PART II
Chapter 11 The Stallion and the Faucet
The golden flow has stilled again. How strange, how ridiculous: once it arrived only when Asdar or Tarmo leaned near. Now, summoned from afar, I leak on command — like a wandering faucet connected to the pipelines of heaven. Trust the cosmos to make motherhood both sacred and absurd.
Karim knows. He feels the shift in my breath, the way my ribs carry back echoes of places he’s never seen. Yet he never asks.
Morning creeps into Conakry, thin gray light filtering through the curtains. I stretch, half-smiling at the ceiling.
“So, Karim… today we board a plane not to another realm, just to Labé. Almost disappointing, isn’t it?”
“I take this earthly flight gladly. No portals, no rituals, no gods demanding golden proofs. Just us, the twins, and a rattling propeller hauling us upcountry.”
In the hotel courtyard, simmering beneath early humidity, it’s Karim who draws the stares — dark-haired, green-eyed, shoulders broad, carrying himself like a poet-warrior. I smirk, low so only he hears.
“You do realise, Karim, that even with me swollen like a small continent at your side, they’re staring at you. At the stallion who walks on two legs.”
The full chapter — Conakry’s domestic terminal, the rattling propeller north, and what the Fouta Djallon holds — is available unabridged on Ream.
© 2026 CYcrds | I.Ph. de Lange
The C.O.M.C. Files 