This is an excerpt from the forthcoming book, Jubilee, and shows the special relationship between Gaeton and Evariste.

:::

Akalisa stares at her oldest daughter: her fourteen-year-old dreamer. Evariste’s long neck and slender frame makes her appear delicate, but Akalisa knows better. This one’s special, everyone told her when Evariste was born. It’s as true today as it was then. There’s always been something about the deep brown eyes: they were alive. She always did things on her terms. When she was supposed to crawl, she lay on her stomach and wormed her way forward instead. She’s dancing. Maybe she’ll teach this one to dream, Muhira would point to her son, Gaeton, and shake her head.

Gaeton was three at the time and already engineering things: whenever Akalisa visited, he proudly showed her something new he’d made. When Evariste was born, that three-year-old boy made her a rattle by putting small rocks in a cup and sealing it with mud. Her first word was Ema’ma (Akalisa loves that); her second was Gaeton. At four, when she was given chores for the first time, she danced around the fields. Look at me, she’d say, twirling, One day, I’m going to be a princess.

You’re a Tutsi, so your people used to be royalty. You’re not now, but you can be my princess. If you’re a princess, you need a crown, Gaeton said, presenting her with flowers he’d woven into a ring for her head. Together, they played. Evariste always wound up hiding in a tree while Gaeton, ever the gallant hero, slayed the dragons chasing her. If I’m your princess, I can tell you what to do, Evariste’s smile remains contagious; even as young as that, she’d made Gaeton laugh. What would you have me do, then? She’d tell him to bring her bananas or have him carry the water home for her. Akalisa remembers admonishing her daughter, saying, Leave that boy alone. He is not yours to order about. But Gaeton didn’t mind and Evariste kept on being Evariste.

By the time she began menstruating, those two were inseparable. She mocked the girls he courted, scrunched her nose, and listed off all the things wrong with every single one. Each time, Gaeton replied quietly, Don’t worry, cherie, you’re still my princess. When that awful mess happened with his family, Evariste was his strength. Gaeton saw her crying, walking home from the market, and demanded to know why: when she told him about that Hutu boy bothering her, he put an end to it the very next day. Akalisa and Muhira always knew the two of them would soon court each other. As unconventional and concerning as it was for a Hutu and a Tutsi to join, both mothers knew it would happen with these two. Still, watching her dreamer flutter around waiting for him to come take her for a day out does something to Akalisa’s insides.

The quick smile from Evariste makes her face glow. “He’s here. We’ll be back later tonight, Ema’ma.” Akalisa nods, her hands busy with supper, trying to remember what it was like to be so young.

Today is a special day for Evariste: it’s not just a date.

“We’ll have to go in a canoe. Is that how you always cross?” she asks Gaeton as he smiles, says good morning, and starts walking down the dirt path toward town. Evariste’s only been to Kigali three times in her whole life, and the last time was years ago when she was young. It takes so long to get there, girls don’t go alone, and it means leaving work at the house unattended, so it is a rare treat.

“Sometimes I swim,” Gaeton shrugs. “But that takes longer, and then you’re soaked for the rest of the day.”

Skipping ahead, Evariste turns, walking backwards so she can see him. For her, it’s always been his smile. When he flashes it, her heart soars: his lips are well-defined in a heart shape. His teeth are white and straight; when he smiles, it’s like seeing diamonds. She tells him this, and he laughs. “Never going to have any diamonds.”

Grinning back at him, she says, “I can swim. I’m not very good at it, but I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can. We won’t be swimming today, though.”

“That’s just as well. Canoes are more fun.”

“They are.”

“Whose canoe is it that we’ll be taking?”

Gaeton smiles. “Mine. Whose did you think it was?”

Evariste lifts a shoulder, holds her arms out to the side and twirls, her bare feet kicking up the sandy dirt. They’ve started early in the day: the sun is painted with oranges, yellows, and pinks. It plays peek-a-boo through the tops of the trees as they walk. Now and then, they pass a random dog, most of whom stare at them lazily from a comfortable spot in the grass. They pass two boys, both Tutsi, on bicycles as they draw nearer to market. They aren’t going there, though, so they turn the opposite way and wind a curvy path towards the river.

“How’s your Ema’ma?”

Gaeton’s thick brows lift. “Ready for the birthing. She’s fussy.”

“Well, can you imagine having to walk around with a whole other person growing inside all the time? I bet it is tiring.”

“You’ll do it one day.”

She tips her head. “Oh, will I? What if I don’t want babies.”

Gaeton shrugs. “It is the way of things.”

“Says who?”

“Do you know a woman who doesn’t have babies or want them?”

She squeezes one eye closed to think about it and then says, “I might be the first.” She smiles broadly. “I’ll be a way changer, spark a new wave of women who don’t have kids.”

The ground gradually shifts from dry and dusty to moist and cool. They grow nearer to the river, and hear the scampering of small animals in the trees beside them.

“Why wouldn’t you want kids? Are you scared of the birthing?”

She laughs, and the sound reminds Gaeton of bells ringing. “No, no. But I would refuse because women don’t have to do what they don’t want to.”

“What if your husband wants sons?”

She makes a tsk tsk sound. “I guess I won’t be getting married then, either.”

Gaeton shakes his head. “You’re too pretty not to get married, cherie.”

His simple praise quiets her only momentarily before her eyes brighten and she tips her chin up to the sky, saying confidently, “I am not scared of anything. I will never be scared of anything.”

“Why not?” Gaeton asks, lifting his eyes above her head to scan the terrain. They smell the river. He keeps the canoe by the large tree that’s hollowed out, but it’s been some time since he’s been to Kigali… or to his canoe. His heart squeezes, hoping and trusting that the canoe is where he left it.

“Because you’re here.” Evariste’s voice isn’t playful anymore, or loud. It’s soft and he finds her looking at her bare feet, her arms swinging loosely by her side. She means it, he thinks to himself. Smiling softly, he lifts a palm and places it on her shoulder. “The canoe should be just around the bend there, see? I can hear the river.”

“I see it!”

“The river?”

“No, your canoe. Look!” Evariste skips ahead, leaving Gaeton to follow behind.

*****

Together, they flip the canoe and push it into the river, their toes sinking into the wet sand beneath the water. Gaeton helps Evariste climb in first, then swings into the boat. It tilts, sways, and makes Evariste laugh. The water is an unusual color — both blue and green — and ripples spread out from the canoe. Sunlight streams down, reflecting off the glassy sheen of the river water. It falls across Gaeton’s face, lightening his dark skin, making his jasper color hair seem just a bit more ashy instead. Though only three years older than Evariste, he seems much older, and stronger, as the muscles in his arms tighten while he rows the canoe.

“Tell me. Tell me about Kigali.” Evariste says, plopping her hands in her lap.

“You’ve been to Kigali. And I’ve already told you plenty. You’ll just have to wait until we get there to see it again.”

“I was too young to remember the last time I was there. I know you said it’s very busy, and loud.”

“And colorful. Anything that can be sold is sold in the stalls. Hats, scarves, clothes. And the smells — wait until you smell the city.”

“Is it a pleasant smell?”

“In some places–like at the market, yes. It smells of fried oil and delicious food. In other places, not so much. You’ll see.”

Evariste turns her face to the side, looking beyond Gaeton to the shore. She leans over and dips her fingers into the cool water. When she lifts her eyes, she finds Gaeton sitting with the oars across his lap, his eyes watching her. He winks at her, smiling briefly.

“I like the water.” Evariste says, looking away again.

“Some say there are sea monsters in the river.”

“Do you believe that?”

He shrugs. “It’s possible, I guess. It’s so deep; who knows what lives beneath the surface?”

“What’s it’s like? The sea monster?”

“They say it’s mostly jade but, when the sun shines on the water just right, it looks more like a deep purple. Its scales are a lighter shade of green. Barnacles cling to its underbelly so, if you were diving under the water, you might mistake it for a skinny whale. It’s not a whale, though. It’s long, like a thick snake, its body pulsates through the water, like this,” Gaeton glides his hand in an up-down motion through the air, “Not many have seen the sea monster. But that’s because of its powers.”

Captivated, Evariste arches her thin brows and tilts her head to the side. “Powers?”

“If it touches you, it turns your heart to ice.”

Evariste swallows. “Has that ever happened?”

“Oh sure. Old man Saleem? The one lives on the edge of the forest alone?”

“He’s very mean.”

“He didn’t always used to be,” Gaeton lifts a shoulder. “No, he used to be a real nice fella. He was in his younger days, and courting a nice girl from a nice family. He was real helpful to people; always picking things up at the market for folks or, you know, making sure the women had water. But, one day, he went fishing further upstream,” Gaeton nods his head toward the north. “It was bright daylight, so he didn’t think nothing of it. He’d gone fishing at that spot too many times to count. But that time would be different. He didn’t see the sea monster lurking just below the water behind him… not until it was too late. By the time he saw him and started rowing to shore as fast as he could, the sea monster was too close. That monster lifted and bobbed its head at the boat, trying to tip it over. The boat didn’t tip but the tip of the monster’s nose jabbed the man’s cheek.” Gaeton clucks his tongue. “Ever since then, that man, he been different. He started acting strange and losing his temper. Took to beating his girl. Now he leaves alone at the edge of the forest and is the meanest man on the mountain. Cause his heart is ice.”

Doubt clogs Evariste’s face. Her eyes float beyond Gaeton to stare at the river; she sees no shadows lurking beneath the surface, even when she turns behind her.

“He won’t get you.” Gaeton’s voice is smooth, deep, and slightly amused.

“I know,” Evariste smiles bravely.

“You know? How do you know?”

She shrugs. “You’re here.”

The sun hangs high in the sky by the time they shore the canoe and walk to the edge of town. Long before they see the colorful fabric draped between poles or the barrage of cyclists, they smell Kigali.

“Smoke? It smells like smoke?”

“Like when you walk into a place someone’s been smoking recently? Yeah, that’s Kigali.”

Barefoot children run loose in the streets. They see a group of lanky boys kicking a ball and Gaeton spontaneously joins the melee. Evariste watches Gaeton sport a grin and fall easily into teasing a group of boys he does not know. They challenge him to prove his worth even though it’s clear he’s older than any of them. Accepting the challenge, he commands control of the ball, kicking it down the dirt path, and into an empty garbage can turned on its side: a makeshift goal. Offering high-fives and cheers from the few who had been on his impromptu team, Gaeton skates away from the game and back to his place beside Evariste.

The city is busy. Horns honk and, without the advantage of traffic signs, motorists move in any direction. As they grow closer to the market, crowds press in on them. Evariste reaches out without intending to and threads her fingers through Gaeton’s. The bustling city is very unlike her quiet mountain village. The marketplace is busier than the streets. Small, narrow aisles are full of all kinds of wares; the sounds of bartering and chatter and street noises make it hard to hear one another speak; the smells overwhelm the senses: food, smoke, heat. Evariste’s eyes bounce from one sight to another.

A man with skin darker than Gaeton’s sits on a carpet. He misses one leg; homemade bracelets made of different colored yarn weigh down his arms and a metal coffee can sits at the edge of his remaining foot. When the couple pass him, Gaeton doesn’t see him; Evariste holds his eye for a moment, then refocuses on what’s ahead of her.

“It’s so beautiful,” she says, her fingers reaching out to touch a silky scarf lying on a table. Gaeton slows and smiles as he picks it up. “Let’s see, cherie,” he wraps the scarf around her head and tucks a loose curl beneath the fabric’s edge. “Tres belle,” he says softly. Evariste feels his praise warm her cheeks, his eyes hatching butterflies in her belly.

Hours pass as they peruse the stalls, buy the African donuts that are his favorite, watch a passing street performer, and steal small moments to themselves. More than once, Gaeton catches her watching him. More than once, he’s allowed his fingers to thread through hers. As the sun starts to drop and dusk falls over Kigali, he leans towards her and says softly, “Let’s go someplace else. There’s a surprise for my danseuse.”

He leads her by the hand away from the busy marketplace to where the paved road ends. She’s not sure where he’s going, but she knows she trusts him. The breeze feels cool against her neck. She doesn’t remember ever feeling this free. The smell of lingering ash and smoke fades as they keep walking. A small crowd passes them. It isn’t until she hears the heavy drumbeats that her eyes light up. “Intore!”

He smiles, nods and, together, they pick up their pace so as not to miss the Intore. It is a celebration dance. As they clear a hill, they see a crowd gathered in a large circle. They inch closer, push through the throng, until they can see. He tugs her hand, and they sit on the ground to watch the dance.

“Gaeton!”

The man calling Gaeton’s name wears only a bright blue and yellow skirt and an elaborate headpiece. Gaeton first looks surprised to hear his name, but his face then relaxes as he recognizes a friend. “Come, we need you. You’ve practiced this with us – we’re short.” Gaeton looks at Evariste, who nods, smiling, and then disappears behind the dancers. When he emerges minutes later, he looks like the others… and yet… not. Wearing the same blue and yellow skirt, he is shirtless, and there is an oversized wig of straw on his head. Evariste pus a hand a hand over her throat when she sees the jagged scar that scores his chest. Let’s not talk about it. That’s his response whenever the tragic events that took his father and his brother are brought up…. Evariste feels the cold wash of shame as she admits it’s sometimes easy to forget that he was scarred that night, too. His scar reminds her: he nearly died too. The thought makes her queasy.

The heavy drum stomps out the song of victory as the men move quickly, shaking their heads violently. The Intore is the heroes’ dance, a celebration of life, of strength and of victory. It’s the dance of men, of history, of war, of protection. Watching Gaeton swing his head back and forth, shaking the straw wig, makes her proud she knows him. Torches light the circle, the sun having faded from view, and the shadows of the men moving in time to the music look like giants dancing. By the time the dance concludes, and Gaeton returns, Evariste fees as though she’s part of a fairytale.

“The boys said you’ve practiced this with them?”

Gaeton nods. “Some. A few times.”

“But you don’t come to Kigali often?”

“No. Some of them live near the village. Come; I know a spot.” Taking her by the hand, they walk away from the revelers. Evariste doesn’t sound worried, only curious, when she says, “The trip home will take a few hours, yes?” At this point, it will be well after supper before she returned. Respectable girls don’t stay out after dark without a chaperone; she knows this to be true. But she’s with Gaeton, she reasons.

“It will. We can’t stay much longer. But I want to show you this.”

They walk until they can only hear the newly awakened cicadas and the whistling of the wind. Moonlight drapes through the branches of leaves. Finally, they reach the top of a secluded hill where nothing, but a few banana trees see them. “We’ll rest here for a few minutes before walking back to the canoe.” Gaeton offers, shifting to sit on the ground. He leans back, crossing his arms beneath his head. When Evariste stays sitting, he says, “Come on, lay down, cherie.”

She bites her lip. Lying beside a boy, especially with the sundown, is not acceptable and there’s no way to make it so. Quietly, Gaeton insists, “Please, Evariste.”

“It’s not –“

“Harder to see the stars like that.”

A threadlike sound escapes Evariste’s throat as temptation gnaws at her. She looks around to see if anyone’s watching.

“You don’t have to.” Gaeton’s voice deepens and gentles at the same time. The butterflies that hatched earlier swarm. “You don’t think it’s… you wouldn’t think me…”

He smiles and turns his eyes skyward. “Evariste, I think you’re the only diamond I’m ever going to find.” Despite the small, closed-lip smile stretching across his face, Evariste sees the truth in his eyes, and it turns her heart.

Running her tongue over her teeth behind her closed lips, Evariste twists until she’s a few inches further away from him. The distance makes his smile widen as she leans backwards, leaving her arms at her sides.

“Thank you,” Gaeton says softly.

“Why can’t girls dance?”

“You can dance right now if you’d like. Go ahead, get up, dance. I’ll be your audience.”

The thought of dancing in front him makes Evariste’s cheeks burn. Smiling, she shakes her head.

“You did before,” he challenges.

“I was a little girl then.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Seriously, though, women should be able to dance the Intore.”

“They dance the ballet part.”

She shrugs, acknowledging this. “The stars are pretty.”

“There will be more of them out by the time we reach the canoe.”

“Will we be able to see the row back?” Only a hint of fear touches her voice, the tale of the sea monster swimming through her memory.

“The stars light the way.”

“I like to make up stories about the stars.”

“Tell me one.”

Evariste is quiet for a long time. “My favorite is Orpheus. He was the greatest musician – his talent with the lyre was unrivaled. So beautiful were his melodies that they could coax even the jagged rocks to soften and wild beasts to tame their ways. Orpheus is infatuated with beautiful Eurydice and asks for her hand in marriage. Their love was true and passionate and tender but, on their wedding day, tragedy struck. Eurydice was sadly bitten by a snake; the venom from the bite killed her and leaves Orpheus heartbroken.”

“I’m not a fan of this story.”

She smiles. “The thing is, though… after Eurydice’s death, Orpheus is unable to move on. His music, once so beautiful and joyous, becomes sad. He is overtaken with grief and, heroically, decides he must go to the underworld and save his true love. The journey there is dangerous and hard. He’s almost killed more than once. When he finally makes it, he plays his lyre, and his song is the saddest and most beautiful ever to be played in the underworld. Hades agrees to let him take Eurydice back – to bring her back to life…. but only on one condition: he cannot look back at Eurydice until they are out of Hades.

The two of them journey together through the realms of the underworld. As soon as Orpheus reaches the land of the living, he turns to hug his beloved…. but Eurydice’s feet were still in the underworld. As punishment for failing to abide by the conditions set forth by the underworld gods, Hermes, the soul-guide separated the two lovers forever, leading Eurydice back to the underworld. The love that burns in Orpheus for Eurydice refuses to let him live without her, and he takes his own life thereafter. Zeus then sends an eagle to the river to retrieve Orpheus’s lyre and he pins it, and Orpheus, in the heavens. That’s it…. right… there.” She hands a hand upward, pointing toward a small cluster of stars. Gaeton follows her finger and says nothing for a while.

“It is hard to live without those you love. But… to take your own life is to subject those who are still living and love you to the same misery you feel without your lost one.”

“Gaeton, the practical one,” Evariste sings softly. “Yes. It is a mortal sin to take your own life. But to be loved like that, by someone who cannot live without you…”

Gaeton opens his mouth, but then closes it and stares at the stars. After a moment, he says, “People have been staring at stars for a long, long time.”

“And making up stories about them.”

“That, too.”

By the time Gaeton suggests they start back to the canoe, Evarist’s heart is full. Kigali comes alive at night and, as they pass the marketplace again, they hear laughter and music, and sees children dancing with sparklers. It feels far away from their quiet village, as though she’s stepped through the pages of a storybook. “What is your biggest dream, Gaeton? To be an engineer?” She asks as the bustling noise of the nightlife fades behind them and the smells of the river get stronger.

Gaeton lifts a shoulder. “I like engineering, sure. But my future is as a farmer.”

“But you can do more than farm. You’ve made things for me my whole life,” she throws her hands up in the air and shrugs, smiling. “See?” she pulls the small wooden shaped heart he made for her out of her pocket. “So… could you see yourself making more things, selling them, maybe in the market here in Kigali?”

“I don’t think that would best feed my family.”

“We need to come up with a dream for you.”

“Your dream is –“

“To dance! I want to be part of the Jubilee.”

“The next one is a long time away.”

“Yes, and I will be ready by then to dance. I will be the prettiest of the ballet dancers.”

He smiles as he pushes the canoe into the water. “You wish to be pretty?”

Evariste pushes her end into the river and, taking his hand, climbs in. “It’s not necessary, I guess, but…” She shrugs. “The ballet dancers for the Intore are beautiful in their blue dresses.”

“Yes.” Gaeton dips the oar in and pushes them into the middle of the darkened waters. As they row towards the middle of the river, he watches her tilt her head back to the sky, her face both delicate and strong, her talk of dreaming and true loves stirring something deep inside him. Machetes. Bullets. His brother screaming as his blood seeped through the dirt floor of the hut. Evariste dreams because she knows nothing of living through death. She is the only diamond he’ll ever find, the only one left who knows how to dream. Beneath the blanket of stars, in the middle of the river, with the smoke of Kigali clinging to them, Gaeton leans over and kisses her. As he pulls back, she uses her fingertips to touch her lips and says, “I will never forget today.”