act!””
Vimbai decided that it was not the time to investigate this fascinating point. She had to wake up Maya, and together they would decide what to do. The house was working its subtle magic on Vimbai, and she did not consider the possibility of the house sinking—her concern was with finding her way back home, preferably before she missed any more classes.
She ascended the steps and stopped in confusion—the layout of the house had been changed dramatically. The hallway stretched farther than she ever remembered it being, farther even than her idea of the house’s size would allow. Moreover, at the end of the hallway where she remembered her room being there was inside a solid wall of fragrant and green vegetation, twining along the walls and cascading from the ceiling like a curtain. Bright flowers bloomed and wilted, their petals falling on the floor as each flower transformed into green and yellow fruit; drops of dew condensed and slid along the midribs of large leathery leaves. Thankfully, the door to Maya’s room was still visible.
Vimbai knocked.
Maya’s hoarse voice mumbled something, and then rose. “Come in.”
Vimbai did. She found Maya sitting up in bed, staring out of the window. “Did that old woman do this?” she asked Vimbai without ever turning.
Vimbai had not considered this possibility, but discounted it. “No,” she said. “Of course not. That woman is my grandmother—well, her ghost, in any case. An ancestral spirit.”
“Are they good?” Maya asked.
“Usually,” Vimbai said and tried to remember what she knew of the relevant folklore. “They are the link between people and the creator, Mwari . Sometimes witches command them to do harm, but I don’t think this is the case. She said she needed to tell me a story, and then she just stayed. Peb likes her.”
“Great,” Maya said. “A ghost babysitter for the Psychic Energy Baby.”
“There are also animals on the porch,” Vimbai said. “Everyone seems to think they are yours.”
“Did you see them when you first came?” Maya asked. “I remember you looking under the porch.”
“No,” Vimbai said. “But I did see them today—they are on the porch now. The water chased them there, I think. They seem cold.”
“What happened?” Maya said. “Do you know why we are floating?”
Vimbai shook her head. “The ocean carried us off.”
“Or it’s a flood,” Maya said, grim. “Has it occurred to you? There’s another flood and the only ones who survived are us and a few ghosts we have along.”
“And your animals,” Vimbai added. “What are they?”
Maya shrugged. “They do not like fish, that much I know.”
Vimbai looked around the room, not because of any pressing curiosity but to distract herself from the sight of the water and the nagging fear that Maya might be right, that the world had simply disappeared overnight and there was no back to go to, no classes to catch, no parents to reassure. Vimbai rubbed her throat to chase away a large and cold stone that suddenly formed there. She looked at Maya’s chairs and the shelf with knickknacks, at the stack of paperbacks, their covers worn into illegibility, and at the beanbag chair that sat in the middle of the bedroom like an imposing toad. It was a simple room, with precious few traces of personality—surprising for a dwelling inhabited by someone as distinct as Maya. In fact, Vimbai thought, the same could be said about Felix’s room as well as Vimbai’s own. In this house, there was no need for posters or furnishings or any other mass-manufactured claims to individuality, there was no need of proclaiming to the house that this was a room belonging to any specific person, with formed tastes and idiosyncrasies. The house took care of that—the very fact of them living here was enough to attest who they were.
“Get dressed,” Vimbai said and headed for the door. “I’ll check on Felix, and you take care of your creatures. Grandma is making
Vimbai decided that it was not the time to investigate this fascinating point. She had to wake up Maya, and together they would decide what to do. The house was working its subtle magic on Vimbai, and she did not consider the possibility of the house sinking—her concern was with finding her way back home, preferably before she missed any more classes.
She ascended the steps and stopped in confusion—the layout of the house had been changed dramatically. The hallway stretched farther than she ever remembered it being, farther even than her idea of the house’s size would allow. Moreover, at the end of the hallway where she remembered her room being there was inside a solid wall of fragrant and green vegetation, twining along the walls and cascading from the ceiling like a curtain. Bright flowers bloomed and wilted, their petals falling on the floor as each flower transformed into green and yellow fruit; drops of dew condensed and slid along the midribs of large leathery leaves. Thankfully, the door to Maya’s room was still visible.
Vimbai knocked.
Maya’s hoarse voice mumbled something, and then rose. “Come in.”
Vimbai did. She found Maya sitting up in bed, staring out of the window. “Did that old woman do this?” she asked Vimbai without ever turning.
Vimbai had not considered this possibility, but discounted it. “No,” she said. “Of course not. That woman is my grandmother—well, her ghost, in any case. An ancestral spirit.”
“Are they good?” Maya asked.
“Usually,” Vimbai said and tried to remember what she knew of the relevant folklore. “They are the link between people and the creator, Mwari . Sometimes witches command them to do harm, but I don’t think this is the case. She said she needed to tell me a story, and then she just stayed. Peb likes her.”
“Great,” Maya said. “A ghost babysitter for the Psychic Energy Baby.”
“There are also animals on the porch,” Vimbai said. “Everyone seems to think they are yours.”
“Did you see them when you first came?” Maya asked. “I remember you looking under the porch.”
“No,” Vimbai said. “But I did see them today—they are on the porch now. The water chased them there, I think. They seem cold.”
“What happened?” Maya said. “Do you know why we are floating?”
Vimbai shook her head. “The ocean carried us off.”
“Or it’s a flood,” Maya said, grim. “Has it occurred to you? There’s another flood and the only ones who survived are us and a few ghosts we have along.”
“And your animals,” Vimbai added. “What are they?”
Maya shrugged. “They do not like fish, that much I know.”
Vimbai looked around the room, not because of any pressing curiosity but to distract herself from the sight of the water and the nagging fear that Maya might be right, that the world had simply disappeared overnight and there was no back to go to, no classes to catch, no parents to reassure. Vimbai rubbed her throat to chase away a large and cold stone that suddenly formed there. She looked at Maya’s chairs and the shelf with knickknacks, at the stack of paperbacks, their covers worn into illegibility, and at the beanbag chair that sat in the middle of the bedroom like an imposing toad. It was a simple room, with precious few traces of personality—surprising for a dwelling inhabited by someone as distinct as Maya. In fact, Vimbai thought, the same could be said about Felix’s room as well as Vimbai’s own. In this house, there was no need for posters or furnishings or any other mass-manufactured claims to individuality, there was no need of proclaiming to the house that this was a room belonging to any specific person, with formed tastes and idiosyncrasies. The house took care of that—the very fact of them living here was enough to attest who they were.
“Get dressed,” Vimbai said and headed for the door. “I’ll check on Felix, and you take care of your creatures. Grandma is making
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