A noble blood sacrifice

My friend is a throw away

I led Shuma through the front door and straight to the dining room. Sat him down on my great great grandfather's rocking chair. A real antique. Besides a slight creek and a patched up right arm rest, you could consider it as good as new. Shuma enjoyed the rocking. As soon as he sat down he slouched in and shut his eyes for a couple of seconds. He stopped himself when he realized I was watching him. I didn't mind, but I knew his shyness wouldn't permit him to continue. He smiled at me slightly before looking away. Our second interaction in as many minutes. I smiled in dedication of my achievements this day.

My mother came in the room at this time. Wearing a yellow sundress dotted with red and black flowers. It hugged her buxom figure at the waist, then flailed out into a sequined pattern until it looked like it was unwrapping with each step she took right by the ankles. She wore an assortment of bracelets on both arms and a single necklace made of cow hide around her neck. It threaded through an undated silver 1 cent coin. These had gone out of circulation in '76. Four years before I was born. Only God knows how old it was. She was followed by my sisters. Still in their school dresses. But with matching lace up tank tops. A thick gold chain on each of their necks with gold earrings to match. And snake skin toe ring wedge sandals. For a pair of young girls who tried with all their might to avoid the outside world, they looked very worldly.

Shuma had stood up at this point but my mother quickly shooed him back down. He remained standing regardless. So my mother took him by the hands and said, "Sit down my baby. Sit." Guiding him like clouds in the wind. Then she measuredly slinked her perfect figure towards the couch. Tucking her dress as she climbed on. Her feet always stay surprisingly clean for someone who constantly walks barefoot. She is as beautiful as evergreens with an aroma to match. I have personally not noticed any change to her appearance in close to 8 years. She has become timeless. And my sisters are not too far behind. A couple more years to mature and they will be just as beautiful, if not more. They both knelt down on the kudu hide on either side of our matriarch. Naledi placing her hands on mother's legs, then resting her head on top. Lesedi propping her head on mothers protruding knee. All of them eyeing Shuma. Myself included.

"It's been so long since I last saw you my boy," my mother said. Breaking the silence. "You were just a sweet little innocent angel. You still are. Only now you are a man. But you are still a sweet little angel to me. You'll always be." I saw Shuma's dark cheeks turn darker. I let out a bit of a chuckle to myself. She was a charmer my mother. I always believed if she had not relegated herself to the house like she did, she would have snagged herself a man from the city in no time. Someone to take care of her. Provide for her. Love her. Maybe even get her back fixed if she aimed financially high enough. The medical procedure to lock her vertebrates back in place, preventing them from shifting out of sync, was possible but extremely expensive. This was according to the medical expert I had taken her to three years ago. I wasn't making enough for that kind of an operation. I would need to work a little longer to save that much. A lot longer. For now, she would have to maintain her distinct measured upright slink for a couple more years to come.

If she scored herself a decent sugar daddy and trapped him in her silk tinged honey lipped hypnotism, he would not think twice about parting with his last dime. If it meant giving her the life she had missed for so many years and sharing it with him, it would be his pleasure. I had taken that mantle by default. I was more than happy to keep it. The role was fulfilling. It was nothing sexual of course. I would probably break her apart before we even got to the first round. Tasteless joke I know. But ... It was the love. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. My heart skipped a beat every time she looked me in my eyes. Or spoke certain words in a ... in a specific way. I knew what my father felt. I felt him inside me when I spoke to her. His heart beating fast each time I held her. I felt his every emotion towards her. But I wasn't my father. Not in the complete sense. I wish I could have him back. We all do.

"Naledi, fetch Shuma's plate in the kitchen," my mother ordered. Naledi stood up and disappeared in the maze of walls. Our house is pretty sizeable for one located in an a "backwards village type" community. If not for the money I've been putting away, it could have been bigger than it already is. But four bedrooms will do for now. The distant sound of plates and cutlery was giving Naledi's position away. She returned with a plate filled to the brim with millie meal pap, a decent portion of chicken, gravy and a side of garnished potato salad. The food was almost dripping off the plate. And this was one of the bigger plates from the guest's only cutlery section. The section that had gathered literal dust. I wanted to reprimand Naledi for putting so much food on a plate in one go. Especially for a guest. But I didn't want to make our guest uncomfortable. His hands looked so grateful accepting the meal, I felt I would disturb his mouths anticipation if I spoke.

Upon tipper trucking his meal, Shuma became drowsy and inebriated. After an attempt to get away with a silent burp, he held the empty plate in both hands with his mouth hanging as if taking a break from a laborious task. Naledi stood up and removed the plate from his hands. I'm not sure if he realized this had happened as besides his hands flopping to a hanging position, he did not change posture or facial appearance.

Lesedi, who had followed Naledi to the kitchen, returned with a bowl of water and a hand towel. She stood motioning for at least half a minute before she took matters into her own hands. As she held his hands in hers, washing them with tender care, he lifted his head and met her eyes. She gave a light smile and continued her task. He wouldn't take his eyes off of her. Even as she packed up and walked back to the kitchen. His eyes followed her every move.

Shuma seemed to be embarrassed by his staring episode just a short while ago. His head dropped to the floor immediatley when Lesedi reappeared. Both her and Naledi took their positions by my mother once again. The chair was rocking slightly from erratic foot play, giving away Shuma's discomfort even further. "Relax," I said to him. "Lay back in the chair and enjoy the repurposed leather." I had taken it to an upholstery shop in town two weeks ago. It still had the smell of new leather when you got close to it. Shuma obliged me as he took a deep breath and slouched back. The chair rocked again. Slightly harder than the first time as he had placed his feet on each of the rockers and flapped them up and down. He gave out a spirited yawn and stretched his arms out. Then he sighed as his head fell to one side while he scratched his neck. Then he lay his head in his palm while his elbow balanced on the arm rest.