hermaphrodites: sexless, or oversexed creatures. Monsters outside
the realm of divided things: Adam before he was split in two.
Brothers and sisters who never separated in the womb. Or, in the
case of our new friend, perhaps united again, sometime later.”
Roy did not understand. “Abora is a hermaphrodite?”
“No, no! I’m speaking of family affairs. And long ago. Harrar was
an isolated sort of paradise for a long time. Even in a magnificently
broad gene pool such as we Ethiopians enjoy, there can be still
waters. Thirst can lead some to drink of it.”
“Incest?”
Webele shrugged. “I’m not saying that Abora’s family engaged in
this. I’m only saying that once the curse is passed down, it is passed
around. In Harrar some still bear the stigmata of those old, forbidden
liaisons. They are cursed with uneven legs, like hyenas.”
Webele grew uncharacteristically somber, staring into his empty
cup. “You know, I used to wonder why man must suffer for the sins
of two misbehaving children long ago. Now I believe that maybe
death is a disease which resulted from Adam’s mating with his sister
Eve. They cancelled each other out. The fall came from those two
perfect opposites coming together. Had God not cursed them after
that, their perfect love would have undone all of creation.”
“And so this is why there can never be perfect things anymore in
this world?” Roy wondered.
Webele shrugged, “It is why everything ultimately dies. If we
have so many things to suffer from in Ethiopia, perhaps it because
the curse still hangs heavy here. We live so close to the ruins of
Eden.”
“So where does that leave me and the coffee I’m looking for?”
“I don’t know. If there was a piece of perfection left over it might
be found here too. This is a land of mixed and borrowed things, but
it is also a land of beginnings.”
Roy gazed down at his cup. Impulsively, he flipped it over
without spilling a drop. But there was nothing to mix; it was perfect
already.
Webele gasped in amazement and Roy smiled at him. “It’s good
to be back,” he said. His teeth shone like opals in the darkness.
“I thought you’d never been to Ethiopia,” Webele said.
“No. Not me. Not personally,” Roy replied.
The doctor lifted an eyebrow. He knew better than to dig for gold
when a man waxed poetic. Better that the bauble remain buried.
ABYSSINIA
230
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