The Mermuring Maiden, page 15
“Ahhaha, little one! Socks are very strange indeed, plus they make your feet sweat. I agree with you. They can be quite useless when walking,” Adisa said. The she reached over and helped Mianshe to standing but without actually standing herself. The thought of standing up made her, well—blue.
“Okay. Is everyone okay?” asked the Prince. “Good,” he quietly replied to himself as he sat down and waited for everyone to settle in.
Mianshe was so hungry she sunk her arm into the stew and lifted a handful and immediately plunged it into her mouth. Then she spat it out onto the floor.
Verité laughed, not so much at the starving sea-girl he now called sister, he was laughing at the expressions on the grown-ups’ faces. They looked horrified. He could almost read Adisa’s reaction. She had a how-can-the-face-of-an-angel-turn-into-a-hyena-so-quickly, look on her face. And the prince, well no words could explain his expression and this made Verité laugh even harder. But when the shamed Mianshe looked at him with her sad teal eyes and said, “Duduju,” Verité pulled the meat out of his mouth, pushed his bowl to the side and rested his head on the table. Verité felt awful. He knew Duduju. Duduju was his cousin
Je-Jean’s pet baby lamb. And now it was all grown up and thrown up on the floor.
Adisa grabbed Verité by the hand at the very same time the prince picked Mianshe up in his arms and they all rushed outside to get some air.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” said the Prince.
Adisa and the children sat on the stairs and waited for the prince to find some dandelion leaves. They had no idea what sickness the children had gotten in the forest but they were sure the leaves would purge it from them.
The prince was tired and the last thing he wanted to be doing was foraging at night. He had spent his entire day worrying and now here he was still vexed. Whatever this duduju was he was going to rip it up so no one would eat any more of it. He wondered if he should mention it to the village in case they accidentally ingested the foul duduju, but he decided against it. He was too embarrassed to admit he didn’t know what it looked like, much less its properties, so the prince harvested some dandelions and decided to keep the entire incident a secret. With each step he made he tried clearing his mind of his belief that being
a parent was going to be an endless night of vomit and mucous-ridden emotions.
“How do you feel, young ones?” Adisa asked.
The children did not hear her. They simply stared into each other’s eyes. Adisa felt their foreheads to make sure whatever was upsetting them hadn’t gone viral. They were fine but Nanny Leboya wasn’t. She could hear the old woman huffing and puffing and muttering away inside the house. Her food was still sitting on the table uneaten. Adisa couldn’t blame Nanny Leboya for feeling hurt.
“Aieeeya!” hollered Nanny Leboya.
When Adisa heard Leboya scream, she rushed up the stairs and into the house. There by the table nanny stood barefoot in a regurgitated puddle of stew.
“How do you know Duduju?” Verité quietly asked.
“I just ate him,” Mianshe sadly said.
“I know, but how do you know it was him?” he asked.
“He told me,” replied Mianshe.
“Was he sad?” wondered Verité.
“He was not happy. He was scared,” cried Mianshe.
“What did they do to him?” asked Verité.
“They hit him on his head,” Mianshe whimpered.
“Where was my cousin? Where’s Je-Jean?” Verité demanded.
“He is not here,” Mianshe replied. She was confused by Verité’s question.
“I know that,” toned a frustrated Verité. “Can you find him? Ask Duduju where he is,” he silently screamed.
“Duduju is dead, Verité,” Mianshe calmly explained in the most heartfelt voice that one couldn’t tell if she was thinking it or saying it aloud.
Verité stomped down the stairs and began kicking the dirt up in big clods. Mianshe followed him into the courtyard.
“Verité, I’m sorry. I can only hear those I can feel.” She hoped that made sense to her angry and sadly desperate two-legged brother.
Verité was upset. Not because he had eaten lamb and that lamb was his friend, he missed his family—all of them. “What do you care? You bit off the head of a fish!” he angrily thought. Sometimes toning did not allow one to censor their thoughts.
“I said a prayer, Verité. Plus, I promised to elevate it to a Mer-one!” Mianshe tried defending herself and her people’s ways but the lonely two-legged boy stood his ground.
“What’s so good about being a mermaid? That fish was happy as it was,” he coldly said.
Verité’s comment made his sister burst into tears. He didn’t care. He was tired of having to think about everyone’s needs before his own. What about his needs? What about Duduju’s? That lamb would smile at him and follow him everywhere. But Verité was not naïve. He knew each species relied on another. He just hated that one felt they were better than the other.
That’s not true, Verité. I was just honoring the little fish,” Mianshe calmly said as she wiped her tears away. “And Mer-ones don’t feel like they are better than anyone else.”
Verité finally calmed down. He took his little sea-sister in his arms and gently rocked her even thought it was really him that needed nurturing. He missed his family and he missed his mother most of all.
Mianshe cupped Verité’s face with both hands and softly toned, “I love you, Verité. You are my brother.”
The two children sat on the ground and stared into each other’s eyes for a good long moment before entering the house.
After having some dandelion tea, Leboya helped the children get ready for bed. She laid two grass mats right beside each other near the hearth in the prince’s room and watched as they crawled inside and immediately fell to sleep. It had been years since she had taken care of little ones. She had forgotten how quickly they could drop in and out of slumber. She loved how their scent and the sound of their voices could make her heart grow, so she sat down and waited for their breath to deepen, assuring her they were in that other world where their spirit guides would take over for her.
“The children are asleep,” said the Prince as he slowly sat down on the stairs beside the Fire-Tender’s daughter.
Adisa smiled. She was exhausted. All she wanted was to take off Leboya’s slippery dress and crawl onto her sweet grass mat and sleep until the sun kissed her eyes awake. She had to watch herself. Being tired was the perfect environment for saying something stupid like “being kissed awake”. She was not some young girl who had the luxury of believing in fairy tales. No one ever came and saved your day. She knew this. Truth being, this was the complete opposite. The prince needed her. She could not leave yet because he needed someone to talk to.
“What happened, Adisa? They were so happy one moment then so sad the next,” said the Prince. He was truly bewildered. “Was it the food? Was I too hard on them? I literally bent over backward to please them today,” he said. Then he stopped talking.
The prince was silent for so long Adisa believed he had gone to sleep, so she quietly stood up and began to creep down the stairs, but as soon as she thought she had snuck away, he spoke.
“I don’t know,” he said before trailing off into silence once again.
“Ah Prince-Brother, be gentle with yourself. Today was one day and tomorrow you will have another,” she said. Then Adisa addressed him formally. “Guardian-Prince, I must go tend to my father now.”
“Yes, yes I understand,” said the Prince. “Please excuse me, I have taken up so much of your time today. Please know I am most grateful for your help.”
Adisa nodded and smiled and then made her way down the stairs. Now she felt a little melancholic. Their conversation ending in formalities made her feel sad. This day had not turned out exactly how she thought it would.
“Adisa,” called the Prince.
“Yes, my Prince?” she quickly replied. He had startled her.
“Blue is a very befitting color on you. I agree with my daughter. You look beautiful,” he said. Then the prince rose to standing and smiled.
“Thank you,” Adisa quickly replied. “Good night.” Adisa did not know which form she should use when addressing a compliment from one’s prince, so she smiled and waved goodbye and continued on her way. What a perfect day she thought as she ran out of the courtyard and into the pasture toward home.
It was a waning full moon so the evening light was full of shadows. It was late, too late for a single woman to be out unescorted. Adisa was going to have to be careful if she were to get home without being noticed.
When she finally made it to her house, she was so grateful she hadn’t been seen she put her hands together and silently gave thanks. She took off her slippers and tucked them under her arm. She didn’t want their smacking sound to wake her father. Next she slid one bare foot into the slightly open door, and then turned her body to make sure no moonlight entered. She carefully gathered the yards of blue silk and gingerly began inching her way through the small opening.
A sliver of moonlight had divided the Fire-Tender’s daughter in two. Half of her screamed like a peacock and the other half hid in the darkness like a chicken. The Fire-Tender had to blink several times before recognizing it was his daughter. His first thought was of the South African dancer. He thought she was coming to beg him to take her back but this was no showgirl, this was his daughter.
“Adisa?” said the bewildered Fire-Tender.
Once again and for the second time that evening, the sound of her own name startled her. Adisa immediately dropped the dress, and covered her legs. “Yes, Bba?” she replied.
Adisa followed the sound of her father’s voice until he came into view. He was standing by the fence looking out toward the sea. His shadow loomed forward and met her before he could complete his turn. She waited, but her father said nothing more. Then she began to understand. Her father was upset. “It’s Nanny Leboya’s dress,” Adisa meekly said. “It’s a bit loud.”
“Very,” he said.
“Yes,” said Adisa and then she shut up.
The Fire-Tender had never hit his daughter or even touched her without a father’s love in his heart, but today all he could think of was ripping that dress off of her. “Maybe you should change,” he said. Then he turned, taking his shadow with him and he walked into the dark pasture.
“Yes, Bba,” she said before escaping into the house.
Adisa’s heart was beating like a bat’s wings. It fluttered between fear and excitement. When she thought of the prince she would get so happy her heart danced, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, but when she thought of her father her heart would pound in her belly and move around as if the bat was fighting to get out. She took off Nanny Leboya’s dress and wiped it down with a damp cloth. Afterward, she misted the dress with rose water and wrapped a sheet around it and hung it as far from the ground as she could.
Her father hadn’t returned yet and this frightened her. He rarely got upset but then he rarely had reason to. She was a good girl. What a strange day it had been. There had been so much love but a lot of anxiety too. It was like the prince describing his children—so happy one moment, so sad the next.
Adisa lay down on her mat and watched her heart moving beneath her skin. She was waiting for her father to return to give the final judgment on a most unusual day.
Chapter 8
The rooster announced the morning for the second time and this time the prince heard it. Needless to say, it still surprised him, so he jumped up and knocked over his breakfast tray. It made such a clamor that Nanny Leboya rushed in ready to lodge her complaint.
“Now if you had a proper grass mat on the floor your feet would stay still and maybe then you’d have noticed that tray beside you!” she said with a great deal of frustration.
“Yes, yes, I know,” said the Prince as he helped her put everything back in its place. “Where are the children?” he asked as he removed his pajama bottoms and wrapped his cloth around his waist.
Leboya was always uncomfortable around naked men, even her husband. When she consummated her marriage he had to sneak up behind her. He put his hands over her eyes before turning her to face him so they could formally embrace as husband and wife.
“The children felt fine this morning so they went fishing,” she said.
“What!” said the Prince. “Who gave them permission to do this? They will come home sick again, Nanny!” he cried.
The prince stomped out of his room straight into the queen’s arms.
“Greetings, Son, where are you going in such a rush?” the Queen asked in her good-natured way. “Leboya, please bring us some tea,” she added.
Nanny gave the prince an ‘Oh well’ look and off she went into the kitchen to fetch him another breakfast and the queen some tea.
The queen went to the prince’s small desk and sat down. “Sit,” she said.
The prince resigned himself to the unannounced visit and went over and warmly embraced his aunt. It was unusual for a woman to take tea in a man’s sleeping area—especially a queen. “I am fine, Auntie. And how are you today? You look well,” he said. He wanted to get all the civilities out of the way as quickly as possible.
“I am blessed,” answered the Queen. And with some trepidation she asked, “So where are your blessed children?”
“They have gone fishing so I am all yours, Queen-Mother,” he replied.
Now the queen was worried. Her son had resorted to using formalities. He wanted her to leave. Or maybe he wanted her to stay to help with his parental duties. Either way this was going to be a most amusing morning.
Verité sat on the shore pouring water on Mianshe’s feet. He quietly watched as they grew together and then separated when they dried. It didn’t bother Mianshe at all, in fact she didn’t even notice. She was too focused on making her father a boo-boo necklace.
“Listen,” she said. She pressed the algae until it popped with a bloop-bloop sound. “See!” she giggled. “It talks!”
“It does not talk it makes sounds,” said Verité as he poured more water onto Mianshe’s feet.
Mianshe gathered her feet to her chest and kicked the boy so hard he rolled over two times. Then she pounced on him and the odd pair rolled straight into the water. Mianshe was angry and this upset her, and Verité for that matter. As they sank into the bay, the young mermaid’s curly hair stretched out behind her like a red vine. She grabbed Verité’s shirt and with open eyes began searching the waters for a fresh patch of seaweed.
Verité was dying. Mianshe had been towing the boy underneath the water for thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty seconds and counting. He had to do something and quickly or he was surely going to drown. She kept pulling him under toward the algae beds, so he grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked it as hard as he could and she finally released him. Nevertheless, Verité did not release her. He made his way to the surface and onto shore with the hunk of her hair still in his hand.
“I just wanted you to hear the boo-boos!” she screamed. Mianshe was so full of rage she ripped up her father’s boo-boo necklace and began to weep. She cried, then sobbed and wept, and continued wailing all the more.
“You are nuts! You’re a mean crazy, folle, stupid, crazy girl!” shouted Verité. Then he began to silently think, in the loudest silence he could muster, every mermaid insult he could come up with, accompanied by the meanest, ugly faces he could possibly make to punctuate his point. When he caught his breath he stood up and wiped the sand off of his pants and ran up the sacred fig tree.
“Not again,” sighed the tree. “You must belong to the Prince,” said the tree to the boy.
Nothing in Librebe could shock Verité anymore. Not talking trees or angry mermaids, or lion-eating kings and queens, or people who didn’t speak to you for a year and then decided to talk your ear off for hours, not sweet one minute but mean the next little sisters, and especially not a big old talking tree with skin thicker than an elephant’s. Nothing could shock the boy anymore!
“I understand,” said the tree sympathetically, and then the tree respectfully said nothing at all, until the boy finally relaxed and fell deeply asleep.
The moon was almost at its highest point in the evening sky. As it rose, its light shined down on the tree, illuminating the hunks of seaweed strewn around its base.
“Little boy, little boy,” the tree said again. “Everyone is looking for you. Look!” And sure enough there were lit torches bobbing up and down in the woods.
“What time is it?” Verité asked.
“It is late enough that one needs to light a torch,” said the tree.
“Am I in trouble?” asked the boy.
“With whom?” the tree asked.
“With the Prince,” replied the boy.
“Oh, him,” said the tree.
“She tried to drown me!” exclaimed the boy.
“Don’t get angry with me,” said the tree.
“But its true!” cried Verité.
“I know that, young one,” the tree gently said. “And she is very sorry.”
“Oh, what do you know,” said the boy. Verité was angry all over
again.
“I know you are a great deal like the Prince. I know he will not hurt you. I know he is worried sick, and I know she is truly sorry for what she did,” answered the tree.
“Mianshe! Verité!” screamed the Prince in the distance.
“Oh no, he is going to kill me!” said Verité.
“He will not kill you,” said the tree with great compassion. The tree remembered being young hundreds of years ago, and then he erased the thought from his consciousness. What good would an old tree’s memories do to help a young boy up a tree?
