Reflections on the Path Home
By Lazette Gifford
Copyright 2012, Lazette Gifford
The narrow path of carved
stone wound upward, slick with morning fog.
Far below, the rowboat reached the Advance as the ship prepared
to sail. They would return in a month. I did not watch it go.
As a child, I'd often stood
here to watch the village's fishing fleet pass by, the long canoes manned by a men
counting out the beat as they dipped oars.
I'd worn beads, feathers and loincloth, not the heavy clothing of
another place. I loosened the shirt collar and undid the buttons of my
jacket. No city rules and averted faces here. I'd long ago stopped cutting my hair short
and pretending that would make a difference.
The white-sails had come for
years, trading at the shore. I had
learned their language from a missionary who died when raiders destroyed our
fields. When the white-sails next came,
I went away with them to explain our plight to their leader.
Oh yes, that naive. But then,
so were they who knew nothing of the different tribes and our long wars. Captain Norris taught me all he could as we
sailed so far I feared never finding my way home.
I appreciated the lost
paths, pretty birds and smiling faces of familiar people after I had thrown them
all away. I longed to hear the grandfathers chant the morning rites and hear
the mothers singing to babes as they worked.
Long before I reached the north, I knew too well what I had lost.
And so I had arrived at the
northern city; a cold, dark place. I lived
in the castle, a curiosity others watched.
I told them about the cannibals and their tortures, but none believed me
until survivors of a shipwreck returned with their own tales. By then I had learned the world was wide and
we were of such little consequence on our tiny islands, that I wondered why
they cared at all.
The years passed until, with
the Queen's leave, I again sailed across the waters, forsaking the cold north
for the sunnier climes. I wanted to be
home for the summer solstice. I wanted something
my people might not be willing to give me, a stranger among them.
Bright-feathered birds swept
across the archway of trees as I headed inland past the waterfall and across
the bamboo bridge. A curious monkey
watched my progress. I smiled at the
jester of the jungle and hurried with a steadier step.
Home, my heart
whispered. Home at last.
I heard the sacred drums and
reached the clearing where the stage sat before the headman's hut, sacred runes
carved into the edging. Five young men
stood there while the grandfathers sat on the ground, chanting. Others beat the drums, waiting as the sun
rose to touch the sacred stone above the headman's hut.
I crossed to the platform
and took my place in the line.
No one took notice. One by one, my companions spoke the ancient rites
and their reasons for becoming a man.
The first won a nod from the eldest grandfather; he entered the
headman's hut, passing from boyhood to adult.
The next won the same. The third gained
a wave of the arm, and the boy went to
live as a child in the village for another year.
Another into the headman's
hut. The last besides me didn't win the nod. He muttered a curse, stomping away.
And they came at last to me.
"I am Shenchi of the
Fisher Clan," I said, my voice steady, but the accent -- oh, the accent wasn't
right. "I have kept the laws to the
best of my ability and brought no shame to our people. I have heard the rites, remembered the laws
and lived in honor." The rite done,
I began the harder, personal part.
"For many years I lived among people who knew neither the names of
the islands nor the fish of the sea. I slept
in the palace of a great Queen, and spoken with her ministers, giving fair
account of the isles. I counted myself a
child and learning, even of their foreign ways. I have come home to ask to become
a man before my own people, if not before them."
I looked into the faces of
the Grandfathers and saw peace and the continuation of ways linking us to the
Mother Goddess and the first breath of the world. I'd thought myself wise until then. I also knew
someday the other, darker world would crush this tiny tribe, and wash away all
the ages they kept in sacred memory.
But not yet. Not today.
The grandfathers, one and
all, nodded.
I passed from childhood to
adult; a step from the stage to the darkness within the headman's hut. I took my place on the bench gave council to
the others. They listened to me.
A month later I sat on the
beach with friends, trade goods prepared as the rowboat came ashore. Captain Norris
came with them, which surprised me. The
others took on the work of the trade; quick decisions, and well done on both
sides.
"I come for
Shenchi," Norris said softly.
"He come here?"
I laughed and stood. "Captain," I said with a bow of my
head. Feathers and beads caught in the breeze.
"I see you're not
coming back with us."
"Not this year. Give my regards to the others. Thank you for your kindness. I will remember you in my dreams."
He offered his hand. We shook hands as gentlemen would. "It's good you found your place,
Shenchi. I'll envy you when I am in
winter dock."
"And if the seas are
kind, I'll see you next year."
When they rowed away, I felt
an odd tug at my heart. So much I'd
never learned, there in the north, but much to learn here, as well. As we walked back to the village, I told my
companions about far places and they told me about home.
The End
999 Words
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