The Truth About Awiti

by CP Patrick

  (Reactions from the court. Shouts of profanity.)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order! Order in the court, I say! Order!

  ROYCEE: Please continue, Virginia.

  A: Oh I cannot! It is too horrid! I just cannot!

  Q: Virginia, you must.

  A: I will try. To see justice done in this matter, I will try. The letter continues, “At first it was awkward, but then I quite came to enjoy it. Thomas’ arms were so strong, and he did everything I told him to. I believe he came to enjoy it, for he was determined to please me. I know you have seen your bucks without clothing, so you know male slaves are quite well-endowed.”

  (Reactions from the court. Woman faints.)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order! Order in the court!

  A: “Well, I will tell you this, dear sister. Thomas did pleasure me more than James ever has.”

  (Reactions from the court. Outbursts of profanity. Several husbands and wives leave the courtroom.)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order in the court, I say!

  A: “I made Thomas come to me every night until James returned home. It was intended as revenge. Oh, but Virginia, it has an irreversible consequence. Virginia, I am with child. And I cannot be certain if the father is James or Thomas.”

  (Reactions from the court. Shouts of threats.)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order in the court. Order. Order!

  A: Oh, let me get through the reading of this letter, please dear God!

  JUDGE DUCE: There shall be no more outbursts from the galley until this letter is concluded, or I shall have you all removed!

  ROYCEE: Go ahead and continue, Virginia. I believe you are almost done. You are doing a fine job.

  A: Then Sarah wrote, “And that horrible wench. Every time Ah-wee-tee sees me, she smiles at my growing belly as if she knows my secret. Oh Virginia! I have made a horrible mistake. James rubs my belly every night. He’s taken with the idea of having a son. I cannot imagine what he would do if he finds out what I’ve done. I must somehow kill this child before it is born.”

  (Reactions from the court. Women in courtroom are emotional.)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order! I will have order in this court!

  A: “I know it’s such an awful thing to say. Killing a child. But I have no choice. Can you imagine the talk? Our family name would be ruined and known throughout the entire territory. No one would buy our cotton or sugar, and we would become poor, something I do not wish to experience. Oh Virginia, please forgive me. I know this secret is a heavy burden, but I had to tell someone. I promise I have learned from my mistake. If only the dear Lord would take this child from my womb. I had to tell you, my dear sister. Surely you understand and will pray for me. Please discard of this letter after reading. And please, please, come visit me soon. Love. Your dear sister. Sarah.”

  ROYCEE: Thank you, Virginia. You did a great job. We all know how difficult this must be for you.

  A: Thank you. Thank you. Yes, it is by far the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

  Q: I am almost done with my questions, Virginia. So upon receiving this letter from the Defendant, your sister Sarah, what did you do next?

  A: Well, naturally I was horrified. I mean, to have slept with a slave? Why, I cannot understand what possessed her! She could have gone to our pastor for prayer before doing such an unforgivable, deplorable thing. So I read the letter to my husband. I knew something had to be done.

  Q: But you were too late, correct?

  A: Yes. Before we could fully inform the sheriff of the matter, we heard Sarah had fallen down the stairs and lost the child.

  MYRUTH: Objection, Your Honor! He is leading the witness to convince the jury the Defendant did not truly fall, that the fall was intentional.

  JUDGE DUCE: Sustained.

  A: Why is that sustained? Sarah said in the letter she wanted the child gone. And then she happens to fall down the stairs? Seriously, even a blind man can see through that lie. Sarah fell on purpose. Threw herself down the stairs so she could keep her slave love child a secret. We all know that!

  (Murmurs)

  JUDGE DUCE: Order! Mrs. Tripp, you are to act honorably while in this court.

  A: And now Ah-wee-tee is on the run. No one can find her. Who’s to say she won’t try to kill me because I am Sarah’s sister? She said she was going to hurt everyone Sarah loved! My life is in danger! This court must do something!

  JUDGE DUCE: Mrs. Tripp, please control yourself and only respond to the questions asked by Mr. Roycee.

  A: I can say what I please. She did it! Slept with a slave and knew she was going to have that slave’s baby. And James had the right to kill him. I’d say the same if he killed Sarah too. She brought shame on our family name. Sarah deserves what’s coming to her. You hear what I say? She is no longer my sister!

  JUDGE DUCE: You are not to speak to me in that manner, Mrs. Tripp. Even in your anger and shame, you are to respect this court. One more outburst, and you will be held in contempt of court.

  ROYCEE: Thank you. I have no further questions. Your witness, Counselor.

  9

  the other immortal

  New York City, NY (1847)

  When I first encountered the other immortal in Bowling Green Park, I was intrigued. Her walk was precocious. She seemed to float, unlike so many of the mortals nearby—those with burdens. The indigent shuffle their feet as though the very act of walking was an intense struggle. But even before I observed her floating walk, I felt the pull.

  The young woman appeared to be an ordinary human—yet another defense mechanism to conceal us. Her skin was a lovely complexion, and for some offbeat reason, her coloring made me think of a warm cup of tea. I admired the elegance of her dark hair pulled into a proper bun, the hem of her mauve skirt hovering above the grass. Her attire was neat and fashionable. She seemed oblivious to those who passed by admiring her beauty.

  She walked about the manicured lawn enjoying the crisp New York day, and then she too began to feel the pull. Knotting, twisting, and burning from within—the warning. The other immortal looked around in anticipation, searching. But I was well hidden. She placed her right hand across her belly to massage the pain.

  There were more mortals than usual in the park. They were no doubt pleased the grounds were available for recreation while Central Park remained under repair. Mothers watched over their little ones, attempting to catch their children before they fell or stumbled, wanting to shield them from the pains of life for as long as possible.

  I always found their efforts amusing. Mortals went about life not knowing if each day was their last. They busied themselves with mundane tasks and responsibilities that were quite meaningless, since one day they would perish. The younger mortals were filled with curiosity and hope, while the older mortals wore faces laden with wrinkles, regret. What an unfortunate destiny. How thankful I was to not be one of them.

  It was a chilly spring day. The air cool and brisk. But the light warmth from the sun made the day bearable, perfect even. I continued to watch as the other immortal strolled about the park, one hand on her abdomen trying to ease the pain from the pulling. It was time for me to reveal myself.

  I walked across the lawn, trying to make eye contact so she would know I meant her no harm. We needed to become familiar, to ease the pulling. But she looked right past me. As I came closer, she began to grab at her stomach in pain, the burning intensifying. This was a good sign. I was the stronger of us.

  “Hello,” I said as I approached her cautiously. “I am Semya, one of the progeny of my creator Semyazza.”

  Again, I tried to make eye contact. If she would just allow our vessels to acknowledge each other, it would ease the pain of the pulling.

  “May we acknowledge each other?” I asked. “I have no intentions of harming you. Look at me.”

  The other immortal stared into my eyes, her facial expression a strange dichotomy of disbelief and happiness. Her small dark eyes seemed bottomless, black, as though she had no pupils. The pull between us grew stronger until
both our vessels acknowledged we were not enemies. Not friends, but not enemies. Kindred beings. Only then did the pulling of unfamiliarity pass. And she fell into my arms.

  She clung to me, her head resting on my shoulder as she wept.

  I asked, “What is your name?”

  All immortals are named. Their name bears some reference to their creator.

  “My name is Awiti.”

  “Awiti, you say? That is odd.”

  I was not being rude. I was not familiar with any of the descendants of the Nephilim of that origin. My creator Semyazza taught me the history of Creation, including the names of all the Nephilim and their progeny. I was quite certain the name Awiti was not discussed.

  “Tell me about your coven.”

  “Coven?” Awiti asked. She seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Yes. You know, that to which you belong. Or as the mortals say, your family.” I smiled, quite pleased at my witticism. But Awiti still seemed confused.

  “I have no family. No coven, as you say.”

  “Impossible,” I replied. “Who created you?”

  “Oranyan.” Awiti smiled when she said his name.

  “Did you say Oranyan?” I needed to be certain.

  “Yes,” Awiti said proudly. Then she asked, “Do you know him?”

  There was no mistaking the hopefulness in her voice.

  “No, I do not know him,” I said. I chose my words carefully. I knew of him. So I was not telling Awiti a lie. But for clarification, I added, “I have never met him.”

  Awiti looked disappointed. She smoothed her hair with her hands. There were no strands out of place. It was just something for her hands to do.

  “Well, I am pleased to meet you, Semya. I have been alone for so long. Since my Exchange with Oranyan, I have never met another immortal.”

  And when Awiti said those words, I was certain. Immortals must always be a part of a coven, under the guidance of the Watchers. There were a few immortals who, for various injustices, were banished. Designated to live their eternity in isolation. Their evils so great, they were a threat to all. And Oranyan was one of the transgressors.

  “I need you to wait here,” I told Awiti.

  I tried to hide my thoughts. I did not want her to read me. For if she saw what I was intending to do, she would not be pleased.

  “Trust me, Awiti. I will be right back.”

  “Promise me,” she said firmly.

  “Promise.” I only hoped she would wait for me to return.

  When I arrived at our coven, one of the Watchers stood reading the Rules of the Order. The large red book appeared blank, full of empty pages. Its contents remained visible to only those designated by the Nephilim in the beginning of time. The Watcher’s long robe draped about the ground, creating a thick black train of fabric behind Him.

  Even though He had heard me enter and could feel my presence, the Watcher did not acknowledge me. I hated to interrupt Him, but it was necessary. It was my duty to protect the coven, to ensure the protection of the descendants of the Nephilim.

  “Most Honorable One,” I began, “I am sorry to disturb you. But I have met one who is like us, except, she is not like us. I cannot explain it. But I believe she is a creation of one of the banished.”

  And then, to make certain He would understand the urgency of the matter, I added, “She said she was created by Oranyan.”

  The Watcher lifted His gaze from the Rules of the Order, and the book closed. He walked over to me and placed His hands on my head. I bowed, closing my eyes as He read me.

  When He was finished, the Watcher replied, “Take me to her.”

  We arrived at Bowling Green Park moments later. I was afraid Awiti wouldn’t be there, but she was—sitting in the grass, picking at the long green blades like a small child. Strands of dark hair had escaped the bun, and they blew around her face in the gentle breeze.

  The Watcher’s presence made Awiti double over in pain. He was far stronger than I, and He exerted His powers without apology. She screamed as the pull grew stronger. He was testing her, challenging her. He needed to know the extent of her power.

  Awiti seemed defenseless. She rolled onto her side, holding her stomach with both hands. A passerby looked upon the scene with interest. And then, after sizing up the statuesque figure of the Watcher, the young man decided to walk away from a matter that did not concern him.

  When the Watcher was certain Awiti’s discomfort was not an elaborate performance, He released His pull. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. But I could do nothing.

  “I need you to tell me,” the Watcher commanded, “how did you come to be?” His voice was deep, the words laden with His obvious supremacy. Out of fear, Awiti vacillated in responding, and He demanded,

  “Speak!”

  “My name is Awiti. I…,” she began, her voice hesitant. “I was in my village. Father told me to run, so I did. Because strange men came to enslave us. And then I met Oranyan. He said I could become immortal. That if we did an Exchange, I could live forever. I loved him, so I said yes. And because I wanted to find my family. Then Oranyan did the Exchange. And then I…”

  She rambled like a criminal pleading her innocence. She shared fragments of her story, the important and mundane facts jumbled together. But the Watcher heard the most important piece of evidence. Oranyan.

  “Fear not,” the Watcher said to Awiti. “I will not hurt you.” He took a few steps closer, and Awiti recoiled.

  “Come now,” He said, reaching out His hand to help her stand to her feet. “Let me read you. This will tell me everything I need to know.”

  The Watcher rubbed His hands together, preparing to read into Awiti’s past. As she stood, the mauve skirt gathered about her tiny frame. It created a muddle of pink fabric, wrinkled and bunched. Awiti seemed more child than woman, messy and adorable in her innocence. She did not smooth her skirt, as women do, or tidy her appearance.

  The Watcher put His hands to Awiti’s head and instructed, “Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

  The Watcher held Awiti’s head in His hands for a few moments. He closed His eyes and nodded. Within a short time, He released her.

  “Awiti, I have seen how your troubles first began,” the Watcher reflected. “It is most unfortunate what happened to your village, your family. You were but a child when Oranyan tricked you. But you are no longer innocent. You have lived for many years now, experienced life.”

  Awiti opened her mouth to defend herself, but the Watcher continued.

  “Do not interrupt when I am speaking. I have seen the harm you have done. You have caused others so much pain. Destroying the innocent because you are unable to deal with your loss. This must end today.”

  He did not wait for Awiti to respond. The Watcher was unrelenting as He admonished her.

  “You cannot live among the mortals, pretending to be one of them while you exact your revenge. Do you understand, Awiti?”

  There was a long pause as He waited for Awiti to acknowledge His instructions.

  “Yes,” Awiti responded. “But…”

  “I am certain Oranyan did not tell you of the burden of immortality. Surely he focused on the benefits most enticing to you. But it was still your decision, was it not?” The Watcher implored, “It was your choice to become immortal. You wanted an opportunity to find your family. You were willing to give someone your life without asking detailed questions. And for that, you can only blame yourself, not Oranyan.”

  Awiti looked at the Watcher, her anger evident as the skies darkened.

  “I know what you are capable of, but you are no match for me, Awiti. I suggest you control your temper lest I show you true wrath. Your storms are nothing compared to what I can do.”

  And to remind her of His supremacy, without moving, the Watcher began to pull her. Awiti screamed from the burning pain.

  “Is it fair to say someone tricked you if you did not inquire before making your decision?” the Watcher asked.

  “N
o,” Awiti responded. “But if I had only known what it meant to become immortal, I would have never agreed.”

  “That is because you are not a descendant of one of the Nephilim,” the Watcher informed her. “If you were, you would understand that immortality is a supreme gift. But you were created by one of the banished. And so the immortality you experience is not what was intended.

  “Oranyan should have never created you,” the Watcher told Awiti. “It is unfortunate he tricked you with the strongest of human emotions. Love.”

  The Watcher continued.

  “You will question what you and Oranyan shared. I will tell you so you do not waste time on such trivial matters. Oranyan did not love you. He tricked you to relieve himself from an unfortunate situation. I am certain Oranyan was malcontent with his life as a banished immortal. This is why he selected you. Not because he loved you. Oranyan was in love with your mortality.”

  Awiti began to cry, but her reaction did not affect the Watcher. His only duty was to speak truth. His words were harsh and swift, but honest.

  “Oranyan did not consider how his decisions would impact you for eternity. And that is not the way of human love, Awiti.

  “There exists a great heaviness in your spirit. No doubt from the loss of your family. The slave raiders attacking your village. During the Exchange, your spirit was not at peace, and it did not cross over. And so you exist in an immortal body still bound to your spiritual self.

  “You are not accepted among the descendants of the Nephilim,” the Watcher concluded. “And it is for these reasons I must banish you.”

  “But where will I go?” Awiti asked.