Chapter 10: Disappearing While Becoming Known
Three days passed.
Three bundles of charcoal gone. Three more delivered. Three quiet trips made at sunrise, with my scarf over my face and a smile hidden behind silence.
Naledi watched me like she was watching a miracle unfold — but she never interrupted. Never asked too many questions. She trusted the rhythm I'd created: quiet footsteps, careful trades, and letters hidden under firewood.
In every village I went to, I said nothing.
But the symbol I had burned into each bundle — a curled leaf in ash — was beginning to speak for me.
"Who makes this charcoal?" one vendor had asked.
I just pointed to the forest and walked away.
Let them wonder.
Let them invent me.
Let them fear what they couldn't find.
On the fourth day, I returned from a delivery to find Naledi standing at the edge of the trees, her face tense.
"He came," she said.
My body froze.
"The man with the limp?"
She nodded. "He was at the village this morning. Asking around."
"About what?"
"Someone called 'Zukhanyi the runaway.' He showed your photo. Some of the vendors lied for you. They said no one by that name ever trades here. That they buy charcoal from the boys down the road."
I blinked. "They protected me?"
She smiled. "You built more than a business. You built a myth. They think you're a ghost woman who trades only at dawn and vanishes before noon."
I couldn't help it — I laughed.
A real laugh. Loud, full, unshaken.
"I like that," I said. "Let them believe in ghosts."
That night, I began stamping every bundle with ink I made from crushed bark and ashes.
The leaf in ash was clear. Elegant. Recognizable.
I packed ten new bundles with Naledi's help, hiding them beneath canvas in the storage shed.
By the time the man returned to the village the next morning, I was already gone — walking in the opposite direction, delivering to new vendors who had only heard whispers of the silent coal woman.
"I heard she was burned once," one vendor whispered to another as I handed over two bundles.
"No, no," the other said, eyeing the stamp. "They say she used to be rich, then lost everything. Now she moves like a shadow."
I stayed quiet.
Let them build my story without ever knowing my truth.
Back home, Naledi had made stew.
"I sold the broken kettle," she said casually. "Got us salt, maize meal, and a bottle of paraffin."
I smiled. "Look at us. Surviving like legends."
She took my hand across the table. "No. Not surviving anymore."
"Then what?"
"Living."
We sat on the porch as the sun went down, listening to the birds disappear into the sky.
I leaned against her shoulder. "You ever think about the future?"
"All the time."
"Like what?"
"Like… building a real home. One with stone. Maybe solar power. Maybe bookshelves so tall we need ladders. Maybe a garden."
I closed my eyes, listening.
"And a bath," she added. "A real one. With rose oil."
"And a lock on the door that we control," I whispered.
She kissed the top of my head.
"One day," she promised. "One day, all of that."
I nodded slowly. "And children?"
She went quiet for a second.
"I think I'd be afraid to raise someone in this world," she said.
"But you'd be good at it," I said. "You already saved me."
She didn't answer.
She just held me tighter.
The next day, the man returned to the village again.
But this time, he left after an hour.
No one gave him answers.
No one had seen "Zukhanyi."
But that same afternoon, five new vendors asked about charcoal with the leaf stamp.
I stood on the cliff that night, looking out over the dark valleys and tiny lights in the far-off towns.
"I'm not running anymore," I said into the wind. "I'm spreading."
And Naledi, who had come up silently behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist and whispered, "And I'll be here when you return."