Zakes Mda - Cion

Whenever Obed honors us with a visit he has that idiotic facial expression of a lovestruck man. He thanks me all the time because he credits me for the mediation that brought him together with Beth Eddy. He thinks I am a great seer who has changed his path in life. I tell him that he should thank the ghost of Nicodemus instead.

I don’t know how many times I have suggested to him to invite Beth Eddy for dinner at his home so that she may meet his parents. He always says it is a good idea, but for later. Things are a bit awkward at the moment. He does not want Ruth to embarrass him in front of the love of his life. All in good time he will gather enough courage to introduce the lady to Ruth and Mahlon. And of course to Orpah.

The foolish expression is even more pronounced today when he finds me sewing at the Center. I tease him that he is a real lover man now; tender, unguarded and vulnerable. He doesn’t get my meaning; or pretends not to. Instead he laughs at the “ugly” quilt I am stitching together. I am trying to translate three of Orpah’s designs into a single quilt. The ghost trees are made with materials from old burlap sacks. I am attaching on the quilt strings and all sorts of found objects such as baby sneakers, an old plastic wallet and some glistening trinkets from the junk on the porch with the donated clothes.

Irene smiles and nods in agreement. She too despises string art quilts, as she calls them. But of course she is not as rabid as Ruth in opposing them. She does not mind if I create them at the Center using her machine, although she thinks it is a pity that I am spending so much valuable time doing this sort of hideous work when I have not yet mastered the traditional quilt.

“Oh, yeah,” she says to Obed, “anything goes with them string art quilts.”

Obed says he wants to discuss some private matter with me, so I pack my stuff and store it away in a chest. We go out. He says he heard from Ruth that she has given me permission to locate his grandmother’s grave. I didn’t know she had given me her blessing because the day I was there we didn’t come to any conclusion.

“Why you wanna do that, man? Why you guys don’t wanna let sleeping dogs sleep?” he asks.

“Your grandmother is not a dog, Obed. She died a lonely death at a mental home. She was never mourned. Your folks want to build an engraved tombstone or maybe have a plaque. I want to mourn your grandmother. I believe that will restore her dignity.”

We are slowly walking toward my RV. I can see Nathan’s Chevy Blazer parked at Ruth’s.

“You came with Nathan?” I ask Obed.

“Yep. He bring me from Athens.”

Obed says although he thinks the whole idea is stupid he can tell me exactly how to find his grandmother’s grave.

“If you knew all along why didn’t you find it?” I ask.

He didn’t think it was that important. It was mentioned at his home once or twice, but no one ever took it seriously enough to actually do something about it. He says there is a man called Terry Gilkey who works for the City of Athens Division of Water and Sewer. He is the keeper of records of the city cemeteries. He is well known as an expert on the mental asylum cemeteries at The Ridges. Mr. Gilkey will advise me how to go about locating his grandmother’s grave.

“I’m going to phone Mr. Gilkey sometime soon,” I say.

“Sure, he’s in the book,” says Obed.

By this time we have reached the back of the RV. I can hear Orpah arguing with Nathan at the front. We stop to listen, Obed shushing me not to spoil his fun by revealing our presence.

“I just want us back together, Orpah.”

“We was never together, Nathan.”

“We was, we was.”

“When we was kids, yes. You gone and married someone else.”

“’Cause you wouldn’t marry me.”

“I ain’t gonna marry you still.”

I really don’t want to be listening to this. Obed tries to pull me back as I walk to the front of the RV. Immediately Nathan sees me he spits out the words: “He’s from Africa, Orpah. You don’t wanna live in Africa with them lions.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Nathan,” I say with a broad smile.

“You don’t wanna take a dump in the jungle with them snakes looking at you,” says Nathan as he walks away back to Ruth’s.

“It looks like nobody likes you in this town, homey,” says Obed. He is obviously enjoying this, although he regrets that there was no real showdown.

I chuckle: “The women at the Center do.”

“Hey, Nate, you don’t wanna leave me here, man,” says Obed running after him.

Orpah gets into the RV and plunks herself on the Irish Wheel covering my bed. I do likewise. She does not say anything about Nathan; about what has just happened. I don’t say anything either.

“We better move on,” she says after a long silence. “Ain’t no reason for us to be here no more.”

This comes out of the blue. Move on where? What amazes me — pleasantly so — is that she is including herself in that moving on.

“Didn’t you say you was going in search of mourning?” she asks. “Don’t you want me to come along?”

“Yes, I do. I do, Orpah.”

“And you can do your mourning thing or whatever and I’m gonna play my sitar.”

“I once heard of Virginia mourners. That will be our starting point — Virginia. We’ll search for the Virginia mourners. But you can’t drive alone. You promised you’d teach me to drive.”

“We’ll do that on the road. I am gonna pack right away. We gonna leave today.”

“It can’t be today, Orpah. It can’t be tomorrow either. We’ve got to take our time. Plus I’ve got to find your grandma’s grave. I’ve got to mourn for her.”

She is disappointed. No. She is crushed. She glowers at me, her eyes flaming flames. Then she stands up and stamps her feet and yells at me. She throws a tantrum that would be the envy of any spoiled brat. Why should we stay to mourn people who died decades ago? Why should it matter to me if I find the grave or not? Why should I expect her to stay in Kilvert when her daddy won’t even talk to her?

She takes one of her pictures lying on the pillow and tears it to pieces.

“Now you’re doing Ruth’s work for her?” I ask. I have never seen her like this. This thing with Mahlon must really be getting to her.

She jets out of the RV and runs all the way to her house.

I don’t see Orpah for many days after this. Since she won’t come to the RV anymore I go to her house. I can hear her playing her sitar furiously. It is the sitar. The one that makes my blood rage all over the place. Ruth tells me gleefully: “She don’t wanna see you.”

She lets me use her phone and I call a cab from Athens. I need to get as far away from the damnable sitar as possible. I also need to locate the grave, mourn the dead and leave Kilvert and southeast Ohio once and for all. I will go the way I came. I will not take the RV with me. I can’t drive the damn thing in any case. They can do what they want with it. Maybe Obed will sell it to finance one of his shaky ventures. Although he has been quiet for quite some time now about them. Since the Beth Eddy thing got more serious. He has been quiet even about the casino, although he continues to await the outcome of the Shawnee claim with eagerness.

It’s high time I bought my own cellphone and that’s the first thing I do when I get to the East State Street stores. I get a phone book and call Terry Gilkey. He is prepared to talk to me even at such short notice. He gives me directions to his place of employment, and I ask the cabdriver to take me to the city’s Division of Water and Sewer on the west side of town.