The question did not come out, but it was written in her eyes.
The woman tried to approach, but Sod stepped back. Her feet felt glued to the ground, yet wanting to run.
Not knowing what to do, she turned and ran. She ran as if the past were chasing her. She passed the corner where women sold pineapples, ignored the greeting of the old man selling cashews, tripped over a sack of flour, and did not stop until she got home.
Bimbo was in the backyard doing laundry when she saw her daughter arrive with a pale face and frightened eyes. She ran to her.
“What happened? Did you fall, Sod?”
Her voice came out as a breath.
“I saw her. The woman from the market. She was at the well. She saw me and cried.”
The wash basin slipped from Bimbo’s hands, spreading soap and foam across the floor.
“Sod, what are you talking about?”
“You know who I’m talking about!” Sod shouted, her hands trembling. “She has my face. My face, Mama. Who is she?”
Bimbo took two steps back. She had not expected the truth to come out of her daughter’s mouth with the weight of a sacred drum.
“Sod, you’re tired. It must have been someone who just looks like you. The world is full of lookalikes. Soul twins. Go drink some water. Lie down. Rest. Go.”
“Go, Sod.”
The shout was louder than it should have been, more afraid than angry.
Sod swallowed hard and went up to her room.
But she did not sleep. Not that day, nor the ones after.
The image of that woman would not leave her mind. The pain in her eyes. The way she cried. The look of someone who had seen a ghost.
But who was the ghost of whom?
Sod knew something was buried in that river. Something her mother pretended did not exist. But it would not stay hidden for long.
The voices of the past were returning.
And now they had faces.
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