{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 you965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz19R3uWftX
Coming to the tree965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiAbqsPsB0u
Where dead man called out965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3bsqqsmG24
For his love to flee965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQHzYW1jhqS
Strange things did happen here965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDdDHMm1tnV
No stranger would it be965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoP8I8QWF0i
If we met at midnight965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3I30uHIVaC
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 you965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqDBRXKu9mT
Coming to the tree965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZL6ZyzIWpw
Where dead man called out965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡITXiRYwy38
For his love to flee965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTaBNPgSRbr
Strange things did happen here965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi5DbGE3gQI
No stranger would it be965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY8wopb9ggx
If we met at midnight965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi07KspT0im
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 you965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQnmG4W4Y6y
Coming to the tree965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0MGAG53xdq
They strung up a man965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRuUW7u0OS1
They say who murdered three965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0yA4hcHaTn
Strange things did happen here965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIpVSQJ79V4
No stranger would it be965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5q2yc58vdO
If we met at midnight965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC6jgoJWAvq
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 you965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQw2WNH7jqH
Coming to the tree965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvqbrc9TN9k
Wear a necklace of hope965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUov5Txb4LV
Side by side with me965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXHuDvLhT0F
Strange things did happen here965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJqKMKvS8CH
No stranger would it be965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4JcfuCNOcX
If we met at midnight965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgjM4V4ER9T
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 you965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXe3gZdsmRq
Coming to the tree965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7eZqKtYyW7
Where they strung up a man965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVCAVrzcBmX
They say who murdered three965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG6FV2WrYGU
Strange things did happen here965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcO8NeEatD4
No stranger would it be965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlPUAkm9l8r
If we met at midnight965Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO4YyrUec3a
In the hanging tree.”
