“The people came from different parts of the world. Some came from the south, some from the west, some from east and north. They came here not on their own really, but they have now called this place their own. After they’ve all scattered to different part of the country,” said the old woman. “They’ve gone out to the west, east, and north, in search of a new habitation. The news is that wild fire has destroyed the land down south. Many people have left for the mid-west. Some have carried with them the seed of the past buried in their bosom. The seed of evil pride is hidden in them all, waiting for a time to manifest.” The old woman satisfied with her narrative, pursed her lips before turning her head away to the direction of the wall. She stared into the distance, through the wall. Looking as if she had forgotten the boys and girls seated at her side.
Timothy, Adrian and Philip, Angela and Grace waited for her to continued, but the old woman in her own silence looked away like she was trying so hard to remember something. The teenage boys and girls were staring at her and waiting for her to conclude her story, when she raised her head and stared away like she were angry. Adrian in boldness lifted his hand away from his jaw where he was resting it patiently, and placed the hand on the old woman’s knee and looked at her invitation-ally. The old woman feeling the warmth of the young boy’s hand on her knees, became suddenly aware of her own silence and turned, then looked the boy in the face. She peered downwards, into his eyes sternly and then smiled before turning away. The boy was shocked by her gaze- as he quickly removed his hand from her knee.
“Yes,” my children, the old woman continued. “They have gone over to the calm sea, away from the land they said evil has beseeched. The evil deeds committed by our ancestors to those brought captives from the natural land of the free,” said the old woman then turning her head to look each child’s face as they sat with their legs folded and eyes staring at her.
The old woman, also called Mrs. Dicks, is a small and slender fair complexion plain woman in her mid-seventies. Her almost gray and long hairs were parted in two strands, and pined behind her back to keep them from falling onto her face. Her nails were painted in red nail polish, and so was her lips, they were painted in red. The old woman had once told the girls that a woman without makeup on her face is like a naked woman without cloths. To this comment the girls had laughed humorously at Angela for teasing Grace for wearing a nail polish on her right index finger. The old woman had looked at Grace, and commented on her nail polish.
“That is pretty, but next time, ask your mother to complete the entire five fingers. It’s more feminine with the whole nails painted than just a finger,” the old woman said, as she stroke Grace’s check.
Even in her nightgown as the old woman is seen today with the teenagers, she is still completely made up like she is going out for a date. Every morning for Mrs. Dicks, and after shower and before she even steps out of her house, she seats down by her dressing table to make up her face. She only takes off her makeup when she is ready to go to bed, and that’s if she is through reading her novel.
After some brief seconds of silence and looking at the children’s face, the old woman turned, and looked toward the open window, and then about the cream color painted room with pictures hanging on every angle of the wall. She stared at the painting on the walls, and then fixed her eyes on the painting mounted above a mahogany piano player and pointed at it.
“That’s my grandmother’s gift to me. It’s being seating on that piano since I moved in here some fifty years ago.” I clean it, dust it, but I don’t move it an inch.” She concluded and then smiled as she remembers that she has not finished her story.
“Mr. Jones was a man of such nature,” the old woman began. “He was one of the seeds from the past, and one planted in the devil’s garden. In him, an image is hidden, events that will one day manifest in his children.”
“We all carry in us sometimes a seed of the past that will someday manifest in the present, but will be cleansed by the pure water from the mercy of a penitent and reverent heart. That’s for those who desire it to be cleansed.” The old woman concluded, turning in her chair.
“As for Mr. Jones, he did not know how the seed in him will manifest, or when it would. And behold the fate of whom the seed would be darted toward.” “You see,” the old woman began, pointing to the children, “we are all made specifically for a purpose, some unfortunately came to bear the pain that others ahead of them might succeeded and live freely.
“Mr. Jones had packed up and left with his family two weeks after tragedy struck in the town of Raymondville. He said, he was moving away from Raymondville. The town he never wants to see again. Why? We will find out.” The old woman pointed with a finger downward toward one of the girls.
“He didn’t just leave because the land was beseeched. He left because his time for redemption was equally near.”
“When Mr. Jones left South Ipissim, away from what he described as the blanket of darkness? He said he wanted to get out of it all, go with his children and wash himself clean in River Dakota. He actually did say that, and that’s how it seems to us who knew why he left for Dakota. He truly needed redemption, a cleansing of the spirit soul sort of, though he didn’t even know that much. If he did, the journey would not have been quickened, because in South Ipissim, his eyes would still have been blinded to the truth of what was all around him.”
“Though Mr. Jones thinks the land he left was fouled by the deeds of the past, he claimed he has no part in it.”https://www.amazon.co.uk/Garmin-Smartwatch-All-day-Monitoring-Features/dp/B08FBGKL8L?ref_=Oct_DLandingS_D_915dcd4c_0
“I wasn’t there then and I wasn’t there now”, he told a man standing at his doorpost when the call came to search for him. “Don’t blame me,” he told the man. The old woman said sarcastically.
“This is what he told the Sheriff who came knocking on his door. “My blood is clean, and I wasn’t there.” The old woman said the word as a matter of fact, before tilting her head backward and began to laugh. Her laughter was loud, and reverberating the entire room. The effect caused the boys to turn around and looked at each other. Their face was a mask expression of surprise. They had never seen the old woman laugh this loud, as if something had taken charge of her.
“You all look tired,” the old woman stated as a matter of fact. “We should end tonight and finished tomorrow evening, alright. We’ll take one day at a time.” The old woman said.
The old woman stared at the boys as she waited for their response. They nodded their heads in unison and one by one they stood up, stretched their arms and legs and left Mrs. Dick’s place.
The next day began like the day before it. The teenagers had finished their homework, a promise they must keep if they were to spend time with the old woman, listening to her stories.
“Where did we stop the last time?” the old woman asked the young teenagers as each boys and girls found their way to a space on the floor.
“We stopped at Mr. Jones telling the Sheriff that he didn’t do it.”
“Wonderful! Timothy. That was excellent of you to remember.” Mrs. Dick’s told Timothy, as she patted him on the shoulder.
“My blood is clean. I wasn’t there,” Mr. Jones, lamented to the detectives and to the Sheriff who came to question him about the missing little girl from Raymondville.
“Someone said the girl was seen at your mother in-law’s store buying candy the day she disappeared,” the detective told Mr. Jones. “And that your truck was packed around there.”
“I didn’t see her, Mr. Jones replied the detectives.
“I didn’t see her, I have nothing to do with it and I never drove my car there.”
(c) and written by Blessing Otobo
BessJT 