by Ifè Oshun
“So you know?” I asked.
“I've known for years, Angel. From almost the beginning, I knew your voice has power to heal. You see, I'd been suffering from cancer...”
And he told me about how his terminal cancer cleared up shortly after he started working with me. I felt my mouth fall open. The idea that my voice could help people was fascinating, but it seemed too good to be true. “How do you know I had anything to do with that?”
“Sometimes I know things for certain,” Mr. C. said. “There may not be a reason in the rational world that I should believe a thing, but in my heart I know it to be true. For the longest time, I asked myself if I was crazy to think that such a thing can be possible. That the voice of a child could destroy cancer. Even after I witnessed your voice crack and then re-seal my drinking glass, I thought that I'd lost myself in a flight of fancy, that I couldn't possibly be in my right mind. But I couldn't deny the wonderful joy, the upliftment I felt after every one of our sessions. As if my soul was taking wing.”
To think I could actually do something good with my voice brought hope to what had seemed to be a doomed situation.
“Then I came to a conclusion,” he continued. “It didn't really matter whether it was true or not. Just seeing your face during our sessions, and the delight you experience while singing made it all seem possible. You were born to sing, Angel. We who eat and drink music have to look out for one another, you know.”
“But I nearly killed you.” I gasped again at the horrible memory.
“You didn't kill me. And that's why I know you will find that balance. It is love. Love compels you to sing, and love will compel you to find that balance. Focus on the love in your heart while you sing.”
Finding a balance. What he said made sense, but how could I possibly use him as a guinea pig? “What if I hurt you again?” I asked.
Dad put a spell of protection around Mr. C., and we've assured him that he is safe. He's really quite brave. Now listen to him.
“I never felt like I belonged,” Mr. C. was saying, “unless I was playing or listening to the music. These feelings, of not belonging, of being somehow different, caused great anger to fester in me. And I would do things that weren't very...nice. My life could have very well gone down a completely different path altogether. Fortunately for me, I had a teacher who knew the potential I had. And I will tell you now what she told me all those decades ago. She said, 'Focus on the love.' So Angel, I want you to feel your love of the music bubble up in your heart. In your soul. Love for your audience. Love for the very sound of your precious voice.”
He gently pressed the first chord in C. I drew in a deep, shaky breath, tried to remain calm, and shaped my mouth to let out the corresponding note. It came out weak. But it was enough to crack granddaddy's iron sculpture. The arm of the beautiful goddess figure broke off with a loud snap.
“Stop,” he said. And then silence.
He looked at the sculpture for a long moment. Was he reconsidering all of the stuff he told me just minutes ago? In light of the bloody tears and the cracked sculpture, I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd picked up that briefcase and hightailed it somewhere where it was safe. Part of me wanted to warn him, tell him to run and get away from me as fast as his aged mortal legs would take him. Which wasn't really fast at all, and surely no match for me. I shrank into the corner, feeling like a menace to society, a monster to be shunned. I felt so broken-hearted, I couldn't even cry again.
“What is that sculpture, Angel? It seems very old.”
“A family heirloom.” My voice sounded lifeless to my own ears. “It's been in our family for longer than I even know.”
This was the truth. Although immortals had kept meticulous records of family trees and lineages even before mortals learned how to do it for themselves, I was still unsure exactly how old the piece was.
“Fix it,” Mr. C. said. “Use your voice to repair the damage you just did. Don't worry about the way you sound. You've got years of technique to fall back on and if you allow it, it will kick in as soon as you take a breath. Right now, you must visualize the sculpture whole again, and focus on that to the exclusion of all else but love.”
He played the chord again. Softly, expectantly.
Love. Visualize the love. What would the love I felt for the music look like? I closed my eyes and concentrated. I knew how the sounds themselves looked, but love? I thought about the love I had for the music, how I felt when performing on stage. I contemplated how I wanted to make every person who listened to my music happy.
Love.
How would it look? What color would it be? I supposed it could look like the goddess sculpture. The soft rounded curves, the generous smile, the graceful, elegant pose that spoke of beauty and peace of mind. I stared at the sculpture and imagined it to be the image of love.
The chord sounded softly again. And again, patiently awaiting my vocal response.
It seemed as if the goddesses' smile was slightly bigger than I'd seen it before. And then for a brief moment, it almost seemed as if the sculpture's eyes came to life. They were loving, and they were looking at me. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd opened my mouth and the sound came out; a shimmery pink note that wafted gracefully around the room. I was singing the word “love.”
Mr. C. beamed like a proud daddy. “Yes! That's it. Keep singing love.”
He climbed the scale as I continued to follow, tentatively sounding the word, but eventually feeling more confident as we went along. Mr. C. was right. I really could sing without killing. I decided that I would never go back to that dark place where people dropped like flies at the sound of my voice. I determined that, from this point on, my voice could be a tool for healing.
I focused on the goddess sculpture again, this time imagining it complete, with the little arm where it belonged. I purposely directed the sound waves toward the sculpture. As I did, the luminous pink waves flowed into and around the goddess; and soon the arm was back on as if it had never broken off.
“Stop, Angel!” Mr. C. said. “That's it! Remember what you just did. That is the sound of love. Now. Let's try it in the key of D.”
14. THE LAW
Later on, in my room, I was exhilarated, exhausted, and relieved to be away from anything having to do with the mortal world. A victory had been won today. I was confident in my abilities to sing without killing, but the session with Mr. C. had worn me out. And there were still so many questions.
Cici dropped a stack of thick binders in front of me. “Million questions? Ask away. Just pick through colors while we chat.”
“Colors?”
“For your Mahá, silly. Don't you want it to be hot? Everybody will be there. We have to choose paint, the theme, the music, there's so much to do.” She looked me up and down, and sighed. “We really need to do something about your wardrobe. What you wear for Mahá is extremely important.”
“What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
“Everything. The club-kid look is childish. Jeans, hoodies, and the like. Definitely not the type of image you want to portray for Mahá.”
I felt the room go hot and saw a haze of red in front of my eyes.
Mom stuck her head in the doorway. “Is someone boiling mad in here?” She carried in more binders and placed them on the bed before plunking down on the floor with one. “You are really going to have to control your temper, sweetheart.”
“But Mom, Cici was totally dissing my clothes. She said I dressed like a child.” I heard myself whine and stopped. The red haze cleared up.
“Well dear, Cici has your best interests in mind. And there is a lot to be said about the image you project at your Mahá.” She opened a binder full of fabric swatches. “You might consider getting fitted for some custom pieces. We have a fantastic tailor, Ms. Thelma, who has been outfitting young ladies for their Mahá since the turn of last century. She is really excellent at what she does.” She held up a swatch next to my face. “Midnight blue is one of your colors.” She
marked it for future reference.
“Why’s it so important how I look for Mahá? And why am I picking out colors for paint? Are we really going as far as to repaint the walls?” Mom and Cici smiled at each other. They were excited about something and although I didn't know what it was, I started to feel it too. “Tell me!” I demanded.
“Start at the beginning, Mom,” Cici said as she hit “play” on the iPod dock. London chill-out music started to play in the background. “This may take a while,” she continued, “so get comfortable and just keep picking out colors you like. We'll start with the walls and then choose for rugs, window treatments, furniture, dishware...”
I stared at Cici like she had just morphed into a Chihuahua. Surely we weren't redecorating the entire house… for a party?
My stomach growled. Cici flew out of the room and came back in seconds balancing a number of pitchers and glasses. “Drink before you get hungry,” she said. “Stay on an even keel.”
I took in the aroma of each pitcher and fell into a state of serious indecision. They all smelled so good. Especially Sebastian. I poured a sample, and tasted it. Mmmm...I could clearly visualize his long, dark hair and long eyelashes. I decided to go find him and started edging toward the door.
“Will you really hunt him down, Angel?” Mom asked. “Remember what we talked about. Make the right choice for the life you want to live.”
I took a deep breath and, with great difficulty, planted myself firmly on the floor. Picking up the Sebastian pitcher and pouring a goblet-full, I stuck my nose in the glass and inhaled deeply, the way I'd seen the wine connoisseurs do for pinot noir. My throat burned with hunger and my body felt like it was on fire.
Determined to not find myself downstairs again at the front door, I slurped Sebastian down and forced myself to sit still. After ten minutes, they both nodded with approval.
“That's my sis!” Cici bragged.
“I'm very proud of you,” Mom said as she gave me a tight squeeze, and arranged a lock of hair that had fallen across my sweaty face.
Just yesterday it seemed impossible that I could ever be around mortals and display any control whatsoever, but today was a new day. Mr. C. had left our house alive. And here I sat drinking Sebastian, feeling totally connected to him, seeing him clearly in my mind down to his height and shoe size. The intimate knowledge of him grew the more I drank. But still I sat. I hadn't raced to the door, and I wasn't beyond reason. Yes, I still wanted to hunt him down, and the desire to absorb his essence into my own was almost maddening. But the feeling was overshadowed by the need to keep him alive so that I could have him again. I saw that for moral (and, okay, I admit it, selfish) reasons, keeping donors alive was better. I took a small sip, savored it, and sat still.
Mom mopped my face with a small towel. “As you know,” she said, “The Mahá is an ancient tradition that dates back to Biblical times.” She held up another swatch next to my face. This one was a dusty pink silk with thin threads of gold shot throughout.
“Pretty,” I said in a half-hearted effort to contribute. Mom nodded in agreement before marking it, too.
“In order to fully understand the Mahá,” she continued, “you must first know your own history. Angel, you are the great, great-granddaughter of Star. She was, is, what is popularly referred to as a ‘fallen angel.’ She and a number of other fallen angels are our ancestors, the primogenitors of our kind.”
I'd read about fallen angels, but I'd never dreamed I was reading about my own family. “Fallen angels were evil, I mean are evil. Aren't they?” I asked.
“Some make unfortunate choices,” Mom said. She ran a finger along a piece of lavender-colored lace before placing it back in the book and moving on to the next page. “Some are trying to atone for their mistakes.
“They came to this existence to help mortal men. Star was one of the Watchers. Their job was to lead the mortals and teach them how to survive. Over time, many Watchers fell in love with mortals and took on human form in order to mate with them. It is said that the Watchers loved mortals so much they rebelled against God. Some took on the form of men; some took on the form of women. Children born of the latter proved to be powerful and immortal. We think it may have something to do with the gestation period associated with being in the body of an angel. Unfortunately, those early immortals frequently murdered each other, mortals, and even themselves. The fallen ones learned the hard way – they had to make things right in order for their children to have better lives.
“Was great, great-grandma Star evil?” I held my breath waiting for an answer.
“No, she is not,” Mom said. I let out a sigh of relief. “The ancestors took steps to control their offspring. Eventually, as we began to have families of our own and our numbers increased, there had to be a way to keep track of all the immortals on the planet so that we could know the very answers to the questions you just asked: 'Are they good or are they bad?' The Mahá was created for that very purpose. We are not sure when the first Mahá was, or when it was instituted as law. But we know Star was instrumental in enforcing it.
“The concept of the Mahá is simple. When a child is reborn, the family invites all other immortals to come and see the newest of our kind. They see firsthand what powers and what kind of character the newborn has. Mahá is mandatory for every new immortal, and it is mandatory for every immortal to attend or be formally represented.”
“Does every immortal on the face of the earth have a Mahá?” I asked.
“No. Not all are introduced to society this way, but those with no Mahá are considered a threat to every Mahá-introduced immortal. To have Mahá brings one under the protection and acceptance of the Body of Restoration.”
“What's that?”
“The Body is a worldwide organization founded by Star and the other fallen ones who sought to atone for their mistakes with humanity. The Body creates and enforces Law for immortal humanity. Without Mahá, one can be eliminated without retaliation or justice. So as you can imagine, most immortals have one.”
Cici handed me an old album opened to a black-and-white portrait of her and the rest of our family surrounded by a massive group of people. “My Mahá.1871.” In the picture, she looked slightly younger, and her off-the-shoulder gown—a dark, satiny material decorated with dainty flowers—was to die for. She wore mid-length white gloves and a choker around her long, graceful neck. Her elegant hairstyle completed the ensemble.
Most of the family was dressed in similar, if less spectacular clothing, with the men in three-piece suits and top hats. The guests were dressed in formal multi-cultural wear. And then there were others...
I pointed to the short, dark-haired guy in full body armor. “Oh, that's Uncle Garroway,” Cici said with a big smile. “He's forever medieval.”
“Well,” I said, “at least he took off his helmet for the pic.”
The group stood on a lawn the size of a football field. Behind them was a cliff with a breathtaking view of the ocean. “We could not have Mahá here in the States, as it would garner too much unwanted attention,” Mom explained. “So we bought a plantation in Barbados, one of many that had been abandoned in the wake of slave rebellions. We still own this plot of land and have had many happy memories there.” She stroked the picture fondly.
“Your Mahá will be even better,” Cici said with excitement. “We have so much more cool stuff now. Digital pictures!”
Mom’s eyebrow arched and her mouth formed a stern line. “That,” she said, “is proving to be a problem. There is an entire outfit of the Body dedicated to policing the Internet, where a lot of these pictures end up.”
“Mahá’s the event to end all events,” Cici said. “So for your Mahá, not only will we have awesome playlists and live music, we also built a house.”
Lately, my mouth had been hanging open a lot, and now was no exception. I'd known that our family was wealthy (how could you not be after centuries of investments?) but all my life we'd lived in a pretty ordinary way. Now it
seemed like suddenly we owned land in exotic locales and were building houses for parties.
“It's in L.A., in the Pacific Palisades canyons,” Cici continued. “Dad bought the land back during the gold rush. I started overseeing the construction of your house a couple years ago—”
“My house? I have a house!”
“Yes, Angel, a present for your Mahá, it’s so cool, wait till you see it, you’re going to flip. And now the work's all done and just waiting for your personal touch. There are even secret rooms. And we've already retained Planned Events.”
Planned Events was a company run by immortals who specialized in supernatural events. With PE, all you had to do was plunk down a deposit and it would be held for however long it took for the child to change. They were the best at what they did because their business model could absorb the long waits between making a deposit and actually having the event.
“And wait 'til you see the view, Angel,” Cici added with a mischievous grin. “You'll die.” We all laughed out loud at the joke. She pointed to a blonde in the Barbados photo. “Her daughter, Grace, had a ridiculous Mahá a couple years ago. They rented out a sheik's palace in Dubai and had some of the biggest rappers perform. There were belly dancers, illuminated yachts, banquets. It lasted for over a week.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be under the radar?”
“We are,” Mom said. “So today's Mahás, like our lives, have a public face and a private face. The performers, and all mortals involved, think they are working at coming-out parties, quinceañeras, bar mitzvahs, cotillions, etc. Mahá law demands that only immortals attend the ceremonies and rituals, and these events are not publicized. For the rituals, there are no cameras, cell phones, or any kind of recording device allowed in.”
I gulped down terror. “Rituals? Ceremonies?”
“Don't worry, Angel,” Cici reassured. “It's nothing to be nervous about. All very formal and by-the-book.”
“The rituals and ceremonies were crafted expressly to introduce the immortals to the rest of the world, and vice-versa,” Mom continued. “Remember it is all about getting to know one another. Now, my Mahá was a little frightening.”