The following is an excerpt fromPetbyAkwaeke Emezi(Freshwater), a YA exploration of identity and justice.
**
Jam leaned forward to look at the painting.
There were raked gouges in it, next to delicate veined imprints, next to pieces of Bitters palm.
Credit: Beowulf Sheehan; Random House Children’s Books
Jam pointed at it and looked at her mother.
Bitter held her chin, thoughtful.
Im not sure, you know.
The thing just coming out the way it want so.
Its arms were long, even longer than Jams.
It didnt have a head yet.
You could name something when you not sure what it is?
They stood and looked down together at the thing struggling out of smoke.
Its just waiting sometimes, Bitter murmured.
Maybe they were one and the same.
She took her mothers hand and pulled her toward the angel books.
Ah, said Bitter.
What you have there?
She pushed the books out across the table so her mother could see the pictures in each of them.
There was a butchered lion head bleeding somewhere in there.
Bitter hummed and touched the pictures.
Jam looked up at her.
Bitter hummed some more and nodded.
Her mother ran her stained fingers across the books.
Do not be afraid, she said.
Jam didnt understand, so she kept the frown on her face.
Thats the first thing angels does say, you know?
Do not be afraid.
Jam looked down at the pictures.
It seemed like a reasonable opening line, considering how horrific they looked.
Her mother laughed at her expression.
Exactly, she said.
We does think angels are white robes and harps and all kinds of pretty things, but chile!
She clicked her tongue.
Good reason why they does strike fear into the heart.
Jam wonderedif real angels looked like this, then what did that mean for the angels in Lucille?
Angels werent supposed to look like this.
They were supposed to be good, and how could something good look like this?
She tapped on the pictures and looked up at her mother, worried, pitching her voice low.
Monsters, she whispered.
Bitters eyebrows shot up.
She hummed some more and turned a few of the pages.
Well, I suppose one could see how you could see that.
Only if you dont know what a monster looks like, of course.
What does a monster look like?Jam asked.
Her mother focused on her, cupping her cheek in a chalky hand.
Monsters dont look like anything, doux-doux.
Thats the whole point.
Thats the whole problem.
Okay, Jam thought, fine.
Our angels, she signed,the ones here.
Angels had to be innocent, right?
Like, wasnt that the whole point of them, to be good and innocent and righteous?
Bitter tilted her head, and something sad entered her eyes.
It not easy to get rid of monsters, she said.
The angels, they had to do things underhand, dark things.
Hard things, her mother continued.
You cant sweet-talk a monster into anything else, when all it does want is monsterness.
Good and innocent, they not the same thing; they dont wear the same face.
She came back to herself and studied Jam for a little bit, the sadness lifting from her eyes.
Its good to think about the angels like so, she said.
Cant believe everything everyone tells you, even in school, its good to question.
But remember, is Lucille angels that organized we.
And what did we learn from that?
Bitter squeezed Jams hands.
Tell it to me.
Jam made a face.
You dont have to voice it, you could sign it, ent?
We are each others harvest.
We are each others business.
We are each others magnitude and bond.
Angels arent pretty pictures in old holy books, just like monsters arent ugly pictures.
Its all just people, doing hard things or doing bad things.
But is all just people, our people.
Excerpted from PET by Akwaeke Emezi, on sale Sept. 10, 2019.
Published by Make Me a World, an imprint of Random House Childrens Books.
