Gombo

Tunde hacked a tight, dry cough. His skin slickened with sweat. He thrashed, fighting Ife as she dressed him and throwing himself back into his pallet.

Ife marched outside where Auntie gathered yams. “He has fever.”

The old woman dropped her basket, following Ife to the pallet. She touched a palm to the boy’s forehead. “Aye. Fever.”

Ife gripped the edge of his pallet and Auntie lowered her hand to his chest. “Not to worry, Ife mi. Come.” She hobbled through the hut flap.

Ife brushed her fingers across his face, her legs anchored to the dirt. Tunde’s chest rose and sank. A slow wheeze wrenched from his throat. But Auntie’s heavy footsteps trailed away from the Narrows, her voice snapping, “Ife!”

Across the canerows, under the canopy, fallen leaves crunched underfoot. Auntie scanned the forest floor, then grunted, bending to a patch of greens. “Mint.”

She shoved the leaves into Ife’s hands, staining her palms with a musky sap. Ife jammed the leaves into her pocket before the old woman filled her apron with mint, fanned her face, and sat on a mangrove root. “The gombo tree. It peels red. Bring the bark.”

Ife turned, squinting and sweating. She scoured the tree trunks. Ashen and slivered bark closed in around her. None of it peeling, none of it red.

Auntie lashed her arm out, pointing deeper into the shade. “Ife, go!”

Ife bolted into the bush. Sunlight flashed through the canopy, streaking glaring shards across her face. Her chest burned, her legs throbbed.

Far from the forest’s edge, she lost sight of Auntie. Alone with a faint breeze, broken only by the ear-piercing call of a grackle, she stopped. The trees mocked her. Their dry, dying branches twitched in the wind. Her panting turned into long, jagged breaths. A crushing silence gripped the air.

“Go, Ife mi. You are strong.”

Ife spun to the sound of the voice, but the forest stood empty.

A fuzzy moss crawled up a tangled tree. Its shucked skin blistered. The red underside shone through its peeling bark. Ife dug her fingernails into a seam, prying until the wood split. She ripped the bark into chunks, stuffed them into her breeches, and shoved back through the bush.

Tunde still lay curled on the pallet. Her son sweated through his burlap smock and pressed his knees to his chest, coiled into a tight, shivering knot.

Auntie pushed a heavy maul into her hands. “Crush it.”

Ife dropped down cross-legged, slamming the iron, pulverizing the leaves into wet mash. A sharp, biting scent filled the hut.

“The bark, Ife! The bark!” Auntie jabbed a finger at the bowl.

Ife emptied her breeches, throwing the raw gombo into the pulp. Her shoulder burned with each heavy strike. The iron head gnawed a green stain. Auntie dumped boiling water into the bowl and stirred. “Wake the boy.”

She hauled herself up from the dirt. Her legs trembled. Leaning over the pallet, Ife flipped Tunde from his side. His eyes stuttered open with a blank stare.

“Mama made tea.” She wiped cold grease from his brow and dropped the maul to the floor with a dull thud. “Up, Tunde.”

She brought the bowl to his lips and Tunde jerked away. The straw pallet crackled under his thrashing weight.

“Drink,” Auntie hissed, kneeling beside him, her gnarled fingers clamping his jaw. The boy pressed his lips together and glared.

“Drink or be buried.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his face into the pallet.

“Now, Tunde!” Ife rolled him over and pressed the clay to his lips.

Tunde gagged, a choking gulp forced the dark tea down his throat. A thin, bitter trail spilled across his chin. His chest rattled beneath her hand. Steam curled from the bowl, biting its marrow deep into the back of Ife’s nose.

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