by Jac Simensen
Hubert turned his head to meet her gaze. “Tomorrow morning—I don’t want to put this meeting off. I managed to get a message through to Ringwald; he’ll meet me at the camp.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going with you, of course.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“Yes, I do. Ringwald is my blood relative, as well as yours. Besides, he’ll be more comfortable if we speak Akan, and you know you’re hopeless.”
Hubert smiled, pushed the desk chair back, stood, and embraced his wife. “I’m really apprehensive about this whole damn thing. It’s like my mother is reaching out from the grave, still expecting us to give her a granddaughter, and trying to control our lives.”
Morowa gently stroked his cheek. Her long, mahogany-colored fingers contrasted with her ivory-colored nail polish. “With Ringwald’s help, we’ll deliver the jewelry to Naki and cast Juba out of our lives. Then we’ll burn this house to the ground and be done with her!”
Hubert pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead.
~*~
Hubert and Morowa left the smells, noise, and overcrowding of Accra behind as the Range Rover flew down the six-lane N-1 highway. They traveled more slowly on the progressively poorer regional roads, and finally, crawled deep into the forest on an unpaved logging trail. Hubert had driven the trail for decades, and automatically shifted through the gears, anticipating most of the deep ruts and potholes in the well-worn track. The forest had belonged to his family for four generations. What had once been a native teak forest was now a scientifically managed plantation.
At the end of the trail were three substantial buildings with metal roofs: a bunkhouse, a mess hall, and an infirmary for the loggers who harvested the valuable timber. There was also a fourth building—an attractive superintendents’ lodge.
Hubert cut the engine and then stepped down from the Range Rover onto the crushed-stone-covered courtyard that fronted the buildings. He looked around and, seeing no one, opened the SUV’s hatch. A twelve-gauge, pump-action shotgun lay on the black carpet, within easy reach. Morowa, who was also an excellent shot, remained in the vehicle with a .38 Special revolver clutched in her right hand. The jewels in the velvet pouch that she’d stuffed into her handbag were easily worth a couple of hundred-thousand US dollars, and even though they were on their own property—a property patrolled by armed security guards—Hubert had discussed the jewels with Ringwald on the questionably secure satellite phone and they knew that brutal things sometimes happened in the forest.
A compact, muscular, white-haired man came out the front door of the superintendents’ quarters and stepped onto the wide front porch. He wore a clean, sleeveless white T-shirt, black sweatpants, and bright-green wellington boots. Incongruously, he clutched a large pink linen napkin in his left hand. “Welcome,” he called in the Akan language. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until afternoon.”
Hubert waved, then closed the SUV’s hatch door while Morowa returned the revolver to the glove box and stepped down from the vehicle. She held her handbag tightly against her chest.
“It’s past one, Ringwald, you old fool,” she laughingly responded in Akan.
Ringwald pointed to his watch and shook his head. “I’m always off time. It broke last week and I haven’t got it fixed, but still put it on out of habit.”
Hubert bounded up the three wooden steps to the porch and grasped the old man in a bear hug. “Uncle, you never change. Even when I was a child, you were an old man with white hair.”
“You be respectful, boy. Now that your mother’s gone, I’m the leader of the clan—at least until you two get your act together.”
Morowa embraced Ringwald and kissed him on the cheek. “You look much more like yourself without that moth-eaten adinkra robe you wore to Juba’s funeral. I think that was the only time I’ve ever seen you without your wellies.”
“Come in, dear children.” He held the napkin in the air. “As you see, I was just sitting down to lunch. Come in and eat with me. Alexandria has prepared waakye with red-red—better than any food you’d be served in the pig troughs you city people call restaurants.”
Alexandria, Ringwald’s longtime housekeeper and cook, stood in the kitchen doorway. She was a short, squat woman with short silver-gray hair and a large mouth. She nodded unsmilingly to the group and then wordlessly disappeared into her kitchen.
Hubert wasn’t fond of waakye, a Ghanaian staple made from beans and rice and often accompanied with a spicy sauce of prawns and tomatoes, but he knew that for a guest to refuse food would be a gross breach of etiquette and vowed to himself to eat as little as Ringwald would allow.
To his great surprise, Hubert enjoyed Alexandria’s waakye and, at Ringwald’s insistence, ate a second helping.
After Alexandria had silently cleared the table, poured coffee, and retreated to the kitchen, Ringwald laid out a black felt cloth in front of Morowa.
“I can restrain my curiosity no longer; let us see what treasure you have brought.” Turning toward Hubert, Ringwald continued, “And now, so that this highly educated foreigner can fully understand the important things I must tell you, we will speak only in English—and,” he added in Akan, in a loud voice, “so that when Alexandria eavesdrops, she will not understand.”
Morowa removed the velvet pouch from her purse, and laid out the four pieces from Juba’s jewelry collection—a ring, two pendants, and a necklace—onto the black felt cloth. “As Juba directed just before she lapsed into a coma, we’ve brought the jewelry she left for Naki for you to explain the significance of the pieces.”
Ringwald stood and hovered over the jewels for only a moment. “The orange diamond,” he said. “The pear-shaped, orange diamond in the gold ring setting.”
Morowa picked up the ring and held it up in the sunlight streaming in from the front windows. It’s pure, vivid, orange color was dazzling. “I’m surprised,” she said. “It’s lovely, of course, but I thought you’d select one of the bigger, more valuable, stones.” She pointed to a pendant. “This, for example, must be five carets.”
Ringwald’s laugh—a deep, throaty snort—seemed out of place coming from such a small, squat man. “I select nothing. This orange diamond is a power stone. The rest are but baubles.”
“Power stone?” Morowa asked. “What’s a power stone?”
“I’m not really sure. All I can remember from long-ago family conversations is that a power stone has no intrinsic force by itself. But, when the stone is worn by someone who possesses potent force, the stone amplifies that person’s ability to exercise their powers.”
“How did Juba come by this power stone?”
Ringwald stroked his beard. “According to Ashanti legend, thousands of years ago, when this stone was torn from the ground, it was rough, uncut, and—of course—much larger than it is today. Five centuries ago, it became the property of the king of the Ashanti and was incorporated into a warrior headdress, which was passed on to future kings. It was said that the stone would gather power from the strength of each ancient warrior who possessed it and transfer that power to its next owner. But, as you both know, other than land, inheritance among the Ashanti flows through the matriarchal line. So, technically, the stone has always been the property of women. But, as I just told you, my belief is that the stone has no intrinsic powers of its own. In the mid-nineteenth century, during one of our wars with the British, the stone fell into the hands of a Dutch trader, who had the stone cut and set into the ring you see before you.”
“Then how did the ring become my mother’s?” Hubert asked. “I never saw her wear it.”
“The story that has passed down through our family is that your great-great-great-grandmother bargained with the trader for the ring. But when she was unable, or unwilling, to pay his price, she slit his throat and took the stone. It’s a great story, but I have my doubts as to its truth. I suspect that someone in the family bought it. Now, you must both listen carefully to what I
have to say in my poor, mission-school English. If you do not understand, you must question me at once. You got that?”
Hubert and Morowa nodded.
“To begin, I will tell you of times long before my sister Juba—your mother and mother-in-law. I will also tell you why I believe Juba became a cold, frustrated, and controlling woman, and why she willed the power stone to Naki.
“You, of course, know the story of Adam and Eve. That story is a Christian story. Jews have their stories and the ancient peoples who came before the Christians and Jews had similar stories, too. You must learn that these stories are false. Creation did not happen as the Christians and Jews say it did. The correct stories of the beginnings of man have been preserved in Ashanti lore—the stories of Elemi and Eleda, the two gods of creation. However, the Eden the Christian stories tell of was a real place—a place nearby, here in what the English named West Africa.” Ringwald paused. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Hubert nodded. “When I was a child, I learned about the ancient gods Eleda and Elemi.”
“What does this have to do with Juba, or with Naki?” Morowa asked.
“Be patient while I tell you of the Ashanti creation stories, and then you will understand,” said Ringwald. “To amuse the gods, Elemi created the earth, the seas, and the heavens, and then moved on to other worlds, leaving Eleda behind to create the creatures of the earth—the fish of the seas, the birds that fly in the sky, and, lastly, humans. When Eleda was finished, he blew life into each one. As with all true gods, Elemi and Eleda are each male and female at the same time. However, when Eleda created the creatures of the earth—including man—Eleda made them incomplete so that each male and each female would be inferior to the gods. Of course, this is what drives men and women to crave sex—it is the desire to become complete, to try to become like the gods, if only in a brief moment of ecstasy.”
Morowa snickered and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Uncle,” she apologized. “I’ll behave.”
Hubert shook his head and gave Morowa a mock-reproachful look.
Ringwald continued. “Eleda named the first man Alos and the first woman Lilith. There was no tree of forbidden fruit, nor any serpent, nor were Alos and Lilith ashamed of their nakedness. The Christians made all that up much later for their own purposes. You see, the Jews and Christians were terrified of the sexual power that women had over men. They needed to marginalize that first woman as naïve and easily tricked by the forces of evil. As with all the other creatures of the earth, Alos and Lilith produced offspring—first twin boys, and then a girl.”
“So, this Lilith was the biblical Eve?” Morowa asked.
“Hold onto your pants. There’s more coming—you’re understanding my English?” Ringwald asked Hubert.
“Uncle, I’m amazed by your vocabulary. Your English is excellent.”
Ringwald grinned. “When I was a young man, I read many books written in English, and other languages as well. Not everyone needs to go far away to university to become educated, you know. Right, where was I? Ah, yes—Lilith had a voracious sexual appetite and bore Alos more daughters and sons. When her twin sons grew into men, she began to copulate with them as well as with Alos. From the union with her sons, Lilith produced a girl child who was born with pink eyes and nearly translucent skin.”
“An albino?” Morowa interrupted.
Ringwald nodded. “An albino girl. Alos was alarmed by the appearance of the child and forbade Lilith from copulating with their grown sons, but she laughed at him and continued to do so. Alos grew jealous and angry with Lilith and called out to Eleda to constrain her. Eleda heard Alos’ call and, while the couple slept, spoke to Alos and Lilith at the same time. Eleda appeared to Lilith in a stern, male visage, and to Alos as a beautiful woman. Eleda told Lilith that she was forbidden from copulating with her sons and that she was to take the pale girl to the sea and throw her into the waves. Eleda told Alos that he was obligated to sexually please Lilith in any manner she chose and whenever she wished.”
Morowa laughed. “And that was his punishment?”
Ringwald ignored her question. “When they awoke, Alos and Lilith shared with each other what Eleda had told them. Lilith took the pale child and started for the sea. But, instead of destroying the child as Eleda had ordered, Lilith took two of her daughters, along with the baby, to a cave in the nearby woods, where she instructed her daughters to care for their pale sister. Then she returned to Alos and told him that the baby had been swallowed by the sea. Eleda immediately knew of Lilith’s deceit and became enraged that she had so disobeyed the will of the gods.
“In this angry state, Eleda appeared to Alos and Lilith in the form of a hideous serpent. Alos was so greatly terrified that he fell to the ground, shaking and crying, but Lilith stood firm and said nothing. Because of Lilith’s deceit, Eleda had decided to destroy all living things and to begin creation anew without humans, but when Eleda saw Alos’ pitiful weakness, the god relented. ‘You, Alos, I will spare,’ Eleda said. ‘But Lilith, you are banished from this place and, in punishment for your deceit, you are condemned to eternal life—barren, eternal life. When your body becomes ugly and old, full of pain and suffering, you will exchange it for the body of one of your female descendants—one of the daughters of your sons and daughters. The pale child whom you refused to destroy will live forever. She will accompany you in your wanderings, so as to remind you of your vile defiance of the gods. Since you have been too indulged to learn to care for your own needs, your maid-servant may come with you.’”
~*~
Morowa shook her head. “And so you’re gonna tell us that Juba was a descendant of this Lilith?”
Ringwald laughed. “Indulge me yet a while longer.” He leaned back in his chair. “So Lilith and her pale daughter were forced to forever wander the earth. Eleda decided that instead of destroying all living things, the god would just remove all memories of Lilith from everyone.”
“So, Lilith wasn’t Eve?” Morowa asked.
Ringwald shook his head and sighed. “Is this woman always so impatient?” he asked Hubert.
Hubert grinned. “Always.”
Ringwald held up a finger in front of Morowa’s face. “Now comes Eve,” he said. “After Lilith was banished and memories of her were erased from every living being’s mind, Alos was lonely and became depressed. Eleda saw Alos’ despair, took pity, and decided to create a new mate for him. And so, Eleda created a new woman, blew life into her, and named her Eve. Eve was smaller than Lilith and very beautiful. In their time together, Eve and Alos produced many daughters and sons. As they came of age, the sons and daughters of Lilith and the sons and daughters of Eve reproduced and began to populate the earth.”
Ringwald turned toward Morowa. “Now for Juba,” he said. “Eleda found humankind’s preoccupation with sex tiresome, and desired to rejoin Elemi to see what Elemi was up to. So, Eleda called in the Esu, a clan of lesser gods, and directed the Esu to watch over the humans and, above all else, to maintain harmony. Then Eleda left the earth, never to return. You got it so far, impatient Morowa?” he asked.
She nodded.
“As is always the case, when humans aren’t closely supervised, they get into lots of trouble. First off, Alos and Lilith’s twin sons fought over the attentions of their sisters, and eventually one twin killed the other. That, of course, is the origin of the biblical tale of Cain and Abel. Next, Lilith sensed the absence of Eleda and attempted to return to the place the Christians call Eden. When Lilith approached the dense, thorny hedge that Eleda had placed around Eden to bar her reentry, on the other side of the hedge she spied the first daughter of Eve, who was named Nanina. Lilith called out to her, Nanina approached, and the two spoke together through the bush. Lilith told Nanina that she, and not Eve, was the mother of all humankind and begged Nanina’s assistance in helping her find a way to get into Eden through the thorny hedge. Lilith told Nanina that if she could not reenter Eden and take her rightful
place as Alos’ mate, she would wreak vengeance upon all. Nanina was frightened by Lilith and told her father, Alos, of the encounter. Since Eleda had stripped Alos of all memories of Lilith, Alos was thoroughly confused by Nanina’s story and called out to the Esu for help.
“The Esu were perplexed. They knew that Lilith was a threat to the harmony that Eleda had charged them to maintain, but being only minor gods, they lacked the power to undo Eleda’s acts of creation by destroying Lilith. They considered what to do and decided to give Nanina the power to protect humankind from Lilith’s threats of vengeance against the descendants of Alos. Since Lilith was doomed to eternal life, and would continue to be a threat to humankind, the Esu further agreed to allow Nanina, before she died, to pass these powers on to her daughters, and her daughters to their daughters, and so on.”
“So, according to your story, Juba was a descendant of Eve’s daughter, Nanina, and Juba possessed the same powers the Esu had given to Nanina. That’s it, right?” Morowa asked.
“Exactly so,” Ringwald replied. “Understand that the ancient powers passed to Juba were only those powers required to protect mankind from the ravages of Lilith—Juba had no other occult capabilities. She was not a sibyl or enchantress.”
“And was Juba unique or are there other descendants of Nanina who share the same powers?”
Ringwald stroked his white beard. “There is no way for me to know the number, but I suspect that there are many, many descendants of Nanina who walk the earth today; tens, or perhaps even hundreds, of thousands. Most have no knowledge of their gift. But, because Juba was of the Ashanti, it was different with her. She learned the creation stories and was taught about her powers to protect against Lilith in her childhood.”
Hubert sighed and then slowly shook his head. “My dear uncle, it’s a fascinating story and, in its colorful detail, it’s worthy of the complex Ashanti tradition. But you don’t seriously expect us to believe that these tales actually happened—and that Juba, my mother, inherited special powers from Eve’s first daughter?”