{listen to the song first, it helps with the story ~ find in comments}
Mama never talked about father. She said the town-folk would never understand. She said shadows flickered in their souls.
But sometimes when the moon was full she would take us with her, holding a candle above the high summer grass and take us to a tree. She would settle me and my sister in blankets against the tree and press her fingers against the running lines of its’ bark.
There she would tell us stories of our father. There she talked to us of how our father had strong shoulders and eyes the colour of bronze. He was a man who would read books in the highest tree branches and played tricks on the wood cutters. How he would tell her jokes, play hide and seek in the meadow and pull his weight in the local mines. She never said he was a good or a bad man, simply a man who lived and loved her.
When we asked her where he went, she would say he could not stay with us. Then, she would smoothly move on to say how he would hold us in his arms as babes and whisper prayers in our ears.
Away from the tree our father did not exist. But near the tree our father was as alive and as real as the blanket we clutched against the cold. Before we left the tree, mama would sing a song, her sweet voice echoing through the trees.
Are you, are you890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQc7vvEWtqn
Coming to the tree890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1XKwAD1kCG
Where dead man called out890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaQ0JiMLTFN
For his love to flee890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0haJDKdt61
Strange things did happen here890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsW9lK8TDAL
No stranger would it be890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHpYIVdY51i
If we met at midnight890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡslUX65v1wo
In the hanging tree
I never thought more of it than a pretty song, a tradition. Years passed. We worked hard. I never saw a relative, I was told they had died of a sickness before we were born. My mother talked less and less about our father. The full moon visits stopped. When I had time, I would clamber up the tree and sit in its branches, imagining myself like my father.
On my sixteenth birthday my mama took me to see the tree, her candle flickering in the dark once again. As she walked she sang,
“Are you, are you890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIHKNH2vtpx
Coming to the tree890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0IvYLfL9Ws
Where dead man called out890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMfnEC4aCgL
For his love to flee890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7XXBsPhjLp
Strange things did happen here890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk3zaO91Kma
No stranger would it be890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6WJAnSMb25
If we met at midnight890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN00qq5090P
In the hanging tree”
There in the bosom of the tree mama eyed me quietly until she lifted her head and sang more words, words I had never heard before.
“Are you, are you890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡquFxw3vGeE
Coming to the tree890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrAGaxay0JN
They strung up a man890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWKQjI3BEiZ
They say who murdered three890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEeZddaTb6p
Strange things did happen here890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGSKK0G4I7z
No stranger would it be890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡycqiEbc0GK
If we met at midnight890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTzOVA9ngws
In the hanging tree.”
There she explained how father died, strung up for murdering three men. There she admitted the three men had been her uncle and his two sons. Her family had died when she was little, leaving her with relatives. It was not a happy home. She was belittled, played with, beaten. My father had gone to see her and found a scene he had not bargained for. She had not bargained on his anger, as fierce and deadly as a housefire. My father was found guilty and hanged. He had not argued or pleaded or justified. He had kissed her and left for the hanging tree.
I looked up at the tree, our tree, my tree. At my father’s legacy.
“Mama,” I had said at last, “what does the song mean?”
She did not answer my question, only silent tears. She told me she had tried to stop them, she had tried to explain. But no one listened. He only asked for two things from her. He had asked her not to come to the hanging tree when they took him away, but to visit him after he was gone.
And so, she had.
We returned home and never talked of it.
My sister was married, then I was. To a woman who sang our children to sleep and laughed at my jokes. She followed me when I climbed trees, and produced me a son I never knew I would love so dearly.
One night as I was feeding our chickens I heard my mother’s voice ring through the village, her candle flame dancing far away in the breeze.
“Are you, are you890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIjEoRJ9EzR
Coming to the tree890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ79AueOWstX
Wear a necklace of hope890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPqjNmt1B9Y
Side by side with me890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEmnK2uOVyd
Strange things did happen here890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYVwUnhSr41
No stranger would it be890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGVrDj710dc
If we met at midnight890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxrjTGbN01k
In the hanging tree.”
Before I knew I was moving I was sprinting for the tree, scattering chickenfeed and ruffled chickens as I went. No mama. No mama.
When I made it to the tree the wind whistled and whispered the song to me, as eerie as the flickering candle lying on its’ side. The silence screamed in my ears, leaving nothing but the gentle creak of a hangman’s noose. There my mama danced, her arms limp and still. Her face was peaceful, as though she had awaited this for many a year.
And still the wind murmured the song, beckoning me to sing along.
“Are you, are you890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWGAiOmdsPl
Coming to the tree890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0U4CleOtAs
Where they strung up a man890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCzb7Tke5TT
They say who murdered three890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx7mWfIaVuJ
Strange things did happen here890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqKOgIIAxIH
No stranger would it be890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgRqlcrXxrt
If we met at midnight890Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUKlTWmyij6
In the hanging tree.”
