Chapter 11.
A Mountain.
It was like a dream – a colossal Ferris wheel in the center of an overgrown fairground, in an otherwise unbroken plain.
Bucky was perched on the monstrous steel structure over three hundred feet in the air. He felt lighter, calmer. Maybe happy, if he could stay up there forever. Fields rolled into hills rolled into mountains. Mountains jutted up and rainforests sprouted where Nigeria became Wakanda. It was breezy in the sky, with clouds casting shadows that sailed across the plains. He could breathe there, as if it was the Earth itself that had imprisoned him.
He spent most of the morning climbing to the top of the wheel. It was difficult with only one arm, but not impossible. Bucky was still strong, still durable. Once he got a quarter of the way up, he scrambled up the spokes like a handicapped squirrel. He found his balance on the highest car and stuck with it.
Hours later, the calm was settling into his gut. A precious taste of serenity.
Africa was something he rarely thought about – what he did know was simple, stupid stuff. He thought it was just one country. He thought it was an endless, orange plain. He thought everyone there wore safari pants and hats and walked around with binoculars. It was clear from the top of the wheel that those things were not true about Nigeria – and it was clear from the moment he stepped foot on the continent that those things were not true about Wakanda.
A'di spoke from the ground, "More to see, my wolf."
Bucky had a hard time letting go of the view, the freedom, but it was more than just the scenery keeping him from drifting too far. A'di was his anchor.
When he got to the bottom, she said, "I was afraid you might decide to live up there."
He wished he had the words to tell her what it looked like, or the strength to carry her up there himself. She had probably seen it already. It seemed like something that should be shared. He settled on saying, "Too drafty."
It was no Coney Island, but it was the closest he had felt to home since he arrived in Wakanda. He said, "When you said we were going to Nigeria I thought maybe we'd take a plane."
"It is not a long drive when the scenery is so beautiful."
She was looking out at the hills, her expression serene. A'di had this tendency to dress to her mood, to her surroundings. She was wearing pale, thin dress that fluttered at the slightest touch, and the breeze from the plains made it shimmer. Bucky found himself looking at her, forgetting the view. She had his heart in her hands, keeping it from hitting the floor again.
Her eyes came to his, and she smiled, "Is this place at all like your childhood home?"
They were standing among decrepit, rusted carnival rides, old booths, and trampled fencing. He said, "Yeah. Maybe in a little better shape, too. What's this stuff doing out here?"
A'di slid her arms around his, leading him through tracks in the grass. It looked like animals had been touring the fairgrounds, too. "A businessman from England thought it might be a good idea to establish a tourist area here, so that the people who stayed at his resort would have somewhere else to spend their money."
Bucky glanced around, "What resort?"
"Good question. It is miles away. When he opened this park, a tourist was bitten by a snake. Many arguments were had, and liabilities discussed, and he changed his mind about this opportunity."
"So he just left it out here? For what?"
She shrugged. "For filmmakers to use as a backdrop for ghost stories?"
Bucky lifted a rusted sign, "What does this say?"
A'di yanked him backward, just in time to avoid a black-and-cream-patterned snake that struck out from the grass. She said a Wakandan curse, and then, "It says 'tickets,' and watch where you are putting your hands."
"Did you curse?" he said.
"You are focusing on the wrong thing."
Bucky took another step away, well-aware of how close the snake was. "No, I think this is the right thing. I didn't know you knew bad words."
A'di twisted her lips. "You are not the one who will be teasing me."
"I'm just impressed."
"I could leave you out here."
"I could push you over and take the keys."
A'di laughed, the sound breaking up the music made by the wind. She took his hand, leading him away from the sign.
He said, "What kind of snake was that?"
"Puff adder. I do not want to test whether the serum protects you from snake venom."
He realized, "I haven't seen any snakes in Wakanda."
"Snakes do not frequent the city, and the torches in Khemba keep them at bay."
Bucky had seen Obeze refilling the torches every night. He said, "Snakes don't like fire?"
"It is the smell. It keeps other predators away, though-"
"There aren't any leopards near Khemba, I get it."
A'di laughed. "Ebara still tells that story. The children miss you."
"Shuri asked me to stay in the city."
"I know. I am not trying to make you feel guilty." A'di paused to tap his forehead, as she often did, "When we have finished with these words in your head, you are going back to Khemba. I cannot return without you."
They arrived at the edge of the fairground, stepping over the 'no trespassing' sign. Bucky was a little more cautious of the grasses, though now he was curious about his resistance to poison. Hydra must have looked into it. He wondered if that would be a weird thing to ask Shuri.
A motorcycle was waiting for them. It was a Triumph X-75 Hurricane, a relic, a product of the obsession that Nanwa had with the 1970s. Most of her memorabilia, furniture, and music came from America, but she said the English Triumph was irresistible.
"I do not understand her," A'di said, again, as she circled the bike.
"It was the first of its kind," Bucky said.
"How do you know?"
"I like motorcycles."
"I think that is the first thing you have said you liked in a while."
"I like you."
She smiled the kind of smile that kept him going. She said, "That does not count. Do you want to drive this time?"
It might have been a joke. He still waved his only hand in the air. "Probably shouldn't."
XxXxX
"Be honest with this one, White Wolf."
Nanwa set a plate in front of him, smiling. She was a chef who only had one shortcoming – American food. She loved the aesthetic, but the flavor was never right. She made him something different every night, thrilled to have him there to judge. A'di preferred more traditional fare, and Uhirwa rarely deviated from rice and vegetable dishes. Bucky would eat almost anything. He would never tell her, but most of the dishes Nanwa served him were awful.
He sampled the pancakes, "I think it needs more sugar."
"I put so much in already!"
"That's America."
She frowned, going back to her batter. "Keep your appetite."
A'di was beside him, scooping the guts from a hard-shelled fruit, salting it, and taking small bites. "I should never have brought him here. You are impossible, Nanwa. I do not know why you insist on continuing with this hobby."
"You knew what you were doing," Nanwa said.
Uhirwa finished his rice and returned to his game, sinking down into his chair to stare into the screen. He always ate like the food could disappear at any moment, even after returning to his natural weight. He could read and write and he had started answering questions, obeying requests, and taking care of himself, but he had been in the house for weeks without interacting with Nanwa at all – not for lack of trying on her part.
Without looking up from his game, Uhirwa said, "What do you call yourself?"
It was something he did most days, randomly, always directed at Bucky. When they met, they had the same conversation. Direct, pointless.
He said, "Bucky."
Uhirwa repeated it, and went silent.
A'di rested her chin on her hand, watching the boy with a warm expression. She loved the kid. It was strange, because the boy gave little interaction, little response. He was not emotive or expressive. He just was. Uhirwa seemed like an empty vessel, someone who had been tormented so much that the human pieces of him were gone. Bucky realized that he was the same way for a while, drifting through the city, a shell. He was marginally better now. A'di had propped him up. He hated watching her put so much effort into Uhirwa with so little reward.
When dinner was over, Nanwa relented and went out to tend her chickens. Uhirwa retreated to his bedroom. A'di strolled around the kitchen, humming, filling the sink. Bucky brought her the dishes from the table.
He asked, "What do you see in us?"
She knew what he meant, somehow. "It is in your eyes."
Bucky thought of his own eyes, reflected in the mirror in Nanwa's bathroom. Dark blue, restless. Solemn. Sometimes empty. "What do you mean?"
"Not literally." A'di flicked water at him. "I mean, it is in your perception. Have you seen the way that Uhirwa looks at the rain? He is full of wonder that wants to be free, but there are chains around his spirit. I know it does not seem like progress to you, but to me, there is already a mountain behind us."
She was right. Bucky didn't see progress in the boy, but he liked the way A'di described it. It made him believe there could be. It made him hope that he was just blind right now, and that one day the realization would hit him.
One day he would wake up and see that he already had a mountain behind him.
XxXxX
Shuri arrived at sunset, stepping onto the patio of a restaurant built on the edge of a waterfall. It passed beneath their feet, clear water rushing over pale rocks, pouring down a dark-walled cavern.
She leaned on the railing beside him, nudging him, a familiar light in her eyes. "You are looking well. How are you liking living in the city?"
Bucky pulled his gaze from the waterfall, glad to find her expression was kind and curious. Shuri had always been easy to talk to, honest. If he looked like garbage, she would tell him. She looked tired, though, older somehow. "I feel better," he said, "A'di is… determined."
He went back to watching the water, finding simple satisfaction in its presence. It fell three stories onto a pebbly beach, where children splashed in the shallows. As the sun set, the cavern was cast in shadows, and the waterfall rushed into a void. A'di told him, months ago, that he needed to learn to find joy in things again. He was trying.
"I like this place," Shuri said. She turned to face the patio, a metal platform hitched onto the side of a small restaurant. It was empty apart from them. She pointed out the lights on the roof, "When we were children, Mother would bring T'Challa and I here to see the lights."
Bucky studied them, assuming they were bulbs at first glance. But he realized now that there were no wires between them. They were tiny candles, burning vibrant colors, flickering in a rhythm like a breathing being. They formed neat rows on the stone roof, down the wall, and across the tables, alternating patterns of colors that seemed impossible for fire.
"I understand how they work now," Shuri said, "But when I was a child I thought they were magic."
Bucky picked a table and settled in, getting eye-level with a green candle. He tried to decide if it was real fire. It looked more like a blob of flickering color than a flame, an illusion.
A'di joined them, handing him a drink. "Try this zobo."
Bucky didn't bother asking what that was. He took a sip of a thin, sour liquid.
A memory surfaced.
He said, "When we were kids – me and Steve – there was this building by the canal. I used to drag Steve out there all the time because there were these lights. String lights. The building was half-built, so part of it was just beams sticking out, and someone had taken the time to wrap them in string lights and turn them on every night. You can't see the stars in New York City, but that was pretty close."
Bucky smiled at the thought of scrawny little Steve Rogers climbing onto one of the beams to try and unwrap the lights. He could see him so vividly, hear himself laughing, feel the effortless joy of the past.
"We stopped going," Bucky added. "Some kids found us out there and threw Steve into the canal – said they wanted to see if he would make it all the way to the ocean. I had to jump in after him. He couldn't swim."
Shuri had a quiet, kind voice, "You two were very close."
Bucky nodded, swallowing the heartache that came with memories of his friend. When he thought about Steve, he inevitably found himself back on that train, back on that bridge. He couldn't have the good times on their own. Every memory was sour. Every memory made him bitter.
"You are remembering more of your life, then?" Shuri asked.
Bucky said, "Yeah. Sometimes I see stuff that reminds me, but usually it's words. If I've heard something before it's like it unlocks a file."
"You cannot see the stars at all in the city?" A'di asked, appearing horrified.
Bucky shook his head. "Too bright."
"How awful."
He spent the meal thinking about his old home. Brooklyn. He was born into a different world, a century ago, when neither of the women at the table with him were alive – before their parents were alive, even. A'di had taught him to appreciate their similarities, the parallels in their lives, but there would always be a solid wall between them.
What he really needed was to see Steve again, to try and find some normalcy with the one person in the world who could understand him. He could make new memories and leave the old ones in the past.
When they finished eating, Shuri and A'di talked for a while, discussing politics and social movements and some of the new outreach facilities Wakanda had established throughout Africa. Bucky heard almost none of it, fixated by the candles, until Shuri said,
"I have a new theory, Bucky."
He tensed, responding to her tone, the strange, distant look in her eyes.
"Is that why we're here?" Bucky wondered. "I thought you missed me."
Shuri broke out of her thoughts, smiling, "I do miss you. I have only just thought of this. You said that hearing familiar things feels like it is unlocking a file. If I approach each of the words as individual pieces rather than an entire image… I need to think on this more."
Shuri hopped up, threw a bag over her shoulder, and ran off.
A'di did not dwell on it. She said, "Did you like the zobo?"
He had an empty glass in his hand. "Hated it."
She laughed.
"When I have my head back," Bucky said, "I'll take you to Coney Island and we can get root beer floats and go up to the top of the Wonder Wheel."
"'Root beer float' does not sound like something I would enjoy."
"No, you'll hate it."
A'di smiled, "I like to see you this way."
She left to pay for their meal, to socialize with the man who ran the grill. Bucky burned his finger trying to figure out if the candle was completely on fire, or if the ball of light was an illusion.
When she returned, A'di took his hand, dragging him to the balcony. "We are jumping off. It is the only way to leave this place."
"Shuri went through the door."
"In style, my wolf, in style."
Bucky looked over the edge, doubtful, "Are you serious?"
"There is water at the bottom."
"You can't see it," he said, and then he cut her off before she could respond, "And don't say something philosophical about having faith."
"It is a cultural experience," she said.
"You're just saying that to make it seem less insane."
"Do you trust me?"
He groaned.
A'di grinned, "Trust me, then."
The water came from beneath them, right up to the edge of the balcony, and then fell straight into the cavern, quickly leaving the candlelight. It led into darkness. His misgivings were tossed aside when A'di stepped off the edge, disappearing. Bucky waited a few moments, took a breath, and jumped after her.
A torrent of warm black water threw him into a deep pool.
He surfaced in a well-lit cavern with torches lining the smooth stone walls. It was warm, calm, remarkably quiet despite the waterfall. Unnatural. Bucky breathed in the smell of the earth, of water, of cinnamon. Multileveled clefts ringed the water, rising up away from the shore, and a dozen adults dotted the area, lying on blankets, sewing, or texting. Children played in the shallows, pausing when his head popped up.
A'di emerged nearby, laughing, wading to shore. The kids swarmed her, squealed her name. Bucky pulled himself up on a cleft on the opposite shore, near an old man smoking a pipe.
He was taken away again by the serenity that could be found in Wakanda, even in the heart of the city. Bucky watched the waterfall, trying to solve the mystery of its near-silence. He spotted a metal ring around the opening of the cave, wreathing the waterfall, occasionally flashing blue.
When A'di finally joined him, Bucky said, "Is this all manmade?"
She sat on the cleft beside him, "Yes. It mimics a waterfall on the eastern border, where the jungle is too dense for most people to travel."
A'di spent the better part of an hour carefully rearranging her hair. She had it in long, dense braids, which were each made up of smaller braids, like lengths of rope. She and Nanwa spent four hours putting it together the night before. When they finally finished, A'di had said, "Now you cannot ask me how long this took."
It made him smile.
She finally gave up on it, dropping her hands dramatically on her thighs. "I regret putting so much time into this. Something about this river water in the city is always stripping it."
"What does that mean?"
"It is a problem you do not face," she said, reaching over to flick a piece of his wet hair. "My hair is a little more complicated than yours."
"I guess you didn't start the day wanting to jump down a waterfall?"
"No." A'di had something wistful in her eyes. She nudged him. "It is nice to have some time to be myself. I miss teaching, but when the children are watching, you must be responsible, dignified. You must smile, even when your heart frowns."
He was struck by that, though it seemed silly to think she was always happy. "I don't think I've ever seen you frown."
"You make me smile. Very easily, in fact. I was not lying when I said you were charming."
She started wringing out her dress. It was, unfortunately, a more traditional outfit than the simple modern things Nanwa insisted she wear. She was soaked in a massive, heavy violet dress dotted with beads and pretty stones.
Bucky said, "So, if you could always be yourself, would you be a skydiver?"
A'di laughed. "No, that is not what I meant. Let me think, and I will try to explain it."
He appreciated the atmosphere, feeling no pressure, no rush. "What is the ring on the ceiling for?"
"Sound."
It was an artificial cave, manmade, tailored for these families to enjoy, but it didn't feel that way. Even at its most modern, Wakanda still managed to capture the things that made the world beautiful on their own.
When she was done trying – and failing – to wring out her dress, A'di said, "You treat me like a normal person."
"What do you mean?"
"I am well known in this country." A'di gestured to the kids, "You can see that. Everywhere we go, people know who I am. Here, and in the countries that border us, and in many other places. I have titles and awards and accolades. I have few friends, despite that. Nanwa is one of them."
"Sounds like you're bragging."
She smiled. "That is what I mean. You are easy to talk to."
"I disagree."
Bucky knew she was beloved in Wakanda – with good reason. It was ironic, because the reason he connected so well with her and Shuri was that they treated him like a normal person. It felt nice to return the favor.
While they sat there, the families began packing up, the parents beckoning their kids. As the kids walked off, they murmured 'White Wolf.' Eventually, it was just the two of them in the cave, alone with the water, the warmth, and the glow of the torches.
"Can you swim?" A'di wondered.
"I didn't drown, did I?"
She whacked his shoulder, "You know what I mean."
"You should have asked that before you made me jump off the balcony."
A'di snorted, sliding into the water. She had given up on fixing her hair entirely, diving a few times, the braids fanning out around her when she came back up. Swimming was not a common pastime in the city, though kids loved to play in the shallows. He saw them on the riverbanks, floating little boats made of banana leaves, searching for pretty pebbles. But there was a lake in Khemba, and many of the children loved to swim. Some of the older kids even braved the river. Ushiwoh always trailed him, hunting minnows while he washed pans for Imo.
Bucky said, "It was hard when I had the metal arm – it was heavy, you know?"
"And before you became a soldier?"
He snorted. "I knew how, never had much reason to, except for when those guys threw Steve in the canal. We barely made it out of that, by the way."
Bucky could almost feel the icy water swelling around him. Steve was sick for weeks after that. Bucky visited every day and they played cards on his bed. He brought him soup, helped his mother, Sara, with chores around the house. Bucky had never felt much of a sense of purpose before he met Steve, but he loved that kid. Steve was the first person he knew he would do anything for.
His face must have fallen, because A'di asked, "Do you want to leave?"
"No." Bucky laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. It was speckled with lights, almost like glitter, just faint enough to be believable as a million little stars. With the sound of the water, the warmth of the rock under him, he was spared the pain his memories usually brought.
Maybe he was even hopeful.
At the very least, after months and months of suffering, he could breathe.