by Willow Rose
"Oya!" Shango exclaimed when he saw her. He laughed again, grabbed the woman in his arms, and twirled her around, faster and faster, till Jetta could almost not see her anymore. Then he stopped her, and they met in a kiss so deep and long, it got embarrassing. Tyler cleared his throat. Their lips parted, and Shango smiled.
"Oya, meet my friends. Tyler and Jetta."
"Nice to meet you," the woman smiled.
She was gorgeous. No, it was more than that. She was stunning beyond anything Jetta had ever seen. She looked Jetta deep in her eyes and approached her, reaching out her hand and grabbing Jetta's in hers. She held it for a very long time, a warmth spreading through Jetta's body, making her feel calm and safe.
"Have we met before?" Jetta asked.
That was when she realized that seeing this woman had caused her to let her guard down and reveal parts of her white face. Jetta pulled away. The woman walked closer, grabbed the hoodie, and pulled it down.
Jetta gasped. Next to her, Tyler wasn't breathing.
The woman smiled. "There you go. In here, you don't need to hide."
Jetta could hardly speak. She felt so naked, so revealed, yet more whole than she ever had felt.
Shango walked to the kitchen table where the food was being prepared, grabbed the bottle of rum, and drank from it. Jetta looked at the woman, then at Shango, then back at the woman, who now had a bowl full of okra in her hands.
"I know who you are," she said. "My…my Nanna used to talk about you. You're the wind that goes before…and you're the…wait, was that why? I saw fire come out of your mouth when you whistled in the car, is that…because…?"
Oya looked at Shango. It was the same look a mother would give a misbehaving child. She was holding up a finger at him.
"Now, what did I tell you about whistling? One of these days, you're going to end up hurting someone."
Chapter 53
It was only Shango who was hungry. He always was, Oya told them with a wink. Jetta couldn't stop staring at him or at her, wondering what the African god of storms and the goddess of rivers were doing here, in Chicago of all places.
After finishing his meal and everything that was on the table, Shango soon pulled out his drum and created the most wondrous and groovy music Jetta had heard. She couldn't help tapping her fingers on the table as he played.
Oya grabbed Tyler by the hand and pulled him out on the kitchen floor, dancing. Jetta laughed as she showed him how to twirl her around and around, till she started to spin on her own, her skirt fluttering in the air around her.
Soon, Jetta was drumming loudly, closing her eyes and singing. When she was done, she opened her eyes and realized all eyes were on her. The empty rooster carcass in front of her was on fire.
Oya ran for a bucket of water and threw it on the carcass to put out the fire, then looked at Shango who was all smiles.
"What did I tell you about the whistling?" Oya turned to look at Jetta. "Now, that was truly beautiful music, Jetta. You are very talented, just like your father."
Shango froze. Jetta looked at him.
"My what?" she asked.
Oya sighed deeply. "You didn't tell her? Shango. You had all this time and you didn't mention to the poor girl that you're her father?"
Shango looked uncomfortable. His eyes avoided Jetta's. "Well…it didn't exactly…come up." He sipped his rum, still looking away. The liquid sloshed inside the bottle when he removed it from his lips.
Oya placed her hands on her voluptuous hips.
"Shango."
"I…Well…I didn't want to scare her away, all right?"
Oya grabbed the bottle and ripped it out of his hands. "No more of this. Not till you have spoken to your daughter."
Shango looked after the bottle disappearing with Oya.
"But…but Oya!"
Jetta couldn't speak. She stared at the man in front of her.
He grinned awkwardly then leaned over the table. "I thought you might have guessed it once you set that carcass on fire."
Jetta touched her lips. She had done that?
"Me?"
Shango nodded eagerly. "You have that part from me. Just like that part," he said and pointed at the right side of Jetta's face. "It's all me. The other part, phew. Not me."
Jetta stared at him. She couldn't grasp it and didn't know what to do or what to say. It was all too much. She shook her head. She got up, pushing the chair forcefully across the floor, and ran outside into the street. Tyler called her name, but she didn't want to talk to anyone, not even him. She ran and ran, panting, a lump caught in her throat. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She was angry and sad and scared. All at the same time. It was too much, too confusing.
A truck approached her, and she pulled her hoodie back on to cover the white part of her face. She walked, hands in her pockets, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Was anything she knew about herself or her life true? Or was it all just one big fat lie?
Chapter 54
Jetta walked onto what looked like it had once been a square of some sort. A sculpture that looked like a massive silver jellybean was as holey as a piece of Swiss cheese and tipped to the side. Graffiti was painted on what was left of it, showing Black Liberty's logo.
Jetta walked closer and sat down on the ground. A spot next to it had been painted red, and the number nineteen written next to it. Jetta knew it meant nineteen people had been killed there by a bomb or grenade or maybe a sniper. She had seen similar splashes of red paint when walking from the mayor's office the day before and the soldier showing them to their house had told her what they meant.
"This town was under siege for two years," he had told her, "before Black Liberty finally took control."
Jetta wondered where all the whites had gone but didn't dare to ask. She sat for a little while, kicking a rock around on the pavement, when she suddenly heard a small voice. It sounded like someone crying.
Jetta looked in the direction the sound was coming from. It seemed to be from a narrow alley. Jetta walked closer and spotted a small boy sitting by the dumpster, eating out of it, sobbing.
"Hey. Are you all right?"
The boy turned his head with a gasp. His blue eyes, full of fear, looked at her. In his hands, he was holding moldy bread and a potato peel. His eyes looked to the side. The building, Jetta realized, had once housed a school. The boy decided to make a run for it, running towards a door. Jetta followed him. The door led to a janitor's closet that hadn't been used in ages. The boy hid behind old dusty brooms and janitor's jackets. Jetta closed the door behind her. Her eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness, but as soon as they did, she could see as well as outside.
"Hey, there," she said. "Don't be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you."
She squatted to seem less frightening. Through the darkness, she could see that his right eye was badly infected. He only used the left one, and with it, he tried to look at her, but he couldn't see anything.
"Are you all by yourself?" Jetta asked.
No answer.
"It's okay," she continued. She opened the door a bit and let some light in, then took off her hoodie to show him her face.
"I’m different too," she said.
The boy gasped when he saw her face. Jetta smiled, then reached out her hand towards him. He approached her, cautiously. With his finger, he touched the middle of her forehead and ran it down her face, down the line separating the black from the white.
"What's your name?"
The boy shook his head like he didn't want to talk. Jetta nodded. "That's okay too. If you don't want to say anything. I'm Jetta. We need to get your eye cleaned. I think I know a place where we can do that. But you have to come with me. Can you do that?"
The boy's one eye stared at her like he didn't understand. Jetta reached out her hand again. He looked down at it, then finally put his in it. She grabbed him and lifted him up, pulled the hoodie back on, and rushed across the empty town.
Chapter 55
Oya looked at Jetta. They had given the boy a shower and cleaned his eye. It already looked better, healthier. Oya had cut his hair and combed it back. He couldn't be much more than three years old, Jetta thought.
"He might have been hiding for most of his life," Oya continued. "And never learned how to speak."
Jetta smiled at the boy. Oya served him some of her food and the boy threw himself greedily at it, stuffing his mouth using his fingers. How Oya managed to cook with no power didn't even surprise Jetta anymore.
"We should give him a name," she said.
"How about Amare?" Oya asked. "It means One who builds." She nodded toward him. "Look at him. He's been building things out of everything he could find ever since he got here." Oya laughed heartily, holding her stomach when a tower the boy had built from small rocks on the floor fell. Immediately, he began to rebuild.
"Amare it is, then," Jetta said.
The boy grinned and looked up at her like he wanted to tell her he liked the name. He made Jetta smile, and she sat next to him, starting a tower of her own. It had been years since she had last played, and it felt good. Oya sat with them, legs crisscrossed, and watched.
"Don't be too hard on your father," she said after a few minutes of silence.
Jetta lifted her eyes and met Oya's. Those dark eyes felt so familiar and Jetta finally knew why.
"The antelope," she said.
Oya smiled, then continued.
"Your father is doing his best, which is—I admit—not always what you want from him or what you expect, but he's a good man."
Jetta nodded, remembering how Shango had saved Tyler. She was holding a rock in her hand that she placed on top of another one. Amare laughed and placed a rock on top of her tower, causing it all to tumble onto the floor. All three of them laughed.
"What do you know about my mother?" Jetta asked when they started to build a new tower, this time making the foundation bigger than before. Jetta's fingers were dusty from touching the dirty floor, and she brushed them against each other, causing dust to flare up in the air. Amare spotted it and tried to catch it in the sunlight, but it was gone as fast as it appeared, much to his disappointment.
Oya shivered slightly. She didn't think Jetta saw it, but she did. "That, you must talk to your father about. He's the one who knows her the best."
"Aren't you jealous?" Jetta asked.
Oya chuckled. "Shango has had many women and wives in his life, but I will always be his favorite. I have no room in my heart for jealousy."
Jetta nodded again, then grabbed a new rock and put it on top of one Oya had placed.
Tyler entered the kitchen, grabbed a piece of the newly baked bread Oya had made, and sat down next to them. He looked at the boy, then walked to the bottom cabinet, searched inside it for a little while and pulled something out.
"I knew it was here. I saw it when looking for a pot for Oya a couple of days ago." He blew dust away from the top of the box, then handed it to Amare, whose blue eyes stared at Tyler with great confusion. Tyler took another bite of his bread and chewed, then said, "It's Lego. None of you seen Lego before?"
Chapter 56
Jetta approached Shango sitting in the yard. He had found an old rusty patio chair, where he was sitting to watch the sun set behind the tall wall surrounding the entire city. He had his bottle of rum in hand, drum between his legs, but he wasn't making music or drinking.
Jetta grabbed another chair and pulled it up next to him. He turned his head and looked at her with a scoff. He wasn't his usual happy self.
He reached the bottle out towards her like he was offering her a sip. Jetta chuckled.
"You do realize I’m only fourteen, right?"
Shango shrugged. "It's a war. There are no rules."
"Still don't think it would be a good idea," she said.
"See. I know nothing about having a child," he said and drank.
Jetta leaned back in the chair and looked at the sky turning orange. She remembered how much she had longed to be outside and watch a sunset while hiding in the attic in New Orleans. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling the air, letting it linger in her nostrils.
"Was that why you never came for me?"
"Hey, I’m here now, aren't I?"
"Earlier."
He drank again. "To tell you the truth, I’ve looked for you for years. Your mother kept you from me. Placed you somewhere she knew I couldn't find you. She didn't want me to find you."
"So, you were the danger she was keeping me from," Jetta said. "You know I met her, don't you?"
Shango shivered. "Awful creature, that thing."
"Hey, that's my mother you're talking about."
Shango sat up and looked at her. "You do realize she's the queen of the damned, right?"
"Is that her professional title?"
"It should be. Loviatar," he said, then repeated it. "Loviatar." He shivered once again.
"She just called herself Lo to me."
"Queen of the Underworld," he said, then whispered, "the dead."
"I know what the Underworld is," she said. "I've been there, remember?"
He shivered again. "Did you meet her mother? Ghastly woman, your grandmother. Old and nasty. Her mere touch can tear the soul out of a mortal and send it screaming down to damnation. You stay away from her, you hear me? And those brothers. They have been around for centuries. Plaguing mankind. You do know they're all diseases, those boys? And did you meet Surma? He ushers the souls of the mortals down to the Underworld. He strikes people down mercilessly with his sword, ripping the souls from their shattered bodies and flinging them down to your grandparents. Yak. Nasty people."
Jetta chuckled, then punched him lovingly. "Hey, that's my family you're talking about."
He looked up and their eyes met. "Not all of your family."
Jetta went quiet. She looked at her feet for a little while, staring at her worn out shoes that were way too small for her. DeShawn had promised he could get them new shoes one of these days and she was looking forward to getting some that actually fit her.
Chapter 57
"So, how did you two meet anyway?" Jetta asked after a few minutes of silence. The sun had set now behind the wall and it was getting darker and colder really quick.
Shango sipped his rum, then trembled at the memory. "Tricked me, that one. Tricked me, she did."
"How so?"
"Worst hangover of my life, I tell you that much. That beer she served me. Disgusting stuff. You didn't drink any of her beer, did you?"
Jetta shook her head, remembering how her mother had tried again and again to make her drink it.
"Makes you forget everything just with one sip. Forget everything that is important to you. And she knew it, oh, I tell you, she knew it would do that to me. Dressed up like a gorgeous black woman and came to me in my time of need. I was wandering the Shanarian desert. Don't ask me how I got there. I was drunk, fell from a plane, that's all you need to know till you're old enough for stories like this. Anyhow, suddenly I spotted this small tavern at the foot of a hill. Until then, there had been nothing but sand and more sand."
"As the desert often is," Jetta said.
He pointed his finger at her. "Don't mock your old dad till you’ve been in one yourself. Terrible place, the desert. Not a drink in sight. But there was on that day. A small tavern at the foot of the hill. My lips were dry from thirst, my skin cracking in many places. I needed a drink, badly. Inside, stood the bartender, a nice woman, who handed me a beer. I drank it. Worms and everything. Drank the whole thing up believing it was my lucky day. I hadn't had a drink for days while walking. I would have drunk anything. And that's what I did. Phew. Knocked me completely out. I don’t remember a thing. Next thing, I wake up, your mother on top of me, naked, her skin so cold it almost hurt me as she rides me…" he stopped and looked at Jetta. "This is where Oya would tell me to stop, isn't it? Too many details."
Jetta nodded. She really didn't need to know anymore.
"Well, that's how we met and…made you."
"Wow," Jetta said.
"Ghastly woman. When I woke up, I saw her true appearance. Yak. As I said, the worst hangover of my life, and I have been around for pretty long and had a lot of them. Hangovers, that is." Shango chuckled at the last part, his entire torso shaking.
"I bet," Jetta said.
Shango looked at her a little skeptically, then continued. "Anyhow, once you were…conceived, your mother decided to keep you for herself. She wanted to make you in her own image, but I refused and fought her on it. I wanted my part of you, I told her, so that's apparently what happened. I got one part, she got the other. I had no idea."
"She didn't want me near you, so she hid you for years. I had no idea how to find you. She's isn't exactly one to negotiate with or talk sense into. She was scared I would ruin you, she said. Make you like me." He looked down at himself, then at the bottle. "Well, maybe she was right about that part. I don't know the first thing about children."
"So, how did you find me?"
"I didn't. Oya did. Found you in your dreams, she told me. There is nothing that woman can't do. Much stronger than I ever was. That's why I let her go before me. She is so much fiercer than I ever could be. She's one piece of fine woman, that one."
Jetta smiled, noticing the loving tone of Shango's voice.
"So, what are you…what is Loviatar and Oya and…I mean, what are we? What are we, gods?"
The word sounded odd in her mouth.
Shango grinned. "God is such a big word, too pompous for me. More like a spirit cocktail with a slice of saint and a tiny dash of divinity for flavor, I usually say. Some prefer spiritual being. I don't care much what they call me as long as it comes with rum." Shango lifted his bottle and drank with a laugh.