“Thirty five?! That’s old! I’ll be dying by then.”
Saint burst out laughing. “Hassani, do you think I’m old?”
“Yeah, but you don’t look it. You and Mommy are both old. Mommy is still pretty though.”
Saint cracked up. Children said whatever they wanted, especially his own.
“Well, thank you, I guess.” Saint grinned.
“It’s true. I looked at some pictures of you, Daddy. Mommy said they were taken before any of us were born. You look the same. Why is that, Daddy?”
“Because we don’t age at the same rate as other people, Hassani, not physically, anyway. We still grow old, however. The understanding behind that is that we have a lot of work to do, so we are given a bit more time and energy to get it all done. Angels never get tired, but we are human, so we do. This is just an extra edge to help us.”
“Edge?”
“Like an extra bonus.”
Hassani nodded in understanding while Dakarai stood there looking utterly confused.
Saint clapped his hands. “Okay. Let’s wrap this up. I’m going to start with Isis.” Isis kept spinning in drunken type circles, falling to the ground and laughing.
Saint picked her up and kissed her cheek. “Your mother is going to kill me, girl. Look at your hair and clothes, and she just got you cleaned up.” He whispered in her ear before sitting her back down. He reached into a basket he’d brought, and picked out a clear, globe-shaped paper-weight. Hassani and Dakarai huddled close to see what he was doing.
“Okay boys, your sister has shown early signs of psychokinetic abilities.”
Dakarai frowned.
“Dakarai, that’s the medical term for the early ability to move objects, just like Hassani.”
“Oh.” Dakarai smiled.
“Hassani, I believe your sister also possesses another gift, or at least I suspect. I want to try it out.” Saint showed Isis the globe and allowed her to play with it, rub her fingers along it. She smiled at the object; her eyes became dreamy as she continued to fawn over it.
“Okay baby girl, you see this?” He removed it from her grip, sparking protest. “Shhh, wait, wait…” he said gently to her as he knelt before her on the ground. “You’ll get it back. Look at it, Isis.”
The little girl looked at the ball, then lunged for it, causing Saint to rear back, keeping it out of her reach.
“No, no, sweetie. Just look at it.” Isis stared at the ball after whimpering a bit, no doubt trying to get her father to give in and let her hold the pretty ball once again. “Now, boys, she will begin to concentrate. She is still too young to really do this well, but if she can do what I think she can, then it is truly magnificent. Dakarai, tell me what your brother can do that you can’t.” Saint kept his eyes on Isis.
“’Sani can move stuff.”
“That’s right. What else?”
“He can reach the cookies Mommy puts away from us, tha ones at tha top.”
Saint snickered. “That’s true as well, but I meant as far as your gifts, only.”
“Oh. Uh, he can dream stuff and it den happen.”
“That’s right. Hassani has the gift of prophecy, okay, just like me. Isis may have that same gift, only hers manifests differently. She needs a reflector.”
“What’s dat?” Dakarai questioned.
“A reflector is an object that an image can be cast into. It is usually glass, a mirror, even a bed of water. I’m holding up this clear ball so that Isis can stare at it, and possibly do the same. She may not be able to dream out a scene the way Hassani can, but she may be able to hold a reflector and see a quick flash of something to come. This can be quite helpful when someone needs information very quickly. Hassani’s dreams are very detailed and are superior to this, but they take longer. He actually has to be asleep. This is useful for fast answers.”
Then, as if someone flipped a light switch, an image appeared in the globe. At first it was blurry, then got crisper. The boys’ eyes widened as they drew closer, their heads bumping while they huddled around their sister in amazement. Isis kept staring, as if she were in some sort of trance. In the tiny ball was an image of Saint in front of his computer in his office, fast asleep with a smile on his face. He woke up at one point, looked around confused, then nodded off again. The boys burst out laughing and pointing.
“That’s you, Daddy!” Hassani jumped up and down excitedly.
“Sleepy head!” Dakarai teased as they kept staring. Then, as fast it appeared, it vanished.
Saint smiled and looked at all three of his children. “You see that? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“You know what that reminds me of, Daddy?”
“What, Hassani?” Saint stood back up and brushed the grass off his knees.
“Mommy takes us to Hollywood Boulevard and there is this funny lookin’ woman with a crystal ball. She got like uh store and in tha window is a painting of this woman with a ball and inside of that ball is like a castle and stuff.”
“That’s right, Hassani! Very good! Great comparison.”
“What’s a com-pear-son?” Dakarai asked.
“Day-Day, it’s like I learned in school. Like, when you take one thing and put it against another to see like what they have that’s alike and what they have that’s different. Like you and me. Like, we both like cars, but you like trains more than me now. We both got black hair. I’m older than you, you younger than me.”
Saint smiled and tried his damnedest to not laugh. He loved watching them communicate like this and he didn’t dare interrupt.
“So, a com-pear-son is like two things that’s tha same?”
“No, not all the time. Like I said, they can have some stuff the same but some stuff might be different. Okay, look.”
Hassani huffed as if he were becoming annoyed with being such a wise scholar and so highly sought after. “Like Daddy, okay, and Isis. They are Daddy and daughter. Isis is short. Daddy is tall. Isis is a girl. Daddy is a boy. That is a comparison. Isis got the same color eyes as you and Daddy. I got dark eyes, like Mommy. Like that.”
“Ohhhh, okay.” Dakarai nodded his head in understanding.
“Alright now.” Saint looked at his watch. “We only have a little more time. Hassani, I want you to think about something and make Dakarai guess what it is.”
“Nuh uh! I don’t like this game!” Hassani protested. Dakarai’s face cracked with a devious smile. Hassani had spent quite a bit of time training himself to block his brother from the constant invasions, but the stronger Dakarai got, the more difficult it became to keep the little guy at bay.
“Come on, Hassani. I’m doing this for a reason. Don’t try to block him, just let him see something you don’t mind him seeing.”
Hassani turned reluctantly toward his brother and did as he was told. After a couple of minutes, Dakarai smiled and looked at his father who held Isis in his arms.
“He thinking about what did Mommy cook for dinner. Can we ask Isis to show us?”
Saint and Hassani burst out laughing.
“Dakarai, Isis can’t just do it at a drop of a dime all the time. It isn’t guaranteed and it is tiring for her, just like it is hard work to move objects around without our hands. As she practices and gets older though, she will be able to do it quickly. She’s still too young right now.”
“Well Daddy, did Mommy tell you what she is makin’ for dinner ’cause I don’t want none of that onion stuff or that loaf of meat.”
“Meatloaf?” Saint smirked. “The turkey meatloaf?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it.”
“I don’t know what she made, Dakarai. I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’ll eat whatever it is, if you’re hungry enough.” Saint laughed as he ruffed up the boy’s hair.
Dakarai grimaced and crossed his arms in defiance.
“Okay, now, was your brother right, Hassani?”
Hassani smiled and nodded. “Yes. I was wondering what she made for dinner and I’ll eat the meatloaf becaus
e I like it but I don’t like onions and Mommy knows it, so she leaves them off mine.”
Saint grinned and looked back at his middle child. “Dakarai,” he said sternly. “I’ve told you time and time again to stop reading people’s thoughts. You are going to get into some trouble if you don’t stop it. Now, I mean it. I will take each and every toy out of your room until I feel you deserve to have them them back if you don’t cut it out.”
“But you just tol’ me to do it, Daddy!” Tears welled up in the little boy’s eyes.
Saint dropped down and grabbed him, kissing his cheek.
“Dakarai, calm down. I asked you to do it so I could time you, to see how fast you could get inside and to see if your gift is developing at a good rate. I wanted to also see if your brother could properly block information he didn’t want you to see. It helps both of you in the long run.”
“Den why you get mad at me?” he asked, sniffing.
“You’ve been doing it to other people. We’ve gotten complaints that you are eavesdropping on private conversations. You and I both know that you have not been. I know how you are getting the information. It must stop at once, Dakarai. I’m not playing with you. This isn’t a game. It could affect you and the rest of us in a bad way. Do you understand me?”
Dakarai nodded and wiped off the tears from his eyes. Saint stood back up and patted his head.
“Okay now, Hassani, I want you to reach inside that basket and take out three things. I want you to make them move around at the same time, and you and I will toss them back and forth to one another.”
Hassani smiled wide and raced over to the picnic basket. He removed a baseball, a green toy car and one of Isis’ baby dolls.
Dakarai pointed and laughed. “You picked a doll!” He held his chest as he giggled, holding his stomach, and fell back on his behind. “You like dolls!”
“Shut up, Day-Day, no I don’t! You a punk!” Saint could feel that Hassani regretted picking out the thing. Saint also knew that Dakarai had said the mean words because he was jealous. Saint shook his head, realizing that sibling rivalry between the two was inevitable.
“Nuh uh! You uh punk! Dollbaby, kiss! Kiss!” Dakarai giggled.
“If Daddy wasn’t here, I’d knock you out, dummy! You’d be cryin’ and I’d be happy about it!”
“Okay, you two stop it right now! Hassani, stand over there.”
Hassani backed up.
“A bit farther. Okay, that’s good.”
Isis hugged her Daddy’s neck tighter.
After a few minutes, the doll, baseball and car spun around in the air. Hassani smiled as he looked up at them. He was given the rare opportunity to do this outside. He’d never been allowed before.
“Great, good. Now move them toward me and do it slowly. I don’t want to get hit in the forehead by a tiny Porsche.” They all started laughing, except Isis, who was too busy chewing on her shirt collar and drifting in thought. One by one, the objects moved between them, as if they were playing a slow-motion game of catch.
“This is cool!” Hassani exclaimed. “This is fun!” And they continued on for a couple more minutes until Saint took his turn, grabbed the objects from the air and returned them to the basket.
“Alright gang, let’s get packed up and out of here. I just needed to see and feel where you all were at. Dakarai, you are getting much stronger, as I suspected. I surmise by the time you reach fifteen or sixteen, there won’t be many who can stop you from getting into their mind. Hassani, since you are multi-tiered, I know less about your future but—”
“Ask Isis,” Hassani blurted, causing more laughter.
“That was good, that was witty, a fast comeback, too.” Saint narrowed his eyes on the boy and pointed at him, pleased at Hassani’s response. “But as I was saying, I don’t know but the gifts I’m sure you have, they, too, are growing stronger. You guys are doing great.”
“Grape!” Isis shouted, causing more laughter as they made their way down the hill back to the Escalade.
“Great, baby. Daddy said ‘great.’”
“Grape!” Isis repeated anyway, causing Saint to smile even wider.
“You must be hungry, we’ll be home soon.”
They all piled into the car and Saint made sure everyone was secure in their respective seats. As he drove home, he thought about how incredibly gifted and beautiful his children were. He was thankful that they were strong and healthy, and had their own thoughts and personalities. He drifted into the pleasantry until Dakarai broke his thoughts with a question.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Dakarai?”
“Why don’t Traci come by no more?”
Saint lowered his head a bit and ran his hand across his forehead as he drove down the narrow path before reaching the highway.
“She—” He got ready to lie, but then he looked in the rearview mirror at the boy, at those dark eyes—eyes just like his mother’s—staring right back at him. He told himself after the hospital bullshit he’d never lie to his children again. “Dakarai, she and Jagger are going through some personal things, okay? I can’t tell you because it is between them and it is adult business. But she still likes you and Hassani, as much as she did before. She just needs some time to herself is all.”
Dakarai grinned real big and wide. “Dat’s fine. That mean I can date ’er now.”
Saint smiled weakly then broke out laughing.
“What do you know about dating, Dakarai?” he asked, but Hassani jumped in, derailing the entire conversation.
“He don’t know nothin’ about dating, Daddy!”
“I do, too!”
“She don’t want you. You’re a lil’ boy. You only five! I gotta girl, but if I didn’t, she’d want a man, like me.” Hassani jetted his thumb into his chest and cut the little guy down as the roar of passing cars flew past.
And the two boys continued to argue back and forth, insult after insult in their own special way while Isis sat between them, oblivious to her brothers’ antics. Saint smirked and shook his head as he drove home, tired, but so happy to have these crazy little people in his life…
~***~
Saint took a sip of his lukewarm water, the label saturated with condensation, falling apart against his thumb each time he manipulated it with a nervous rub. He’d just gotten a text message from Jagger that the IRS had seized more files and wished to see him as soon as he got back in town. It put a bit of a damper on things, yet he still had to attend to his responsibilities. Now, he stood in front of the audience of Queens and Rainbeaus—a couple’s conference, a novel idea which may be the first of many, or the one and only. No one was for certain, but it was suggested and pushed by the panel, and Saint accepted his role in the matter. He looked out into the audience and scanned the area in slow succession from left to right, as if he were a panoramic camera hired to do an in-depth documentary. All eyes were on him. The Queens, radiant and beautiful coming in different shades of brown, sat beside their husbands. Some held hands, others seemed tense while others appeared to only be there to test out this so-called dynamic speaker. They’d come from all of the country to hear Dr. Aknaten speak about the divinity of their relationship.
“So it appears to me,” Saint continued, “that the vilification of the interracial relationships that consist of women of African descent, lineage and heritage and her partner of non-African descent receive an uneven level of condemnation.” He paused, setting his bottle down in the podium and stuffing a hand in his pants pocket. “The playing field is not even. We can simply look at the media representation as one reliable source, to determine this unleveled situation. While one situation appears to be glorified, another is torn to pieces.”
He picked up his water bottle, took another long, hard gulp as if it were the vodka he craved and continued.
“We hear about the diseased mentality of the black woman.” He slowly paced the small stage; low lights set him aglow. “We hear from online sensations on websites such as You Tube, Black
Planet and commentary from some celebrities about how bitchy the black woman is.” He paused again as he looked out at the sea of people. They were quiet, hooked in, waiting.
“We hear the sarcasm and cruelty, not based in logic, but emotionalism. The same cats telling black women and black men about the emotionalism of black women are showing their own emotional instability, under the guise of allegedly telling the truth, of keeping it real, of dispensing education on a primal level. This is not true. The motivation for misinformation is indeed a vehicle to deceive. This is done by repeated blogging, vlogging, publishing books and articles to proclaim the black woman as undesirable, downtrodden, physically unhealthy, manly in her appearance, barbaric, suffering from a ghetto mentality, unkempt, devoid of moral fiber, habitually self-victimized, classless, uneducated, money grubbing and financially exploitive, sexually promiscuous, intellectually incompetent, overly dramatic and riddled with delusions of grandeur.”
A roar of low applause rippled through the mixed crowd.
“The truth of the matter,”—Saint removed a small white cloth from his pocket and swiped it gently across his brow, then returned it to the warm cubby of his pants—“is that there are women and men of all races, creeds and ethnicity, who could fit those descriptions. However, when someone feels they have been harmed by a particular group of people, and they attribute it to that person’s race and gender, their emotional instability comes out of them. It oozes out of their pores and if they have any intellectual inclinations at all, it can come out as educated, well-researched and coherent. Once you look deeper into the cause, into the person, into their history and dichotomy, you discover they are a wounded person. Now, the wounds may not be evident. They may not even realize they are wounded…” He paused, allowing his words to steep before continuing. “But just because an animal is bleeding out it’s gut, doesn’t know an arrow is wedged in its rib and half of its brain falling out through its ears, doesn’t mean the wound is suddenly hidden, healed or gone away. One’s own acknowledgement of a situation does not change the facts.”
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 72