I didn’t even know what she meant by that.
“But… I’m already scared.” I gestured at Sekou, who hadn’t moved. “And he’s sure as hel—” I swallowed. “He might actually be stuck that way forever. He’s very scared.”
Sheriff Lyle said, “I’m going to have to call in the folks. Helicopter in. Get him to the medical examiner on Mainland.”
Nana turned from me sharply. “You know he can’t go there. You don’t know what caused that. Better to burn him.”
“Burn him?” Sheriff Lyle and I said at the same time, both of us appalled.
I stepped back, unsure who this was in front of me. “Nana, you can’t just burn a body without proper procedures. Even here on the Isle. You know that.”
“And I can’t leave him to be taken to Mainland,” she said. “Not for an autopsy. Not for his family to deal with. He needs to be taken care of now. Please, Kambrell.”
Hmm. Always thought Sheriff Lyle’s first name was… well, Sheriff.
Nana got close to Lyle, gently laying a hand on his arm. Her voice lowered to a murmur. “You haven’t called it in yet. We’ll take him to the cabin and deal with it there. We’re doing it for his sake.”
The way she spoke to him was so intimate, close, as if they had been more than just matriarch and Kin.
I opened my mouth to protest. To ask for an explanation, but Nana remembered I was there, and Sekou was just beyond. “Ada, take Sekou home. Take care of him.”
“But, Nana, why are you bur—”
“Addae, be quick.” She offered me a small smile that was meant to be reassuring but failed at its job. “In due time you will know what you must know. But right now, I must do what is needed.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was dusk by the time I found my way to the Gathering Tree, where everything of meaning happened in Kin’s Landing: our celebrations, our concerns posed about the community, Isle, or whatever else, and the decisions we’d make collectively under Nana’s guidance. Our meetings and ceremonies here were just for Kin, and it was the Kin Nana wanted to speak to first.
Tonight, there were no djembe drums sounding their rhythmic beats. There were no melodies or discussions of Homegoing rites for Elder Gilbert. There was only Nana Ama standing in front of her stool.
The majestic, sprawling Gathering Tree was the oldest live oak on the island, believed to have been here since as far back as the Revolutionary War and since our founding families inhabited the land. They had nurtured it and let it flourish until its limbs reached nearly across the expanse of Kin’s Landing to the west and east. The tree was the reason why the Kin built their cluster of community here, at the northmost point of the island. It wasthought to have the most earthly spiritual power from those who were here before the Kin.
I usually felt inspired beneath the mighty tree, but tonight I felt a weight on my chest and an unease in my skin. I had so many unanswered questions.
Was this what Nana had meant when she said,She is gathering? Was Elder Gilbert a victim of the gathering? And what could Nana do beyond the protective barriers of the Isle?
Protective barriers. My stomach lurched. Wherever Elder Gilbert had died, whatever had taken him, it was like the Isle had brought his body home to be taken care of properly. Nana’s enchantments would call forth a guide for lost Kin. And yet, Nana wanted his body burned, rushed, without proper rites and recognition. What could he have done to bring that kind of fate?
I wished this night was like all the others, that Naira was at our house as Nana’s apprentice, assisting Nana with dressing and accompanying her over to where Nana usually sat in her wide-backed Marimba wicker chair with many intricate handwoven designs. Nana was small, but her aura towered over everyone like an African queen sitting in the midst of her people. Flickering fire torches would surround our ever-growing square, casting shapes all around. And fireflies would dance around us, blinking in and out in their infinite beauty. It was a breathtaking scene, nights like those.
Usually, Nana liked to dress the part when she “held court,” decked out in amulets of golden squares and ivory cowrie shells, with her hair wrapped up in a headdress of multicolored woven African cloth. Tonight, Nana was simple in flowing white linen.Her circlet of cowrie shells draped over the crown of her head, tucked in the folds of the top bun of half of her gathered locs. On her wrists were the gold-and-cobalt cuffs.
My breath hitched at the sight of them, filling me with a twitchy mix of longing and dread as they always did. A part of me wanted to wear those cuffs one day and feel their power.
Another part was terrified of the day I would.
If she was wearing the cuffs, this was serious.
“Brother Gilbert will receive his proper Homegoing,” my grandmother said after the Kin had quieted down. She always left Nyame’s stool unseated for the time when he decided to sit among us.
Sekou slipped down in the seat beside me, his eyes red rimmed and face puffy. I gave him the most comforting smile I could, and a squeeze, knowing it probably wouldn’t count for much.
“It is as we initially believed, a tragic accident at sea while he was out fishing. His boat was recovered, capsized. He’s been out there for days and succumbed to boats out at sea. The medical examiner has him on the mainland, and when he is cremated, with permission from his family, we will hold a Homegoing for him and commit him to the Asamando.”
The crowd spoke in whispers around me, their heaviness lifting, comforted by Nana’s reasonable explanation. The sea was the sea, and anyone who ventured out on it could be claimed, they rationalized.
Nana continued. “But for the meantime, be vigilant out there beyond the protective links of the Isle. Comfort one another here. Stay close to home so we can grieve.”
