Broken Memory Read Online Free

dropped, as if a string that had been holding it up suddenly snapped. The old man moved closer to him, still talking. Then he left.
    Emma was watching him slowly walk away when he suddenly turned around, looked directly at her and raised his hand.
    She stood there, her mouth open, clutching the washing in her arms.
    By the time she recovered from her surprise, he was gone.
    She rushed into the house, forgetting about Ndoli, who was still standing motionless under his tree.
    Mukecuru was at first startled by her loud entrance, then relieved to see the look of happy astonishment on Emma’s face.
    Emma put down the laundry and went to the window that looked out onto the yard.
    Ndoli had started to move. He put one foot uncertainly in front of the other, obviously upset.
    He glanced at the house. Emma pulled back, then carefully leaned forward again. She saw the young boy leave his post and go down the path, his back bent and his shoulders slumped.
    She wanted him to leave. She also wanted the old man to come back. He had disturbed this strange ritual, these visits that Ndoli paid to her at a distance from beneath the big tree. But she was still curious and full of questions.
    Why was the old man interested in Ndoli? What had he said that had upset the boy so much? What words had he used, she wondered, remembering the silent movement of his lips.
    Emma knew that she, too, troubled Ndoli deeply. That night he had spent at her side had opened something up in him, had somehow broken through the fog of his existence. When that truck passed and she fainted, he had recognized the demons that were so similar to the ones that haunted his own days and nights.
    At first he kept his distance, watching the women trying to revive her, stopping himself from chasing after the kids who pestered her. Then, when her outstretched body no longer interested anyone, he went over to her, sat down and did not move until morning.
    At dawn, he had seen the same old man who had approached him today. The man had watched them for a long time before going on his way without saying a word. And now he had reappeared just when Ndoli was dreaming under the tree, waiting for time to stop…
    â€œBloody old man,” muttered Ndoli and, as Emma watched him from the window, he walked away, his steps unsteady.

11.
    That night Emma had her usual nightmare. The next morning, still lying in bed, she tried to remember the face of her mother. She saw her long shadow bending over her, but a dark, shifting mass blurred her face.
    Emma’s belly clenched. The more time passed, the more her memory seemed to betray her.
    She beat her fists against her stomach, curled up into a ball and sank into the old mattress.

12.
    Ndoli was gone for a long time. He came to see Emma again one morning in June.
    She saw the surprised look on Mukecuru’s face as she glanced out the little window. Curious, Emma went over and saw the young boy planted under the tree as if he had never left. He just stood there, not moving, but something had changed. He didn’t look as stiff.
    â€œIt’s his clothes. They’re clean now,” Emma said to herself.
    Every year, he gradually returned to reality as the anniversary of the genocide faded. Those days of commemoration, darkened by the April rains, were filled with the buried memories of another storm. A storm drenched in the blood and agony of a million deaths. The country lived according to the rhythm of the official memorial and the testimonies shared during long nighttime vigils, while the rainy season brought torrential downpours, and mud flooded the roads.
    â€œThey say we must not forget. I guess that’s true,” thought Emma as she continued to watch Ndoli. “Mukecuru says the same thing, even though no one remembers how brave she was and even though they still don’t trust her just because she is a Hutu. Dear Mukecuru, how ignorant they are,” she declared, smiling up at