Zakes Mda - Cion

In other ways the droughts had made things better. It left a lot of the crops unmarketable and therefore the gleaners got more than in previous years. They got enough tomatoes, for instance, to make enough bottles of the fire-roasted pasta sauce that the food pantry at the Center was able to give each family at least one bottle.

Orpah came to the RV two days later and said that she really wanted to go with me.

“Oh, no,” I said. “I don’t want to be let down again, Orpah. You use me like a tissue. When your tears are dry you will discard me like before.”

She was not running away from anything this time, she said. She had made peace with her mother and both her parents had come to terms with her leaving. Not that she needed their blessings. She was going to leave with me even if they objected. As it was they were giving their blessings reluctantly. But that did not matter to her, because she was her own person. This last one surprised me some because all this time I didn’t know she saw herself as her own person.

The good news that had made Ruth happy was the discovery of Abednego’s quilt — which, for those who knew the story, was really Nicodemus’s sampler — used as batting in the quilt Orpah tore. A professor at Ohio University had evaluated it. He said if it was auctioned at Christie’s or some such place it would fetch not less than $12,000. It might even fetch ten times more. It would take the family out of poverty. But Ruth was adamant that she would not sell it. When Obed heard of her stubbornness he said his mama got fulfillment from poverty. She got solace from the Bible, which promised the last would be first and the meek would inherit the earth. But to Ruth the fact that the quilt was made by the Abyssinian Queen — for if indeed it was Abednego’s or Nicodemus’s it must have been made by her — was more important than any money in the world.

I could not resist Orpah. She knew I would not say no forever.

A few days later we parked our RV on Ruth’s driveway and Orpah packed her stuff in it. Thankfully she didn’t bring any of the larger than life cut-outs. She said Marilyn Monroe was going to look after her room while she was gone.

Obed was here to wish us well too. Beth Eddy couldn’t come because she was at work. Obed came in her car, which he also used to deliver pizza to earn his keep.

Ruth and Mahlon were sitting together on the swing and it was swaying gently.

“Don’t worry too much for Orpah, Mama,” said Obed, as Ruth sniffled. “She’s gonna come back. Our people always come back. It’s the pull of the ancestors.”

Ruth said she knew that her daughter would come back even if she were to go as far as Africa. At least she took comfort in the fact that Obed would return to take over the church in Kilvert when he finished his Bible studies and was ordained. Obed said he already belonged to a church, but not the one in Kilvert. He and Beth Eddy had joined the Church of the Healing Path, which taught its members how to experience shamanistic journeys and how to access the circle of ancestors for personal healing.

“What mumbo-jumbo is this?” asked Ruth. “And you had to choose a time like this to tell me?”

“It ain’t no mumbo-jumbo, Mama,” said Obed. “It’s serious stuff. We’ll invite you to our church one day. Me and Beth. It’s got plenty members. Very nice folks.”

“I ain’t going to no shaman church,” said Ruth vehemently. “What’d Pat Robertson say?”

We didn’t want any explosive situation so early in the morning to delay our departure. Orpah went to the swing and hugged both parents.

“I’ll come back, Daddy,” she said. “We gonna do them memories again.”

“It don’t matter, child,” said Mahlon. “You take your time. Memories are always there. They don’t go nowhere.”

“We ain’t no rootless people,” said Ruth. “It matters to us where we are buried. You know where you gonna be buried? Our people know where they gonna be buried. Here in Kilvert.”

“Barn owls driving spotted owls out of the forest,” said Mahlon softly, in a rhythm that told me he was reciting words learned by heart, “stealing their homes and their tongues, reducing them to a deathly silence.”

We all looked at him for some time, trying to understand what he was talking about. After a few beats we gave up and I reached for Ruth’s hand and shook it while giving her a peck on the cheek. I also shook Mahlon’s hand. After giving me a firm grip he held his hands up and looked at me sternly.

“Don’t you hurt my baby now,” he said. “These hands have killed hogs. They can kill you just the same.”

I assured him he had nothing to worry about.

“What route are you gonna take?” asked Ruth.

“We gonna cross at Pomeroy, Ruth. Route 33. Then we gonna drive through West Virginia to Virginia.”

“Oh, shoot!” said Ruth. “I thought you was gonna take Route 50. I’ve always wanted to take Route 50. You know at Mount Zion and the Armory in Athens? That used to be called ‘The Crossroads of America.’ That’s where Route 33 and Route 50 met. And Route 50 ran right up to Washington, D.C., in the east and to the end of America in the west. They don’t call it that no more.”

“Well, we ain’t gonna take Route 50 no ways, Ruth,” said Orpah.

“I was just saying,” said a deflated Ruth.

We were walking down the steps to our RV when Ruth called us back. She went into the house. While we waited Obed told us that the Church of the Healing Path had opened his eyes to many things he did not see before. He had discovered animal and plant energies that were linked to lineages. And the services were so much fun. The people chanted and played drums and other percussive instruments.

Ruth came back with two canning jars and gave one each to Orpah and me. It was the sweetest coleslaw we would ever taste, she said. Autumn cabbage was very sweet and tender, much better than the stuff picked in the summer. She added grated carrots, also from her garden. When we ate that coleslaw we would remember her.

“Todoloo! It’s time to get your picture took,” she said.

Mahlon whipped out a disposable camera — obviously purchased for this occasion — from the pocket of his shirt, and clicked as Orpah and I posed with the coleslaw.

When we were walking away to the RV Obed tried to steal away to Beth Eddy’s car.

“I ain’t finished with you, mister,” said Ruth.

He went back to his mama. There was more upbraiding to be done. The three of them waved at us as we drove away. Mahlon was sporting his regular smile. Ruth’s teeth were like blood from the red slate.

The swing swayed gently and Obed waited uneasily.

We had left early because we wanted to reach Virginia the same day. But when we got to Athens Orpah wanted to attend the Halloween parade.

“But that’s only in the evening,” I said. “And from what I saw last year there is nothing exciting about it. Just walking up and down the street.”

“We’ll get to Virginia, baby,” she said. “We ain’t in no hurry for nothing. We gotta lifetime of mourning.”

“Let’s go back to Kilvert then and leave tomorrow.”

She was horrified at the suggestion.

“There’s no going back,” she said. “You dare not change your mind about leaving.”

As if I would.

She assured me that she would be able to drive at night.

We killed time walking among the stalls at the farmer’s market. When some of the stallholders saw Orpah they asked where Ruth was. They had not seen her peddling her quilts for quite some time. Was she well?

“Nothing wrong with her so far as I know,” said Orpah.

We transformed Orpah into a nun at the Halloween costume store at the East State Street Mall. Later I got into my own professional mourning costume after we had found a spot to park our RV.