By - K.J. LaBrone Howard © 2002

I was standing with my thoughts beneath the shade of a mahog's branches, watching the ghazals bound across the savanna, when she found me.
            I did not look at her, and we did not speak. She stood by my side, placed her hand in mine, and together we watched the racing of the herd on the plains, running free, like the winds in the grass.
            She knew where I would be. It was not a hard thing to know. This lonely tree was the only place we could hide ourselves from the eyes of those we did not wish to see. It had been many days past that I first shared with her this secret place. It had been many days after that we drank of each other's spirit here in the heat of the skyfire's light. Our love was greater than the magnificence of the land. My heart was hers, and hers was mine. My love for her was the afrikan desert, strong, hot, and vast. Her love for me was the afrika's jungle, alive, moist, and beautiful. It was her soft touch and her woman's scent I held in my sleep. She was the breath of my life.
            "I am to be married the next day," she whispered.
            "And I will die," I told her.
            The great skyking called out from above, and we looked to receive his message. He rode the wind, making a circle above our heads,
beat his powerful wings, and flew off after the fading herd. We were left alone.
            "I do not wish this." She began to weep.
            I pulled her to me, and her tears fell down my chest as I held her. The water from her eyes was such that the great Sahara might have become fertile and green. I gave her the strength of my arms, and we bore each other's sad hearts.
            "What is to be, shall be," I said. The man inside would not let the man outside show his weakness. The afrikan man is as strong as he is dark.
            She continued to weep. "What am I to do?"
            I raised her eyes to mine, and I said, "You will return to your father's home. You will eat of his providing this one more night. You will then sleep and dream happy dreams. When the day comes, you will rise and greet your new husband with honor and obedience. And my name will not be heard from your lip again."
            "But I will not love him."
            "And he will not love you as I do and ever will. But he will be your husband. He was the choice of your father. He has won your right. I will be nothing more than a smile on your face as you dream."
            "Such sweet dreams they will be."
            "But those are all you will have," I said to her.
            "Could we not go away to the south. You could be my husband, and I would bear your sons. Could we not find some happiness together?"
            "Happiness? Yes. We would have some happiness for a time. But how long would it stay? There would be no honor in my name. There would be no pride in my words. What would I teach my son's of being a man? What would I do when they came to take my head for the theft of another's wife? And when they did have my life, what would you tell my sons of their father?
            "No. You will do as I have said. You will go now, and leave me to my death."
            "Why must you speak on death?"
            "Because," I said, "as the choice was made for you, it has also been made for me. When your new life begins on this next day, my life will end. There will be no reason left for me to draw breath, and so I will not."
            "She turned her wet eyes away. "How do you say such things?"
            "I released her and showed her my back. I stepped out of the shade into the day. "I have given to you all that I will ever be. I have shown you my spirit's name and shared my inner self with your own. This is a sacred gift of a man to give, and cannot be given back. I have nothing else to offer.
Without you, I no longer am."
            "I have shared with you the same."
            "But you are a woman. A woman's heart may be given of completely and returned whole. It is unlike a man to love so. When a man does love, it is impossible for him to do so again. He is consumed by it. In this way, I think a woman stronger than all the chieftains, warriors, and spears of the past as one. It is the strength of a woman that she may give of herself, recover, and love again. A man's spirit after love becomes dust. It blows away in the wind, and dies. As my spirit dies, so will my body. It is to be. Now go."
            "I would not let you die."
            "You must."
            "And I will not see your black face again?"
            "You will not. Now go," I said again, "I cannot bear to look on your face any longer."
            "You do not want me to stay?"
            "I do not want you to stay."
            I did not turn my eye back on her, and she did not say a word. She turned and left me standing where I stood, and I remained there watching the dust fall on the edge of the world, the last sign of the running of the ghazals. A sadness overtook me, and the waters fell from my eyes. The strong, black hunter held his head to the ground and wept like a child for many moments.
            After a time, the skyfire began to fade, and the tears could come no more. I stood alone. She was gone. I would never know her touch, smell, or taste again. When the skyfire would next rise above, I would no longer be. I turned. I walked back to my place beneath the mahog's branch. I sat myself upon the ground, and still I wait for death to come.