Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [36]
It wasn’t many days before Omoro was to depart when an idea that was almost too big to think about seized upon Kunta. Was it remotely possible that his papa might let him share the journey? Kunta could think of nothing else. Noticing his unusual quietness, Kunta’s fellow goatherds, even Sitafa, left him alone. And toward his adoring little brother, he became so short-tempered that even Lamin drew away, hurt and puzzled. Kunta knew how he was acting and felt badly, but he couldn’t help himself.
He knew that now and then some lucky boy was allowed to share a journey with his father, uncle, or grown-up brother. But he also knew that such boys had never been so young as his eight rains, except for some fatherless boys, who got special privileges under the forefathers’ laws. Such a boy could start following closely behind any man, and the man would never object to sharing whatever he had—even if he was on a journey lasting for moons—so long as the boy followed him at exactly two paces, did everything he was told, never complained, and never spoke unless spoken to.
Kunta knew not to let anyone, especially his mother, even suspect what he dreamed of. He felt certain that not only would Binta disapprove, but she would also probably forbid his ever mentioning it again, and that would mean Omoro would never know how desperately Kunta hoped he could go. So Kunta knew that his only hope lay in asking Fa himself—if he could ever catch him alone.
There were soon but three days before Omoro was to leave, and the watchful, almost despairing Kunta was herding his goats after breakfast when he saw his father leaving Binta’s hut. Instantly he began maneuvering his goats into milling back and forth, going nowhere, until Omoro had gone on in a direction and to a distance that Binta surely wouldn’t see. Then, leaving his goats alone, because he had to take the chance, Kunta ran like a hare and came to a breathless stop and looked up pleadingly at his father’s startled face. Gulping, Kunta couldn’t remember a single thing he had meant to say.
Omoro looked down at his son for a long moment, and then he spoke. “I have just told your mother,” he said—and walked on.
It took Kunta a few seconds to realize what his father meant. “Aieee!” Kunta shouted, not even aware that he had shouted. Dropping onto his belly, he sprang froglike into the air—and bolting back to his goats, sent them racing toward the bush.
When he collected himself enough to tell his fellow goatherds what had happened, they were so jealous that they went off by themselves. But by midday they could no longer resist the chance to share with him the excitement of such wonderful luck. By that time he had fallen silent with the realization that ever since the drumtalk message had come, his father had been thinking about his son.
Late that afternoon, when Kunta raced happily home and into his mother’s hut, Binta grabbed him without a word and began to cuff him so hard that Kunta fled, not daring to ask what he had done. And her manner changed suddenly toward Omoro in a way that shocked Kunta almost as much. Even Lamin knew that a woman was absolutely never allowed to disrespect a man, but with Omoro standing where he could plainly hear her, Binta loudly muttered her disapproval of his and Kunta’s traveling in the bush when the drums of different villages were reporting regularly of new people missing. Fixing the breakfast couscous, she pounded the pestle into the mortar so furiously that the sound was like drums.
As Kunta was hurrying out of the hut the next day—to avoid another whacking—Binta commanded Lamin to stay behind and began to kiss and pat and hug him as she hadn’t done since he was a baby. Lamia’s eyes told Kunta his embarrassment, but there was nothing either of them could do about it.
When Kunta was outside the hut away from his mother, practically