A Ghost in Africa

“Darkness hides from light.As raving mortals, we never wonder why, then we die too, sane lunatics”

“In ancient times, long before our own fathers were born, a story is told of a woman who had fallen in love with a comely man. So taken was she by his charm that she desired nothing else, save his affection.” The frail gray bearded man coughed and shut his eyes. Obviously, the cough hurt his throat more than he had expected, but no one would offer him any water. Clutching his stick ever so tightly, he continued his story.

“She loved him dearly, and so she had confessed her love for him as alluringly as she could, tenderly coercing him with her sonorous voice and even softer appearance.”

He coughed again, this time rattling the chains that loosely clung to his frail wrists. His hands groped in the near darkness as though asking for something, water, but then o one could give him any.

“Old one” one of the young men that eagerly waited for his story offered, “You do realize we are in a prison, and these guards outside would not offer us any water”

The others nodded, each one appearing even dirtier and more unkempt than the other. After waiting a while, the ‘old one’ finally regained his breath and sought to continue his tale.

“Where was I?” he asked.

“She told him how much she loved him” the one that had reminded the old one of their current prison predicament offered once again.

“Aha” the old replied, punching the air with a balled fist as much as the chains would let him. “But alas, this tale is not to be a beautiful love story, Jakob”

The countenance of the one now referred to as Jakob dropped ever so suddenly, but the old one would not end his story just yet.

“Her would be lover would not be swayed as her heart willed. How could he love her? She had two sons already. His heart was his, and her sons, hers - and he had told her just that.” He paused and cleared his throat once more. A quiet hush fell over all seven men in the prison.

“She had wept streams, refusing to be consoled as she implored him even further, but even all the rivers of Africa could quench his fiery resolve.” The old one suddenly stopped talking, and as so many old ones before him had done in these parts of Africa before him, he pretended to be asleep.

“Old one” the one called Jakob tapped at the old one’s hand, hoping to rouse him from the strange slumber that had consumed him. “Are you awake old one?”

“Oh I am, Jakob” the Old one offered a wane smile. “Where was I again?”

The other prisoners appeared somewhat disinterested in the tale that was coming forth in scattered bits and pieces. They would rather hear the entire tale without further breaks from the Old one. Jakob did not mind. With eager eyes, he reminded the Old one where he had last ended his tale.

“Some say she had seen him share laughs and then maybe a little more with another lady that same night” the Old one continued, “but don’t ask me, I do not know - but whatever it was that happened, this heartbroken lovebird had raced home and in a bid to win his affection, or was it resentment toward her now estranged lover, got rid of those who seemed to stand in the way of her happiness. She drowned both her sons.”

The gasp among the prisoners echoed in the stone walls of their prison cell.