The Ancestors

by Brandon Massey

  Rashid glanced away from the old man. Embarrassment singed him, but he would not give Abe Morgan the satisfaction of being so totally right about his thoughts.

  “She’s gonna keep on trying to sell the furniture until she finds a buyer, then the shades are going to come into that house for her.”

  “I know,” Abe whispered, sitting down beside his student and taking the burned matchstick from his trembling fingers. “And that’s why you have to be ready to help her. That’s why I put you through all that purification . . . I knew she’d recognize you once you was back to yourself.”

  “Who am I to her?” Rashid whispered, his gaze locked with his mentor’s.

  “That’s enough exercise for one day. Rest . . . if you can. You’re too wired for further study today. Pray on it, if you can’t rest. And let the physical urge she creates in you pass. I may be old, but I also know what a long time can do to a young man. If you want to really help her, relieve the urge, alone, gather your focus, and do not let it be a future distraction. Mind over matter. Spirit over mind. Right now the body is weak, and the mind is confused, so use spirit to shore you up. Don’t make love with anything that comes to you in a dream, it might not be her—understand that,” Abe warned.

  Both men stared at each other for a long time before Rashid cast his gaze in the direction of the door.

  “She hears things, and I see things,” Rashid murmured, carefully watching his mentor’s face for any signs of agreement. “Now, I’m starting to feel things . . . I wonder if she can too?”

  “What did you ask her in your mind?”

  Rashid ignored Abe’s question, and kept his gaze away from the old man’s prying eyes.

  “Maybe I should go over to her new location and keep watch?”

  “She’ll be all right as long as Ethel’s spirit permeates that house. Do not try to go after her yet. You’re not ready, and neither is she. Understood?” Abe warned.

  “What is going on?” Rashid insisted. “Tell me the truth, all at once, not in these cryptic bits and pieces of information.”

  A sudden tightness gripped his throat, and Rashid swallowed hard to force it away. He stood and paced to the stove and lit a fire under the kettle. “Tell me what I’ve gotta do to get cleaned out, and stronger—to be ready. Today I wasn’t an anonymous vendor on the streets that she just passed by, and I felt good about her seeing me all cleaned up . . . I was somebody that she called trustworthy, and I had a job that she didn’t look down on—even if it was just selling papers, or providing security for your store. There was respect. She never even knew where I came from, but gave me that much due anyway. Thank you, for showing me who she really is, and for allowing her to see me in a better light.”

  “Thank the Father, not me,” Abe murmured. “I was just the vessel. You were the one who prayed for it to happen like this. Did I not tell you the power of prayer to change things, circumstances, even the physical, in ways that may initially appear impossible? That’s why we were practicing with the match.”

  Abe Morgan stood and walked over to the cabinets beside Rashid, producing a bag of dried leaves that he began to sift into a tea ball in preparation for the boiling water. He took his time, speaking slowly and deliberately, in the same manner that his hands were working the tea leaves. “You’re welcome for the small part I played in this, and I thank you too—for being an excellent student. You’re a natural. A quick study, which is fortunate, because we don’t have a lot of time. Every day, our position gets compromised. The signs are all around us. And I need to be able to close my eyes on this wretched earth, knowing someone will care about my baby girl.”

  “I’d give my life for her.”

  His benefactor stopped his tea-making process and looked directly at Rashid, without a smile. “Son, don’t you understand that’s why she knows you—’cause you already have?”

  Chapter Seven

  Abe Morgan looked up at the ceiling and walked over to the mirror to uncover it. The sound of Rashid pacing overhead made him nearly grind his teeth. His vision slid to the wall clock, and he reverently touched the edges of the mirror then returned to his seat at the table, waiting for Rashid to come downstairs. Eight o’clock at night and the boy had to make it till sunrise, Abe mused. He’ll never make it.

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting, and if not, praying,” he commented in a tired voice, as Rashid entered the room.

  “Yeah, well, I was praying while I was walking and thinking,” Rashid retorted, taking a bit of bread from the table and eating it where he stood.

  Abe sighed and brought another slow spoonful of his stew into his mouth. “Not tonight,” he murmured without looking up from his bowl. “Sit. Eat. Then, go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

  He watched the young man wrestle with his order before reluctantly taking a seat. “I know how you feel, but—”

  “You do not know how I feel!” Rashid countered, slamming his fist on the table. “Something’s happened. I’m getting a bad vibe.”

  Abe looked up and sat back from his meal. “What kind of bad vibe?”

  For a moment Rashid didn’t answer, and he began fiddling with the teacup and dishes on his side of the table.

  “I can’t explain it. But I know I need to go by her spot tonight.”

  Abe waved his hand and sighed, and dismissed the comment, returning to his meal.

  “This isn’t stir-craziness, or just a random thought,” Rashid persisted, “It’s—”

  “Pure lust,” Abe chuckled, and took another healthy spoonful of stew. “Outright lust.”

  “Bullshit!” Rashid yelled, standing again and pacing toward the mirror.

  “Watch your language,” Abe warned, no longer finding the exchange humorous.

  “She’s in trouble. The light’s too dim around the damned mirror. It’s been dim all day. We’re losing light!”

  For the first time since he entered the room, Rashid had Abe’s full attention.

  Slowly pushing the bowl away from him, Abe Morgan wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin that had been on his lap, and stared at Rashid directly in the eyes.

  “I know.”

  “Then, why are you playing with me—like you don’t know? We ain’t got time for this cat and mouse game, Abe!”

  “Because,” the old man said slowly, “I had to know that you knew which urge was more important, to protect her, or to have her—well before I could tell you what I know. There’s two elements surging within you that I’m dealing with here, and only one of them is important at the moment.”

  Rashid whirled in a circle and plopped down in his chair. “You can see the lights dimming, too, can’t you?”

  Abe only nodded.

  “You can read thoughts? Predict shit.”

  “Events. Human feces is easily predictable. Anybody can read that.”

  “And move objects.”

  “How many times did you hit the mat?”

  Rashid sat quietly for a moment. “Then you can throw at least two to three times your own weight, right, old man?”

  “Modestly speaking, about eight to ten. After I saw how pitiful an opponent you’d be, I eased up so as not to hurt you.”

  “Get the hell outta here . . .”

  “I’ve already told you about the language.”

  “Okay, okay,” Rashid apologized, “but you’ve gotta admit that you don’t run across that every day.”

  “True,” Abe admitted casually, “and you don’t see someone with your spirit, and attendant skill-set every day, either. By the way, for your expanding vocabulary’s sake, they’re called fruits of the spirit. They are gifts, and not to be played with, got it?”

  “Yeah,” Rashid remarked quietly. “That’s deep.”

  “I told you not to judge a book by its cover. That you must trust in a Higher Power to make the seemingly impossible possible, didn’t I?”

  Rashid simply nodded.

  “That’s what today was all about . . . to help you be
lieve that there is an Authority so awesome, so powerful, that it can allow you to walk through fire without getting burned, it can transport you to places without the use of conventional contraptions, and it can allow you to defeat an opponent that appears to be much stronger than you. We will go back to our spiritual studies, as the examples of such miracles are our evidence. Prisoners of war had been remanded to furnaces, but they walked out alive while their captors were consumed in the flames. A prophet was transported to another country and yet had no recollection of how he arrived there. And, of course, David slew Goliath, and there’s the witness of how lions in the Roman Coliseum did not kill and eat one of God’s chosen when he was thrown in amongst them. Yes, I beat you on the mats today—not because I am stronger than you in body, but because I am much stronger than you, at this point, in mind and spirit.”

  Rashid could only stare at the old man who had handily bested him in physical contest after physical contest, all day long.

  “You actually did quite well with the matches.” Abe smiled. “Ah, yes, you thought I didn’t see when it first happened. I see a lot more than you can imagine.”

  “You knew I was coming to your door, didn’t you? And you knew I had stumbled onto something when I called you Merlin—that’s why you freaked, and kept asking me why I’d called you that. Right? I can see things, too.”

  Abe smiled wider and stood, taking Rashid’s bowl to the stove to fill it with vegetable stew. “I had hoped, but couldn’t be sure until the signs were there.”

  “You also knew about her, too . . . that she was the one I was talking about?”

  “I knew,” Abe said carefully, dishing the stew, “that there were two of you left.”

  “Left? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Left generally means remaining, unless used as a directional term.”

  “Okay, don’t start down some long, windy path to get me off track. You knew about us, that—”

  “But, I wasn’t sure which two would come together, and what time you’d appear. Some things are not to be predicted. But to answer your initial question, yes, I knew.”

  “But that’s the whole thing I can’t figure out. Left for what? To do what? And, more importantly, how did I lock onto her as somebody to protect? I’ve never met your granddaughter before in my life, and she said she’s never met me, but she knew me! You saw the look on her face.”

  Rashid tentatively accepted the bowl of food from his host, and spooned down a few big mouthfuls before asking more questions. His brain felt like it was on fire, and he needed to absorb what he’d just heard before finding out anything else. Only two left . . . what was that all about?

  “It was in the prophecy.”

  “Okay, I guess I’m not supposed to know about this prophecy yet, huh?”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  “So,” Rashid finally added, never losing eye contact with Abe Morgan, “since you knew somebody was coming, you prepared yourself to have a person in boot camp living with you.”

  “Correct.”

  “And,” he pressed on, feeling annoyed by the simplicity of the old man’s response, “you knew that person would probably lead you to the female counterpart—the other half of this dynamic duo you were looking for.”

  Abe Morgan just nodded as he returned his attention to his own bowl.

  “You’ve known it was probably your granddaughter all of her life, right? You just needed me as confirmation, as a bird dog, to be sure. And you knew that was who I was talking about when I first showed up, right?”

  “I suspected that it was her. Yes, I’ve known all that child’s life that she was different, but I wasn’t totally sure until I saw the effect she had on you, and vice versa. At first she was totally repelled—when you weren’t the spirit she knew. I would look at how she looked at you with distrust and venom in her eyes as though seeing you in your previous condition literally offended some distant memory she had . . . one that she couldn’t even articulate. Then I cleaned you up and presented you to her the way you’d been before, and she took an immediate shine to you. Recognized you, right off. That couldn’t have been a coincidence—but I had to know, first. It’s a complementary pair of gifts that we’re searching for.”

  “We ?”

  “The Ancestors,” Abe replied simply. “They’re all in the spirit realm now. I’m the last one on this side.”

  “Dead? You have been consulting a committee of dead people?”

  “Dead is a strong word, one that connotes the lack of everlasting life. Death comes only to nonbelievers. The Ancestors are made up of those given the promise of everlasting life. Don’t say dead. They’ve just gone home.”

  “All right,” Rashid sighed. “We won’t debate semantics. Crossed over, gone home . . . whatever. But then, why in the hell did you act like I was crazy, and that I was nuts to be seeing the lights coming out of your store that you could already see? Huh? Answer me that one. Is it me?”

  “Confused, yes. Crazy, no. And I never show who I am, or what I know, to people I don’t know or trust yet. Basic rules of engagement and of camouflage. Now, is that crazy?” Abe waited for a moment, took another spoonful of his stew, and stood to go to the sink with his empty bowl. “I didn’t think that security measure would sound crazy to a man who trusts no one. For all I knew, you could have just been some poor soul, foaming at the mouth and taken over during a drug-induced delirium, and sent by them to scout me out. Ever consider that?” He stared over his shoulder at his young pupil until Rashid briefly looked away. “Or the fact that the same source that wants you two just might have been after me for a very long time? But, judging by my age, I must know how to handle my business, as you young folks would say.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that,” Rashid begrudgingly admitted. “Just like I wouldn’t stop touching the lights until I felt like you were okay . . . just in case.” Before continuing, Rashid waited for the customary nod that he was now used to Abe giving him when he was making progress. “Okay. Then why didn’t you just tell her—sit your granddaughter down and explain everything?”

  “First of all, I said that I suspected it was her. Wasn’t sure if she was The One, or had the right spiritual core. One can never be totally sure about anybody, when free will comes into the equation—just like I suspected you, but wasn’t totally convinced at first. Life, filled with experiences, temptations, ambitions, tragedies, disappointments, other people . . . all of these things are a constantly changing series of obstacles—or blessings, depending on your viewpoint—strewn along your path and designed to sway a person—via their own free will, of course—to either lean left, or right. Plus, that child is hardheaded. Doesn’t believe in this stuff and is scared to death of anything remotely spiritual . . . her grandmother was that way, too—God rest Ethel’s soul. I loved that woman, that’s what nobody understands, especially not Aziza. I told Ethel she couldn’t run from fate by sending that girl off to fancy boarding schools and whatnot.”

  “Seems like maybe your ex was running from something or trying to spare Aziza from the shades, is all?”

  “Yeah. Ethel was scared to death, that’s for sure—and I can’t blame her.”

  Rashid waited until Abe looked at him again, ignoring that Abe had removed his half-eaten bowl from the table to wash it out. “Is that why you don’t want her to sell her grandmom’s furniture? I saw it in your eyes, so you might as well admit it. That house is a safe house, as long as her grandmother’s light is in there, and it’s connected to every stick of furniture in there. Right?”

  “You’re improving,” Abe said with a somber expression, then turned back to the chore of washing out their bowls and putting the food away. “I anointed every piece in there when Ethel wasn’t home.”

  Okay. Progress. Rashid looked at Abe Morgan hard. “Talk to me. You want honesty, then you’ve gotta give honesty. You want help, then let me know what I’m up against for real.”

  Abe Morgan nodded and released a weary breat
h. “Ethel never left Fitzwater Street, but her spirit was definitely on the run,” his host admitted with another sigh of resignation. “Hid that poor girl all over, and kept a prayer vigil going for her from her safe house. You can’t imagine how many times I tried to tell Ethel that, if Aziza is The One, she could run, but she couldn’t hide. She eventually has to face what is chasing her, and win. Just like you do.”

  “Hide from what?” Rashid nearly shouted. “What are either one of us running from, or being protected against? Huh? A curse?”

  “Hardly,” Abe Morgan scoffed, clearing away their spoons and napkins. “Fate.”

  “Okay!” Rashid yelled. “Quit the riddles and say it plain. What am I supposed to protect her from? What’s been hunting us down?”

  “The same thing that chased you into my store like a madman.”

  Rashid tried his best to regain his composure, recognizing that the more he yelled and fussed, the more cryptic the old man’s responses became.

  “Let me try it this way,” Rashid sighed, standing to walk in a circle again. “You’ve also known for all your granddaughter’s life that she might just be in some kinda danger. I’ve looked for someone that has her exact voice all of my life, then I found her here in Philly. I was even standing out in sub-zero temperatures on the streets because I knew she’d somehow come to me in a vision that saved my life, and I knew I had to save hers—but from what, I don’t know. That’s all I do know for sure.”

  Abe began running water from the sink again to wash the silverware, without commenting or turning around.

  “I know I can see lights,” Rashid pressed on, “and I’m pretty sure, after what happened to her in front of the mirror today, that she can hear thoughts. I know this, as crazy as it sounds, is some kinda safe house. I also know that there are things we cannot see, that are not of the light—things that can take your life, if not your soul. I call ’em the shades, ’cause they move in the darkness and suck up any available light. You believe in negative forces?”

  “Where there’s light, there’s dark. Seen both. But the light has always been stronger . . . always before.”