“LOVE”

My husband is dead. It is a sad day; I, along with twenty-seven other women all dressed as brides march behind the casket with downcast faces weeping. We do not weep for our husband. We weep for each other.

My name is Aite. I am the youngest of my husband’s wives and, at eighteen years old I have already born three children into the world-twin boys, Draco and Acheron, and a girl named Eris. They will not ever know their father really, they won’t remember him. I like it that way.

Most children in noble families never know their father, they only meet him-unless they are the eldest. I live in a strange country-on an island. I only believe our culture to be strange because of the white man who got lost at sea and joined us here a year ago. My husband commanded that he be received into my home and cared for-as the youngest and hence least privileged of his wives, it was my duty to show the rule of hospitality.

The white man’s name is John. He is not handsome like my husband or my boys. But he is kind. And learned our language well. There is no way off the island so he can only choose between us and death. John spent many nights telling me about the other lands in the world-the ones where there is only one wife no matter how noble a man is.

He says we are one of few cultures that still live this way. He has not quite been here a year so he does not know yet how strange we are. He will find out today.

I hold my baby girl in a sling on my back and I clutch the hands of my two little boys on either side of me. I stare at the floor as we process to the cave where we shall bury my husband with his long dead ancestors.

When we arrive, the rest of the village has already congregated. John stands among them, watching-confused. There is a strange air in the crowd today, he cannot understand all the words they say but he can feel the tension. He catches my eye. I was wrong, he is handsome. He tells me I am beautiful, I do not listen. He smiles at me and I look away. This is not a day to smile.

I wonder if perhaps my sister was right, and John loves me. But love is a strange word and only used for those who are married or should be married and I was already married.

The priest stands beside the casket, he takes my husband’s empty head and cuts a lock of hair from it. He beckons the oldest of my husband’s sons-son of his second wife-to stand beside him. The boy eats the hair and looks up at the sky. The priest takes a knife and carves an ‘X’ shape on the boy’s shoulder, he yells.

The ‘X’ is to let the gods in. He is our king now, and his first son, a small boy if his first wife, shall be our next king.

John winces as the knife cuts the boy and looks away, pained. He does not believe in the gods. I don’t know what I think anymore. I find myself more skeptical every day. John is right, they don't make sense. But they are all I have ever known.

The priest wipes the blood off of the knife and turns to the body. The boy lifts his father’s corpse and places it on the altar. The priest lifts an old sac, inside the sac are twenty-seven white rocks and one black one.

Our young king takes the sac and walks along the rows of women dressed as brides, each woman grasps a pebble and holds it tight so no one can see the color. I am the youngest so I go last. I take the only rock remaining.

I feel my heart rate rise as I run my fingers over the smooth pebble. I breathe in and out-I am afraid. I look up at John, he looks at me and smiles, he nods his head ever so slightly as if to tell me it’s all alright. I give a tiny smile back and tear my eyes from him and back to the ground.

The priest signals to us and we hold our right hands out fist down with the rock inside. He counts to three. I feel my little baby girl squirming in her pack, she has a cold-she is fussy. My two little boys cling to the hem of my skirt, frightened by all the people and new sounds-tired from the long trek up the mountain.

I remember when our old king died, I was seven. I didn’t understand then what happened, but I understand now and my heart feels cold.

Twenty-eight brides open their hands in the dim dusk light for all to see. Twenty-seven brides smile with relief as twenty-seven white rocks shine back at them. And I stare blankly at the cold black rock in my hand. I swallow. After the initial relief my sisters begIn to look around for the chosen one, slowly all eyes find me and they move out of the way so the priest can see me.

My heart is racing. I can hear it in my ears and I blink up at the priest blankly. I feel my sister’s hands gently taking my little girl off of my back. I turn and take one last look at my baby. My sister’s husband pries my little boys from my skirt and they start to cry.

I kneel down so they can see my face, “Hush,” I whisper, “Look at my face, remember my face…Take care of your sister, and tell John that I want him to protect you. All of you, especially your sister. Understand? Do you understand?”

They nod. I hug each one and I stand brushing off my white skirt. I let the pebble drop to the earth where it belongs and I lift my chin up. My body is trembling. I walk forward one foot at a time, it is an agony. I am afraid. I am afraid.

I look at John, he looks frightened, and confused. My sister and her husband have reached him. Draco and Acheron clutch John’s legs and he lifts them both. I think he has some idea of what is to happen, but it is not normal nor is it natural-not to him and not me. My boys bury their faces on his two shoulders, I know they will be alright. They will be honored, all three of my children will, what I do is an honor and my children will reap the reward.

I have reached my dead husband’s face. He looks no different now. I kneel by his coffin. The priest speaks, I do not listen. The corpse before me was once alive, only he looks no different, there was no light in his eyes to disappear so there has been no change in his sallow appearance. I believe my sister was right, he never loved me nor did I love him. I love John. And John loves me.

I turn my head to look once more at my children. Their faces are covered, I am thankful for that, I do not want them to see. I look at John and I see tears rolling down his face. ‘Love’, the only word from his native tongue that he taught me.

He whispers it, no one understands but me. And I whisper it back. He smiles and begins to weep. I stand and begin to weep too.

I am lifted by the priest and my young king onto my husband’s body. His arms are placed around me and we are chained together, in life and in eternity. I do not know if the gods are real, I believe there is some God. I do not know His name, but I believe that we are wrong. A real God would not ask us to bury ourselves.

I do not believe in our gods but I believe in some God, and I love Him and I am sure He loves me, even though I do not know His name. I breathe in and out trying to calm myself and find peace.

My husband and I are lowered into the grave in the cave. I look up at the ceiling and picture John’s face as they begin to sprinkle the earth upon me. My husband's cold hands clutch mine. And I feel sick as there is less and less air to breath. My body begins to shudder and convulse and I stuff my mouth with the fabric of my wedding dress. I will not let my children hear me scream. I hope John does not let them see.

I close my eyes and open my mouth, I am filled with dirt.

Goodbye.