"The people came from different parts of the world. Some came from the south, some from the west, some from east and north. They came here not on their own really, but they have now called this place their own. After a long time, they’ve all scattered, to different part of the country,” said the old woman. “They've gone out to the west, east, and north, in search of a new habitation. The news is that wild fire has destroyed the land down south. Many people have left for the mid-west. Some have carried with them the seed of the past buried in their bosom. The seed of evil pride is hidden in them all, waiting for a time to manifest.” The old woman satisfied with her narrative, pursed her lips before turning her head away to the direction of the wall. She stared into the distance, through the wall. Looking as if she had forgotten the boys and girls seated at her side.
Timothy, Adrian and Philip, Angela and Grace waited for her to continued, but the old woman in her own silence looked away like she was trying so hard to remember something. The teenage boys and girls were staring at her and waiting for her to conclude her story, when she raised her head and stared away like she were angry. Adrian in boldness lifted his hand away from his jaw where he was resting it patiently, and placed the hand on the old woman’s knee and looked at her invitation-ally. The old woman feeling the warmth of the young boy’s hand on her knees, became suddenly aware of her own silence and turned, then looked the boy in the face. She peered downwards, into his eyes sternly and then smiled before turning away. The boy was shocked by her gaze- as he quickly removed his hand from her knee.
"Yes," my boys, the old woman continued. "They have gone over to the calm sea, away from the land they said evil has beseeched. The evil deeds committed by our ancestors to those brought captives from the natural land of the free,” said the old woman then turning her head to look each child’s face as they sat with their legs folded and eyes staring at her.
The old woman, also called Mrs. Dicks, is a small and slender fair complexion plain woman in her mid-seventies. Her almost gray and long hairs were parted in two strands, and pined behind her back to keep them from falling onto her face. Her nails were painted in red nail polish, and so was her lips, they were painted in red. The old woman had once told the girls that a woman without makeup on her face is like a naked woman without cloths. To this comment the girls had laughed humorously at Angela for teasing Grace for wearing a nail polish on her right index finger. The old woman had looked at Grace, and commented on her nail polish.
“That is pretty, but next time, ask your mother to complete the entire five fingers. It’s more feminine with the whole nails painted than just a finger,” the old woman said, as she stroke Grace’s check.
Even in her nightgown as the old woman is seen today with the teenagers, she is still completely made up like she is going out for a date. Every morning for Mrs. Dicks, and after shower and before she even steps out of her house, she seats down by her dressing table to make up her face. She only takes off her makeup when she is ready to go to bed, and that’s if she is through reading her novel.
After some brief seconds of silence and looking at the children’s face, the old woman turned, and looked toward the open window, and then about the cream color painted room with pictures hanging on every angle of the wall. She stared at the painting on the walls, and then fixed her eyes on the painting mounted above a mahogany piano player and pointed at it.
“That’s my grandmother’s gift to me. It’s being seating on that piano since I moved in here some fifty years ago.” I clean it, dust it, but I don’t move it an inch.” She concluded and then smiled as she remembers that she has not finished her story.
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