row with us,â she said.
When they arrived at the bench, she pushed Tara down to sit next to Dela. âTalking of your mum, where is she?â
âStill saying goodbye to Dad. We saw Uncle Jacob first,â Tara said. She shifted towards the aisle on the hard wooden bench, further away from her aunt.
She tried to shut out the fact that the police had said that the third shot sheâd heard had been fired when her uncle had been crawling along the road. Heâd been executed, shot in the back of the head. His closed coffin was proof of the execution. The mortician couldnât repair his face for the funeral. If heâd been dragged along further by Ziona, he might have come through the gate with her and survived.
She took a deep breath. She couldnât tell who helped her through the gate. Nothing could bring her uncle or her dad back, but another person didnât need to die because she couldnât keep a secret.
Aunty Marie-Ann tapped her on the arm. âWe still have a few minutes before they start. Do you want anything? A tissue? A drink of water?â
âNot unless you can bring Dad and Uncle Jacob back to life,â Tara said.
Aunty Marie-Ann reached for Tara and pulled her closer, sliding her back up the bench. âI canât do that, but I can give you a hug.â
Tara grimaced. As soon as she could, she moved away from her aunt.
She didnât want anyone to hold her and make her weak.
She had to be strong. For her dad, her uncle and for Shilo, who had saved her from the same fate.
âYou know for some people, learning to cry is harder than conquering Mount Everest,â Aunt Marie-Ann said.
Tara just stared ahead and ground her teeth. The minister entering the chapel saved her the daily lecture from her motherâs sister about the body being a pressure cooker and the fluid needing to come out to release pressure. That crying was good for your soul. But Tara couldnât ask her aunt what was good for the body when one was withholding the truth.
The minister came out of the viewing room with her mum walking in front of him. The murmur grew louder, then settled into a strange quietness that wrapped Tara in a blanket of silence for the whole service. At the end, the minister gave each of the family members a single white carnation and a red ribbon from the flowers on her fatherâs and uncleâs coffins, then the coffins slid, one afteranother, into the room behind the curtain, on their last journey together.
Tara could not comprehend or control the rage that ran through her body. They were going to burn her dad and her uncle, and the killer was still out there.
She shook with blind anger. She was born in Africa and she knew the traditional codes and those of the land far surpassed her understanding. There were factors at work she did not understand â yet. But one day she would know, and when that day came, sheâd put this whole wrong right.
She followed her mother to stand outside the hall, in the courtyard area. Here white roses bloomed on tall bushes, and neat borders of fragrant flowers shared their space with low green shrubs. Tara stood next to her sister as people came up and hugged her mum and then them. Their lament of âthey were so sorryâ was like listening to a stuck record.
Tara began to get hot. There was no air and too many people. She swayed, staggered and then stood tall again.
âHow much longer?â she asked her mother.
âA while, just keep moving your feet.â
But no matter how much she moved her feet, the darkness at the sides of her vision closed in on her.
âTara!â Gabe jumped to catch his young cousin before she fell on the hard cement. He picked her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing.
âPlease put her inside on one of the benches,â Maggie said.
âYou stay here, Maggie. Iâll look after her,â Aunty Marie-Ann instructed.
â Imbodla ,â Gabe said as
When they arrived at the bench, she pushed Tara down to sit next to Dela. âTalking of your mum, where is she?â
âStill saying goodbye to Dad. We saw Uncle Jacob first,â Tara said. She shifted towards the aisle on the hard wooden bench, further away from her aunt.
She tried to shut out the fact that the police had said that the third shot sheâd heard had been fired when her uncle had been crawling along the road. Heâd been executed, shot in the back of the head. His closed coffin was proof of the execution. The mortician couldnât repair his face for the funeral. If heâd been dragged along further by Ziona, he might have come through the gate with her and survived.
She took a deep breath. She couldnât tell who helped her through the gate. Nothing could bring her uncle or her dad back, but another person didnât need to die because she couldnât keep a secret.
Aunty Marie-Ann tapped her on the arm. âWe still have a few minutes before they start. Do you want anything? A tissue? A drink of water?â
âNot unless you can bring Dad and Uncle Jacob back to life,â Tara said.
Aunty Marie-Ann reached for Tara and pulled her closer, sliding her back up the bench. âI canât do that, but I can give you a hug.â
Tara grimaced. As soon as she could, she moved away from her aunt.
She didnât want anyone to hold her and make her weak.
She had to be strong. For her dad, her uncle and for Shilo, who had saved her from the same fate.
âYou know for some people, learning to cry is harder than conquering Mount Everest,â Aunt Marie-Ann said.
Tara just stared ahead and ground her teeth. The minister entering the chapel saved her the daily lecture from her motherâs sister about the body being a pressure cooker and the fluid needing to come out to release pressure. That crying was good for your soul. But Tara couldnât ask her aunt what was good for the body when one was withholding the truth.
The minister came out of the viewing room with her mum walking in front of him. The murmur grew louder, then settled into a strange quietness that wrapped Tara in a blanket of silence for the whole service. At the end, the minister gave each of the family members a single white carnation and a red ribbon from the flowers on her fatherâs and uncleâs coffins, then the coffins slid, one afteranother, into the room behind the curtain, on their last journey together.
Tara could not comprehend or control the rage that ran through her body. They were going to burn her dad and her uncle, and the killer was still out there.
She shook with blind anger. She was born in Africa and she knew the traditional codes and those of the land far surpassed her understanding. There were factors at work she did not understand â yet. But one day she would know, and when that day came, sheâd put this whole wrong right.
She followed her mother to stand outside the hall, in the courtyard area. Here white roses bloomed on tall bushes, and neat borders of fragrant flowers shared their space with low green shrubs. Tara stood next to her sister as people came up and hugged her mum and then them. Their lament of âthey were so sorryâ was like listening to a stuck record.
Tara began to get hot. There was no air and too many people. She swayed, staggered and then stood tall again.
âHow much longer?â she asked her mother.
âA while, just keep moving your feet.â
But no matter how much she moved her feet, the darkness at the sides of her vision closed in on her.
âTara!â Gabe jumped to catch his young cousin before she fell on the hard cement. He picked her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing.
âPlease put her inside on one of the benches,â Maggie said.
âYou stay here, Maggie. Iâll look after her,â Aunty Marie-Ann instructed.
â Imbodla ,â Gabe said as
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