"Anybody up for a song," my mother said. She always knew the right things to say. "Let's sing the song of Sheppard's," chirped Naledi. "Yes. I'll start it," added Lesedi. She began humming a mid-tempo tune while swaying side to side. Naledi quickly followed. I exited proceedings in order to retrieve some incense from the prayer room. I returned to find the ladies in full harmony. Lesedi's gentle soprano, Naledi's hard tenor and my mother on bass. I placed a saucer half filled with holy oil in the middle of the room. Lighting the incense, I floated it on the top. Then I spun it gently and watched the smoke twirl in unison. I sauntered over to the couch and squeezed myself between my sisters. My mother lowered her hand from her neck to brush my freshly shaved head as I took over the bass part of the harmony.
The words of the song differ just as seasons are not the same. We always allow my mother to lead. Her experience allows her to find just the right words to say at the appropriate intervals. It always begins with, "The wind blows and the birds return from the north of old. The leaves whither on the branches but the tree continues to grow. Making way for the next cycle after the winter's cold. Perpetual seasons leaven the land with growth. This I know. Celestial Sheppard's guide the flock through time that flies unceasing. Flesh deteriorates and rejuvenates through life and deaths breathing." As we continue to hum, mother makes a prayer that only the ancestors can hear. We will all learn it one day. But we must first master finding the right words to the song because we still fumble our way through the important verses. I fumble less than my sisters. But fumbling is fumbling nonetheless. Then the song continues. "The pick to lift and show beneath. The sickle to reap the soul. Provide the flock with the path they seek. I ask you Sheppard's of old."
Shuma stared in awe as we sang. Polyphonic harmonies like wind instruments vocalised. He watched with heavy eyelids. Tears drowning his pupils as his brain forgot to tell his eyes to blink. His head collapsed into his palm causing his pose to become distorted. We continued swaying ourselves from side to side, until the rocking chair followed suit. It was slight at first. Hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. Soon enough it rocked in equal sways with ours. Just like my father rocked in it when he and my mother would teach us the song. My grandfather apparently rocked in the same chair when he and my grandmother taught my father. And my great grandfather did the same from what I heard. They always bore one boy in my family. He was always the eldest. And he was always tasked with maintaining family traditions. My fathers sudden death meant I had to learn quicker than I was supposed to. You can't rush what I need to learn. Mistakes are not reversible. I'm doing my best so only God can judge me.
Shuma had passed out much quicker than we had expected. The gigantic meal must have had something to do with it. You learn everyday. There are two people who sit in that chair. Teachers, and born-agains. Born-agains are people with nothing to live for. Who have done everything they were born to do and have now completed their cycle of life. Criminals, liars, people who have lost the will to live. We give them a new beginning. A purpose that they had once upon a time is repurposed for the current and next generation. I would be honored to serve my family once my current purpose reaches its expiration. They can have their way with me however which way it pleases them. I would love them to.
Shuma's catatonic body suddenly tensed up. Causing our chorus to grow in franticness. His chest heaved up as his mouth stretched open for a very long breath. We hummed faster. My heart thumping through my breath. I never got used to this part Ever. His posture made him look like he was almost going to levitate off the chair. In an instant, the expanded chest lost all the air it had inhaled. His body collapsed back into the chair in a thud. Head buried in his chest. I never knew if they died at this point. I had never asked. I only follow instructions until such a time as that which is hidden is revealed. Our song gradually slowed down to a humming whisper. Then it stopped.
YOU ARE READING
A noble blood sacrifice
Mystery / ThrillerA confident young man with a well paying job, worries about his mother and two sisters when he's away at work. They are constantly harassed and bullied by the community who accuse them of practicing witchcraft. His father was a known witch, but he...
