Bella's laughter was quickly becoming my favorite sound.
I spent most days next to her in the garden or out in the jungle searching for grubs.
She had decided to leave me in the village when she went fishing after I fell into the river and she had to pull me out.
Those river rocks were slippery.
She showed me how to make the manioc into the flat cakes that they ate with every meal.
She also tried to teach me how to weave vines into baskets for carrying the fruit and vegetables they harvested from the garden.
I failed miserably with that.
Our Spanish was lacking, but we managed to communicate pretty well.
I discovered so many things about my mother.
Bella told me how she had suffered when she returned from America.
How she didn't leave her pallet for weeks, mourning the loss of her children.
The entire tribe rejoiced when she finally was given to another man and had my half-brother, Yamet.
I couldn't help but feel the sting of anger and desertion at the thought of her loving another child while my brother and sister and I survived without a mother's love.
Why was he so special?
I tried to push that negativity away and instead questioned Bella about herself.
She told me about their rituals and the constant threat of raids.
But as much as I tried, she refused to talk about her husband.
I could tell by the look in her eyes that whatever had happened had not been good.
And that worried me.
*()*()*
"Can I meet your brothers?" I asked in the formal/informal language we had adopted.
"You already have. They were the ones that threw you into the ant swarm," she laughed as she handed me a bunch of bananas to put into the basket.
Great.
"Your mother asked me again when she was going to become a grandmother," Bella asked shyly, her cheeks flushing pink as I sputtered and choked.
"What did you tell her?" I asked, both appalled and embarrassed over the types of things that were discussed so freely around here.
"I didn't need to tell her anything. She knows you haven't taken me," she said, a bit of fire in her voice.
"Bella…" I sighed, hating that she was taking my hesitancy as a personal affront.
It was just hard trying to adapt to their culture while still holding onto my beliefs and ideals.
"Someone told you, didn't they?" she asked sharply, dropping a bunch of bananas onto the ground.
"What?" I asked, forgoing the Spanish in my confusion.
The pained and embarrassed expression on her face made my chest hurt and I could only imagine what she was hiding.
"I didn't kill him. It wasn't my fault," she yelled as she grabbed onto my arms tightly.
"Bella, I don't understand any of this. You didn't kill who?" I asked frantically, holding her up when her knees threatened to give out.
"My husband…I didn't kill my husband."
So yeah...
Tomorrow we get the rest of Bella's story.
Remember, italics means Spanish...means I'm just too lazy to google that shit. :)
Mwah!