Chapter 4 Separate hearts

A novel by Atecossi M

Chapter 4: The murmur of the ancients

The days were embedded like the grains of a rosary. Adama began to be known in the village of Kéran. The women greeted him with a smile when he passed with his buckets of water, the children ran afterwards, shouting "Ibrahim, Ibrahim!" And the old people gave him the head, silent but attentive. He was no longer a stranger. He became a son of the village.

But in the silence of the alleys, he sometimes felt looks on him, curious, heavy, almost suspicious. Some ancients had a lively eye. They knew how to recognize those who do not come from here.

One morning, when he cut wood with a young man named Kalil, an old man approached him. Dressed in a white boubou, the back vaulted by the years but light eyes like the water of a source.

"You are strong for someone who has not grown up with the machete in hand," he said.

Adama stopped, surprised.

- I do my best, father.

The old man slowly nodded.

- It's good. But it is not enough to cut wood to be ours. You carry in you a story that you hide.

Adama did not answer. Kalil moved away discreetly.

- My name is Tierno. I am the dean of the village. And I see more than what I say.

He approached Adama.

- There is in your gaze the sadness of those who have deprived of freedom, but also the arrogance of those who grew up on gold cushions. You are not only "Ibrahim".

Adama sighed.

- No. I am Adama Konaté, son of King Demba of Sogoya.

Tierno remained a silent moment, then sat down slowly on a stone.

- So it's true ... the king's son fled. And he is here, in our village. With our daughters. Our stories.

Adama knelt before him.

- I did not fled to dominate. I fled to breathe. To be me. And if I have to go from here to protect you from my name, I will leave.

The old man looked at him for a long time.

- Don't be in a hurry to flee again. But know that your past will end up catching up with you. He always does it.

He got up, put a hand on his shoulder, and walked away without adding a word.

---

That evening, Awa felt that Adama was quieter than usual. He crossed his fingers, his gaze lost in the flame.

-What is it? she asked.

- I think the village begins to know.

- For your identity?

- Yes. Old Tierno spoke to me this morning.