sitting on the ground next
to the bodies was Sidnee—by her husband.
I
sauntered over; my curls whipped my lips and blocked my eyesight. “Don’t you
think we should go indoors?” I asked, pulling my hair from my mouth.
Sidnee
scooted back on her heels and pushed off her knees to stand up. Her fingers
swiped the hair strewn about her face.
I
looked back at the bodies, not moving and still wrapped tightly, unaffected by
the wind. “What about them?” I asked.
“They’ll
be fine. They belong to the earth now, and we’ll finish the ceremony after the
storm.” She leaned back down, kissing her husband’s forehead. “The people who
live here believe strongly that upon death, our energy joins the sun and moon.
Leaving those people here with the rain will not hurt them.”
I
didn’t understand what she was saying, or maybe I did, and just thought it was
crazy. Either way, it didn’t make much difference what I thought about the Lowers;
people who’ve always been much different in my mind. I followed her back to her
house and lightening cracked in various ways, dividing the angry sky while we
walked. As soon as we entered, Sidnee warmed up a pot of tea, heating the water
in a dark emerald vase. After, she poured the tea into two small cups with a
wavy blue line painted around the center, a picture of a sun and moon on either
side.
We
sat silent for a while, sipping the tea and listening to the whooshing and
whirling outside. Wind howled as fabric snapped against the exterior and large
drops of rain pounded the roof. The sound of thunder roared, a sound slightly muted
by the walls.
“Penny,”
began Sidnee, “if you don’t mind me asking, what is your last name?”
I
took another sip of the warm, red tea and licked the stain from my lips. “Evans,”
I replied. Surprisingly, the tea was much better than any kind I’d had at home,
more flavorful—like eating a fresh piece of fruit.
Sidnee
blotted her lips with a small napkin from her lap.
“You
know, my Jace was a special little boy. When he was little, I thought I was
being punished by having such a rambunctious little one. It was amazing the
trouble Jace could get himself into, and all at the young age of one. He
started walking as soon as he turned ten months old, too tall for his own good.
He got into anything we tried keeping out of his reach and was mobile…too young
to be that mobile. When he was two, he began talking in full sentences. He
spoke so clearly that everyone was able to understand him and were amazed by
the questions he’d ask.” Her face lowered, looking down at the tea clutched by
her hands. “I was wrong for feeling punished. In fact, he was the best gift God
ever gave his father and me.” Her eyes glossed as she looked in the direction
of Jace’s room. The room where I was staying.
“So
what happened to him?”
She
took another sip of tea before continuing. “When he was born we noticed
something was...different…about him, nothing like I just told you. This was
more physical. The day he was born, I delivered him right here in this house. His
birth was unexpected, early, and there was a storm similar to the one like today.
Our healer warned me, but I told him he didn’t know what he was talking about. An
hour later, the pains started, and within another hour he was born. A quick
birth. And I almost died from the blood loss.
“For
days his vines didn’t appear.”
The
picture in his room was of a little boy without vines; I assumed painted over
like everyone else’s. Obviously, her family hadn’t been kicked off our Land
like others had. They’re still here, aren’t they? Which means they weren’t
executed either.
“So
what happened?” I asked, intrigued by her story.
“A
doctor came to visit. He called himself a scientist, and we named him the Mundunugu.”
I
wondered if the person was someone I knew and what the mundung word meant.
“Understand,
two years prior to Jace’s birth, there were twenty-nine
to the bodies was Sidnee—by her husband.
I
sauntered over; my curls whipped my lips and blocked my eyesight. “Don’t you
think we should go indoors?” I asked, pulling my hair from my mouth.
Sidnee
scooted back on her heels and pushed off her knees to stand up. Her fingers
swiped the hair strewn about her face.
I
looked back at the bodies, not moving and still wrapped tightly, unaffected by
the wind. “What about them?” I asked.
“They’ll
be fine. They belong to the earth now, and we’ll finish the ceremony after the
storm.” She leaned back down, kissing her husband’s forehead. “The people who
live here believe strongly that upon death, our energy joins the sun and moon.
Leaving those people here with the rain will not hurt them.”
I
didn’t understand what she was saying, or maybe I did, and just thought it was
crazy. Either way, it didn’t make much difference what I thought about the Lowers;
people who’ve always been much different in my mind. I followed her back to her
house and lightening cracked in various ways, dividing the angry sky while we
walked. As soon as we entered, Sidnee warmed up a pot of tea, heating the water
in a dark emerald vase. After, she poured the tea into two small cups with a
wavy blue line painted around the center, a picture of a sun and moon on either
side.
We
sat silent for a while, sipping the tea and listening to the whooshing and
whirling outside. Wind howled as fabric snapped against the exterior and large
drops of rain pounded the roof. The sound of thunder roared, a sound slightly muted
by the walls.
“Penny,”
began Sidnee, “if you don’t mind me asking, what is your last name?”
I
took another sip of the warm, red tea and licked the stain from my lips. “Evans,”
I replied. Surprisingly, the tea was much better than any kind I’d had at home,
more flavorful—like eating a fresh piece of fruit.
Sidnee
blotted her lips with a small napkin from her lap.
“You
know, my Jace was a special little boy. When he was little, I thought I was
being punished by having such a rambunctious little one. It was amazing the
trouble Jace could get himself into, and all at the young age of one. He
started walking as soon as he turned ten months old, too tall for his own good.
He got into anything we tried keeping out of his reach and was mobile…too young
to be that mobile. When he was two, he began talking in full sentences. He
spoke so clearly that everyone was able to understand him and were amazed by
the questions he’d ask.” Her face lowered, looking down at the tea clutched by
her hands. “I was wrong for feeling punished. In fact, he was the best gift God
ever gave his father and me.” Her eyes glossed as she looked in the direction
of Jace’s room. The room where I was staying.
“So
what happened to him?”
She
took another sip of tea before continuing. “When he was born we noticed
something was...different…about him, nothing like I just told you. This was
more physical. The day he was born, I delivered him right here in this house. His
birth was unexpected, early, and there was a storm similar to the one like today.
Our healer warned me, but I told him he didn’t know what he was talking about. An
hour later, the pains started, and within another hour he was born. A quick
birth. And I almost died from the blood loss.
“For
days his vines didn’t appear.”
The
picture in his room was of a little boy without vines; I assumed painted over
like everyone else’s. Obviously, her family hadn’t been kicked off our Land
like others had. They’re still here, aren’t they? Which means they weren’t
executed either.
“So
what happened?” I asked, intrigued by her story.
“A
doctor came to visit. He called himself a scientist, and we named him the Mundunugu.”
I
wondered if the person was someone I knew and what the mundung word meant.
“Understand,
two years prior to Jace’s birth, there were twenty-nine
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