Free Laugh with the Moon by Shana Burg Page B

visit with them,” Dad says. “I’m going to find Stallard. I’ll meet you at the clearing before sundown.”
    “It’s a plan,” I say, and mosey down the path. I hope they don’t mind me crashing their party. They’ve probably known each other since they were born. And now here I am needing some company. Why should they bother with me? I’ll be flying back to the United States in two months anyway.
    When I get closer to the river, I see that it’s Sickness and Patuma there washing dishes with Memory. Sickness sees me. She smiles and says, “Visitor! Hello!”
    The Malawian people are so polite and friendly. Even if they don’t want you tagging along, you’d never know.
    “Hey!” I say. No sooner do I reach the bank of the river than Sickness yells, “River battle!” And Memory fills a pot with water and throws it at me. At first I stand there, shocked. That’s not polite. My hair is dripping and there’s mud on my clothes. I think it might be some mistake. Maybe Memory tripped and fell.
    But then Sickness says, “Go water her!” And she hands me the biggest pot she has. Well, I’m not one to refuse a good old water fight on a day as hot as this one, so I step into the river with my sandals still on, fill the pot, and dump it on Memory’s head while Sickness holds her in place. Patuma’s flat on her back on the bank, squealing with giggles as the rest of us splash each other until we’re completely drenched and laughing till we cry.
    Then we lie out in the field in our wet dresses and dry off in the sun like raisins, and talk about boys in a mixture of languages because Patuma’s English is pretty bad and my Chichewa’s almost nonexistent. By the end of the conversation, we’ve established a few basic facts: Memory not only loves Saidi, but she also plans to marry him one day.Patuma loves Norman and Norman loves Patuma back, although they’re both too shy to admit it.
    “Do you date Norman?” I ask Patuma. Despite the sunscreen, my cheeks are really starting to burn.
    “What is date?” Sickness asks.
    So I explain and Memory says, “A Malawi girl do not do this thing called date. When a boy is ready to marry, he go to the villages and ask, ‘Is there a girl in this village who can marry me?’ Or, in the case that there is one certain girl the boy watch and know from school, he ask that girl. If the girl accept, the uncle of the boy shall meet with the parents of the girl to map the way forward. Then the wedding.”
    Sickness giggles and says, “The golden rule is if the boy and the girl meet in secret—for example, the boy find the girl down by the river as she do dishes or boy and girl talk much at school—this boy and girl must not allow the parents to discover the relationship.”
    Then Patuma pipes up in Chichewa, and Sickness explains, “Patuma say that even though she do not marry Norman yet, she look at Norman in the eye one time and Norman look right back at her. Patuma say this is how they talk in secret at school.”
    I glance through the leaves at the clouds gliding by and feel a pang in my chest, because I know my mother would love it here. No matter where we used to travel, she always found a way to escape into nature. In Quebec, while Dad attended lectures, Mom rented a scooter and we rode out to Mount Pinnacle and spent the day hiking. And the time he had a meeting in Miami, we took a moped out to Everglades National Park, where we picnicked andlaughed at the alligators and turtles. I wonder if Memory thinks about her mother all the time too. I want to ask her, but I’ve only known her a week. How long do you need to know someone before you can ask the most painful question there is?
    Soon our throats are itching with thirst, but the river water is too muddy to drink in the rainy season, and I didn’t think to bring a water bottle with me. “Shall we fetch clean drinking water?” Sickness says.
    And I say, “Of course! Why not!”
    So the girls collect pails from