Читать книгу Eve's Daughters - Ellen Saxby - Страница 8

Shakan sat motionless in the field surrounded by the whispering grass.

The land stretched open and empty until it touched the edge of the sky. Her breath came short and uneven. No one knew that she too had seen the ‘tall man with the red feathers’ but to reveal her vision would have brought her husband even more shame. She told no one but the moment had changed her. Now she spent long hours alone in the silent meadow watching the sky and the clouds, listening to the cry of the monkeys and the tukan. There was a world hidden within her world and she wanted more than anything to reach into it once again.

She now sat, day after day, watching the sky change color slowly at dawn and dusk. She felt the heat of the sun, watching the few birds circle overhead. She could feel the earth calling for rain, seeing where the grasses were turning brown. Her thoughts kept pushing their way into her mind even though she tried to remain as open as the field before her.

Her husband felt her distance and it made him irritable. He needed her as an anchor when his own feelings swelled and overcame him. But she needed to be quiet and alone. So she sat. Her work for the day had been done. Mekutei seemed to understand and he was at home with the younger children.

She heard a low rumble and watched as a bolt of light cut across the horizon. She gathered her cloak about her and began a slow trot across the savannah. She knew that the evening meal would need some attention so she hurried. When she was young her Mother had told her stories about the time when the women were the chieftains. Then later, there was a time when they were equal to the men. Now they were subservient. The knowledge that her own gift needed to be secret, burned in her throat.

The rain came down hard and soaked her before she reached the hut. She changed her dress quickly and set about the preparations for the evening meal.

Her hair was wet and Mekutei tried to help her dry it quickly but there was no time. Once his father came home he did not dare to help his mother. The slightest attention to her needs brought his father’s wrath.

They all lived in readiness for his sharp anger. Shakan had begun to fear for her son. So young. So gifted. So endangered. Where is the wisdom and justice in all this she wondered. The rain had brought some respite since it was always an occasion for simple tribal jubilation. The rain was a sign of blessing and all tensions seemed to ease with the downpour. Shakan breathed in the sweet smell of the savanna as it drank deeply of the water from the heavens.

Her comfort was short lived. The next morning, her husband awakened them before the sun and shouted for them to gather all their belongings and tie them in bundles for they were to be off. ”Away from this dreaded village,” he said. “I can no longer live in such a place of shame. My son has revealed my lack and now all the village knows that the gift has not landed on my head and never will. My disgrace is now complete.”

He goaded them on as they moaned with heartbreak and horror at the prospect of leaving their home. Shakan feared even more for her son, realizing that once they were out of the watchful eye of the Chief and PapuTlonga, her husband might become even more abusive. She waited until her husband set off to untie their goat for the journey.

“Quickly, run to your grandfather’s house. Tell him. Go.”

Mekutei ran faster than he ever had before, knowing his life depended on it. He roused his grandfather from sleep and in breathless, chopped sentences told of his father’s plans.

PapuTlonga was immediately awake. “Remain here,” he ordered. “I will adopt you. You will be my son.” And he walked as quickly as he could to his holding pen and slung a rope around one of his flock. The animal, chosen for the ceremony of adoption, bleated in defiance but was pulled along the short path. PapuTlonga went to the Chief’s hut and awoke him with the news of the family’s departure and his desire to formally adopt Mekutei.

The adoption ceremony took place without Mekutei’s family. His father could bear no more insults to his honor. He dragged his sleepy and unwilling family away, as Mekutei clung to his grandfather and sobbed quietly.

Shakan heard the sounds of the formal chant as she carried her belongings and her youngest child along the now muddied road to an unknown and uncertain future.

SIX MOONS PASSED while Mekutei lived with his grandfather in great peace. Even though he missed his brothers and sisters and had pangs of longing to see his mother, he was happy with Grandfather. He had learned so much in their daily work of gathering herbs.

“This gift comes in families,” his grandfather had told him one dawn as they searched for black roots and bark at the foot of the waterfall and the mist rose in waves up from the rocks, deep in the canyon. “No one knows why that is. Sometimes it passes from father to son. Sometimes it misses one generation. No one knows why but it can be dangerous because the envy of a father toward his son can arise.”

Mekutei was an eager student and bent himself to the task of drinking in all the tribal lore with which his grandfather nourished his hungry mind. There was so much to know. His eye had begun to recognize the special herbs, even before Grandfather pointed to them. But he had to learn how they worked and what special dangers they might hold.

Gradually, Mekutei began to hear sounds, barely perceptive, more in his imagination than in his hearing. When he was very silent he could hear better and he began to recognize the sound of his mother’s voice, pleading. She was pleading with the Ancestors, he thought, and she was frightened. In a dream he saw his mother struggling to breathe, her breaths coming sometime in gasps. He told Grandfather what he heard and what he saw in his dream.

“Her soul is fighting with her body,” Grandfather said. “Her life is almost too difficult for her. I will see what I can do. I will talk to the Chief and I will go to visit your father and mother.”

But when days passed and Grandfather did not act Mekutei became worried that Grandfather’s actions were too slow. Grandfather assured him that there was time and it was better not to act out of fear. But Mekutei was not persuaded.

He hated to act precipitously but he knew what he had to do.

On the night of the full moon, Mekutei waited for the sounds of his grandfather’s sleep, the deep even breaths, the occasion rumble in the throat, before he climbed out of the tiny cracked window of the hut and dropped noiselessly onto the soft earth below. The moon was already lighting up the tops of the wild fig trees at the edge of the clearing. His grandfather had warned him with great severity not to go to his father’s house but he was going anyway.

All that Mekutei knew was that his mother was sick and he knew how to help her. He knew the way to his family’s new village and he knew from a vision which of the small huts would be theirs. He had thought about this many days, gathering the herbs that would help his Mother’s lungs to open back up to the air, before he made his decision.

No one went against the wishes of PapuTlonga because he knew things before they happened. He was never wrong and to go against his warning was like spitting in the face of the Ancestors. No one ever went against a direct command. No one that is except Mekutei The boy knew how dangerous it was to go, but he felt that he had no choice.

He loved his mother more than life itself and he could not bear to hear her pitiful wheezes even though he heard them only with the ears of his spirit. Even at twelve, Mekutei’s spirit abilities were as strong as his Grandfather’s. Even before he had tasted the sacred plant, he already had visions. He knew things. He understood how to talk to plants and see the colors in the air around them. He often knew which plants people needed and where to find them. He longed to serve his people as his grandfather did.

In the quiet of the African night, Mekutei heard the cry of a baboon, and from very far, the wail of a jackal from across the wadi. He felt the sting of the night air as he raced through the tall grass, hoping to leave the herbs for his mother and be back before his grandfather missed him. The night had a sharp chill and his breath formed a mist as he ran.

He saw his father’s village from the edge of the clearing. He waited for a while watching for any sign of life or movement. Feeling safe, he crouched down and made his way along the grassy incline toward the hut that he knew was his father’s. Trying to creep softly like the tiger, he left the pouch of herbs underneath a large stone, where he knew his mother would look for them and turned to go. As he did, he felt a sharp, heavy blow to the side of his head and everything became dark.

When he finally opened his eyes it was daylight. He moaned for the pain in his head and in his legs as he saw the thick rope binding his ankles. His wrists were bound to the heavy wooden beam in the center of the hut. As his head cleared he saw his father moving about the hut. His father did not look at him. He did not speak. Mekutei started to cry but his father ignored his pleas. He could hear the quiet sobs of his mother who sat in the back of the hut and he knew that he had risked everything to no avail. He watched in horror as his father burnt the healing herbs in a small bowl.

“Give her the herbs. Do not burn them,” he wailed. The smoke rose from the bowl as the last of the herbs turned to ash. Mekutei waited for the beating that did not come and finally he fell asleep watching his father’s face contorted with hatred. He knew that his Grandfather would not come for him. He had written his own fate.

That night Mekutei’s father awakened him. He undid all the ropes but left Mekutei’s hands bound.

“C” he demanded and they set off making their way silently through the tiny village. At first Mekutei thought he was being taken back to his Grandfather so he did not cry out. Then he realized that the were on the wide path that led away from the mountain and towards the great sea coast. They walked all night, Mekutei whimpering and begging his father to stop. His father said nothing. By dawn they arrived at the edge of a town with larger buildings than Mekutei had ever seen. They sat by the edge of the town until sunup. That day, he sold Mekutei to the slave traders. He knew that PapuTlonga would intuit his intentions but would not have time to rescue the boy. Before the new moon, Mekutei was on a slave ship bound for the Americas.

The other chained passengers felt pity for the boy, so young, drawn into an unendurable horror and at first they tried to say kind things to him. Then pure agony enveloped them all and each man endured his own nightmare. During the long journey Mekutei was in and out of consciousness. The pain sent him flying out of his body. The searing, burning pain brought him back. He became delirious and at times thought he had died and been assigned to hell by the Ancestors for disobeying his Grandfather. Sometimes he saw his Grandfather in his dreams, calling out to him to be strong.

Mekutei knew about the slavers. He did not know what awaited him at the end of this voyage to hell.