Squealing brakes, glittering glass and concertinaed metal took my babies from me. Cold in the ground they lay and I, in my grief, wept freely into that consecrated soil.
* ‘There are no accidents,’ say the children. *
What had I done for them to be taken so young? It’ wasn’t right and I cursed the man who took them. He still lived, still walked the earth while my babies were buried in it. They didn’t even take his job.
* ‘No event has a life of its own,’ chorus the girls. *
‘Take up their bones and head for the hill where a single tree grows,’ Maman told me. ‘Wait there, don’t matter how long, wait – wait until the last leaf has fallen of its own accord.’
* ‘There exists a sacred cycle between the living and the dead,’ say the children. *
‘There is a price child, always a price.’ Maman said.
I said I would pay it. I didn’t have to think. I walked the hill and sat beneath the skeletal tree. My broken nails were caked in dirt. I picked them clean like the bones of my children that lay beside me – bleached white by the moonlight.
* ‘The serpent eats its own tale,’ chant the girls, giggling. *
‘When the bare limbs part the clouds and you see the stars, slip them bones in the water. Then tell Xevisio of the great harm done to you and yours. If your cause be just, He will ask Agbe what can be done.’
* ‘What you do unto another, you do unto you. We are all one,’ say the children. *
The sons of Mawu took pity on me, and my babies came back, swimming up from the murky depths. I blessed those Vodun and then bit my lips. Behind my babies’ eyes, old souls stared back – hungry souls.
* ‘We are the vehicles for the expression of the serpent’s power,’ say the girls, their voices deep and serious. *
First a voice from the waters said, ‘Your babies still slumber – they cannot be sullied by this deed.’
And then came a voice from the tree, ‘The Loa will do what must now be done.’
Finally, a voice from the sky said, ‘There’s always a price my child, always a price.’
* ‘We act for the He who made the trees and the ropes,’ say the children. *
So we walked down from the hill. I held their hands in mine, these babies who were not completely mine. We walked down the hill and met the road. We walked the road to the same stop where it happened.
* ‘All this has happened before and will happen again,’ the girls whisper conspiratorially. *
We got on to ride and I met you and told you my story. They didn’t even take his job you see? He’s still driving the bus.
* ‘You’d better get off soon.’ say the children. ‘Real soon.’ *
Follow David Shakes on Twitter:@TheShakes72