There are times, and lives to live. Days, months, and years to know all, one must know, to live an earthly being. We feel we learn or do not, how to live this human life.
We must live it in triumph, and in despair, in joy and pain, in cruelty and kindness in love and hate. The despair we bear, in triumph we glory.
In cruelty we cringe, in kindness, we reciprocate, in love we love also, or hate that we love. Quietly at the end of nights, we transcend, blessed to abide in that light.
Where all we yearn to know, in the grip of time we hope is learned.
Poetry ® Cookie Gawain 2010
Introduction:
The comet cracked the night’s opulent allure splitting through the lackluster purple blue sky with an insistent grumble of life, painting as evidence a shimmering streak. If it had been only a picture it might have been a glorious night, but as a reality, it had not given the familiar impression of a sky, which usually offered some inspiration to be drawn. There was only a slight hint of encouragement, in the middle of an inexplicable melancholy, and insignificance.
Yet for this reason, it was in a sense an oracular sky, with one bright star seated in an otherwise starless night. The omen, an oracle appeared upstaging the night in the rarity of a comet, and its tail that wagged its significance across the heavens. The night exhibition was of a sundry violet which was distinguished and yet indistinct and certainly uncommon because of the odd accolade, the comet gestured. Sparkling, the comet winked lending originality, and surging distinction in a silver release of life.
At that moment, the child was born thrust into the doctor’s hands. It was black, but comely, sweet as infants are. It was a poignant night, and it did not matter if the child was male or female, or whether the newborn was beautiful, handsome or hideous. The infant was born out of the womb unable to return to its comfort after birth. Out of the shell of shadows, it was vivacious in the light.
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Chapter I
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The daughter’s existence in the earth had been short, seeing as she had only lived through about three birthdays, in this world. Leaning forward sitting upon the edge of the chair of wood, Alhena sat at the edge to reach the table, her seat hard the chair built strong so to hold as much as two people easily supported the tot. The room was cold around the corners.
There were cracks in the walls where the mortar which was old and dried allowed the late evening air to come through in blasting seeps. Around the table in middle of the place everything was warm. The room was comfy though meager, and the leak of the elements into the air was confined to its place at the edges. Alhena Moses was as happy as she had ever been since she only had faint memories of anything different. Later in life, she would come to be addressed as just Moses, or Lady Moses.
The bearer, Khathu placed food on the table, in front of Alhena. The dinner was an extravagance for her scanty budget but it was only one night. She stood back and with a hard voice cautioned her eldest daughter, “Sit back girl, before you fall out of that chair.” The burger was old fashioned, slippery with mayonnaise, mustard, white onions, and pickles.
“Tis is good, mumma,” the child replied. There were potato chips with the meal crispy, and light to the small hands. Each of the brood crowded a burger, and chips into a small mouth which watered at the savor of each bite. Alhena picked up a pickle that had fallen from between the buns. She crunched it between tiny pearls of milky whites.
Their mother and bearer’s eyes watched as her brood swiftly made the food disappear, impatient for the combination of blended flavors, of oniony mustard, bread and beef. She observed as her offspring gorged, and he watched too. Not a one amongst them was his child, no not a single one of the brood was his seed. As a matter of fact, he was of no relation. He was the elder in his house of worship respected for his piety, righteous works, and giving.
Unmatched in his knowledge amongst his peers, that knowledge did not allow him to forego his own desires which were distasteful, even to himself. It was because his spirit was somehow distorted, nonetheless for all his ministry’s contributions. The Elder Molahlehi was a man of the cloth, and their bearer’s lover. Bead eyed, and persnickety, the aged elder had shaking clammy fingers which were restless to clasp the eldest child. It was not because she was fine-looking, desirous or even mature as much as necessary to derive that emotion, in a typical male.
So, his secret side was only revealed on certain occasions cloaked, and in hiding when among the saints. He had two sides, one side that could be viewed, another side which he hid. Although, this character was shrouded, secret, it was real although hidden from those of his patronage. His second, the double, this other man had another face. He liked small girls, and males also in a manner, which was not ordinary.
His other face had another persona, who seemed to be a different man, and could be seen during his exploits. He was confident that his discrepancies were covered up amongst the church congregants. Unseen by them, he was at large to take his advantage, when the opportunity arrived. However, Alhena and her bearer knew this other elder for it was always his reward, as it was tonight to fondle the child.
Many years later, he would lie upon his cooling bed screaming for someone to take away all the babies. Tortured by his earlier actions, he was crazed because of the ice, cold summons of his demise which waited and threatened. “Take them away, take the babies, away. Oh God-d-d, no-o-o,” he screeched. But not now, not right now.
The agreement between he, and the bearer, Khathu was made earlier in the evening before the trip to buy the food on the table. The arrangement had been simple, and agreed to, by the mother when she had not spoken out when he sat the child, on his lap. Further provisions and whatever funds she thought necessary, he would add later, but it had already been settled at that point.
His eyes ventured to the woman’s smooth skin, and her shoulders. He thought of the other advantage he would enjoy, as well. In a while, during the late wee hours of darkness he made his usual motions in an attempt to ride the woman. The Elder Molahlehi cooed to the bearer, Khathu, “Baby, you asleep, your legs open them, so I can get into you,” he mumbled speaking mostly to himself. Unclothed except in her silence she spoke no words, but the bearer, Khathu gripped her thighs tight, secure as though they had been glued together.