we have a long walk ahead’, he grabbed the child with his right hand, almost roughly, the door was ajar, they vanished into the night, the father always with his hand on the child, as though afraid he might run off, they walked and they walked, the only sound was the cries of the night birds, and when at last they came to the heart of the bush, under the eye of the watchful moon, the father let go of my young master’s hand, he knew it was too late to run off now, he was too afraid of the dark, Papa Kibandi brushed aside a tangle of creeper, headed for a field of bamboo, picked up an old spade lying hidden under a pile of dead leaves, the child watched carefully, they turned back, went into a clearing, you could hear a river running somewhere down below, and Papa Kibandi began to sing in his gravelly voice, while digging the earth as skilfully as a grave digger , one of those shroud-stealers who, once they’ve committed their theft, and desecrated the sepulchre of the stiff within, immediately wash the burial cloths in the river, fold them up neatly, and set off to sell them at full price in any neighbouring village where there might be a funeral, Papa Kibandi went on digging, the sound of the spade hitting the earth pierced the silence of the bush, and after about twenty minutes, which was like an eternity for my young master, the father threw down the tool
on the pile of earth, heaved a sigh of relief, ‘right, that’s perfect, we’re there now, soon you’ll be released’, and he lay down on his belly, plunged his hand down into the hole in the ground and drew out an object wrapped in a piece of filthy cloth, and inside the child found a gourd and an aluminium cup, Papa Kibandi shook the gourd several times then poured the mayamvumbi into the cup, took a gulp himself, clicked his tongue, then held the vessel out to his son, who shrank back, ‘hey it’s for your own good, come on, drink’, and he grabbed him with his right hand, ‘you’ve got to drink this potion, it’s to protect you, don’t be stupid’, and when little Kibandi began desperately to struggle, he pinned him to the ground, held his nose, forced him to drink the mayamvumbi, a few mouthfuls was enough, it worked straight away, little Kibandi at once began to feel dizzy, fell to the ground, got up, swayed, could hardly stand, his eyes were shut, the liquid tasted like palm wine, but also like swamp mud, the potion burned his