The Prophets(33)

Puah walked off the path, onto the weeds that grew on either side of it. They cushioned her step and were cool against her feet. She was in the mood to pamper herself.

By the time she reached the barn, the sky had moved from rose to indigo and her skin had a sweat glow that only magnified her beauty. She couldn’t wait to show Samuel what Sarah did with her hair.

The barn doors were open and there was a faint light emanating from within. She didn’t want to enter unannounced, so she called for Samuel and she broke his name up into threes like only she could and only when speaking to him.

“Over here,” Samuel responded.

She spun around and she saw them. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, just enough to let her tongue slip out to wet her lips. But no matter how many times she moistened them, they would dry again.

There was Sam-u-well sitting on the ground, his legs crossed flat in front of him. Behind him, Isaiah sat on a bale of hay. He was braiding Samuel’s hair.

“Oh hey, Puah.” Samuel smiled. “I take your advice. Look at me. Me! Getting my hair plait. Don’t that just beat all? Ouch, ’Zay. That too tight!”

“Hey, Puah,” Isaiah said.

Puah walked over to the pail on the ground next to them. She dipped the ladle in it and took two big gulps of water. She sat down on the ground.

“Your hair looks nice,” Samuel said to her. Isaiah nodded in agreement.

She sat there watching them, a dazed look on her face.

“You all right?” Samuel asked her.

She didn’t answer. She was too busy cocking her head to the left, trying to bring the imaginary into focus. It shimmered upon fading into view. It was night there, too, and fireflies blinked a serenade. Beyond them, she saw two figures. They leaned into each other as they sat at the shore of a shiny river where fish that could fly took turns leaping into the air and then diving back down into the water. Then the two figures stood and walked toward the flurry of lightning bugs. The male figure, brawny and tall, took the curvaceous female figure into his arms and they twirled round and round to a music that Puah only scarcely heard. It was a cradlesong. Then all the flies lit up at once and illuminated the couple. It was the Other Puah and Her Samuel. She was smiling and looking into his eyes, deeper and deeper, and, to her surprise, there it was. Unmistakably. The door that had always been sealed was cracked open. There was a light coming from the opening, faint like from a candle, but light nonetheless. And the light spoke. It said, “Been waiting on you.”

Puah reached out her hand at the scene, tried to grab and hold on to it as it began to recede. No matter which way she cocked her head, it wouldn’t return.

“Puah?” Isaiah said.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Puah?” Samuel said.

And she folded in on herself, taking comfort in her own arms. The hem of her dress tucked safely beneath her feet.





Leviticus

You too much like a woman,” Samuel said as he pitchforked hay into a pile near the horse stables. Sweat dripped from his temples to his jaw before collecting, quietly, in the dimple just above his collarbone.

Isaiah had pails in his hands. He was preparing to go milk the cows but stopped suddenly with Samuel’s observation. He was particularly struck by Samuel’s tone: not exactly coarse, but definitely the sound of a man who had been thinking about it, had allowed it to roll around his head, and in his mouth, had grown tired of keeping it locked away in his chest, and could only find reprieve in its release. Isaiah turned to look at Samuel and smiled anyway.

“I thank you,” he said and winked his playfulness.

“I ain’t trying to flatter you,” Samuel responded as he continued to pile the hay, which was now waist high.

Isaiah chuckled. “Look at that. Sweet-talking me and ain’t even trying.”

Samuel sucked his teeth. Isaiah walked over to him with pails in hand. The pail handles squeaked with each step. The sound irritated Samuel and made him bristle.

“Now I bother you?” Isaiah asked.

Samuel stopped shoveling. He stuck the pitchfork into the ground with enough force that it stood on its own. He looked down at it, then faced Isaiah.

“I can’t have no weaklings by my side.”

“You know me to be weak?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Nah, suh, I don’t,” Isaiah said. He put the pails on the ground next to the pitchfork. “But it sound like you calling me weak because I remind you of a woman.”

Samuel just stared at him.

“But none of the womens you know is weak.”

“But toubab think they weak.”

“Toubab think all of us weak.” Isaiah shook his head. “You worried too much ’bout what toubab think.”

“I better be worried. And you, too!” Samuel’s chest puffed like it was preparing to release yet again.

“Why?”

“Everybody can’t be against us, ’Zay!” Samuel yelled.

Samuel had never spoken to Isaiah in that tone before and Isaiah could see the sweat on Samuel’s brow and the pained expression on his face that announced regret etching its way in. Isaiah took a deep breath, looked down at the ground, refusing to return the volume that had just assaulted him. Instead, he spoke quietly.

“And everybody can’t want us to be what they want us to be neither.”