Saved and SAINTified (30 page)

I better set this on his chest of drawers. He may forget about it if I don’t
.

S
aint yawned and made his way down the short hall to his father’s room. He grabbed the doorknob, yawned once more and opened the door, trying to stifle the squeak by moving it slowly, inch by inch. Like a feather, the bill flew out of his hand as he stood there, his mouth dropping open. Swirls of golden smoke escaped from between his lips. His eyes narrowed on his father’s form that was there, fast asleep and levitating, two feet off the bed...

Saint’s left eye began to twitch, as if he’d consumed an obscene amount of caffeine. His fingers danced at his side and his heart flipped and thumped in irregular, painful ways, like a continuous mild heart attack. After a few moments, he grabbed a nearby folding chair and set it at the foot of his father’s bed. Turning the back of the chair toward his father’s floating body, he sat backwards, holding the plastic posterior firmly to his chest. Candles flickered and illuminated the men in the orange tinted, shrine-like room. Framed photos of his mother were all around, along with various items that belonged to her. A sweater here, a lipstick case there ... her perfume lingering, blending in with the strong, smoky incense that resembled animated, wispy picture frames.

S
aint remained that way for several hours. He wasn’t sure he’d blinked. He must have, but he didn’t recall it as his smoldering hazel eyes burned like scorching cinders in the night. He was glued to the scene, afraid to even breathe. Slowly, his father lowered to the bed, peacefully and resolved as the sun peeked into the crooked Venetian blinds, his hands folded over his chest. He remained in that position for several moments until his eyelids fluttered open. Sleepiness wore away. He rose, flipped his legs over the side of the bed and then, locked eyes with Saint. Their radiant, golden eyes shined—two pairs, same glow, same intensity—studying one another. After a few moments, his father cleared his throat.

“S
aint, I can explain...”

“How the
FUCK
did you have the audacity to keep something like this from me?!” Saint gripped the chair to stop himself from lunging at his father.

“You knew I was struggling. Mama told me to not tell you anything
because you couldn’t handle it! Come to find out,” Saint laughed, a borderline malevolent laugh, as he rocked the chair to the left like an enraged animal trying to escape its confines, “you’ve got the shit, too! I thought it was just me and Mama—she was open and tried to help me, but
you
…” He shook his finger at his father, his soul tortured. “I had to hide what I was doing, thinking and feeling! You made me feel like a freak of nature!”

“Please try to calm down. It was for your
—”

“Just shut up!” S
aint ejected from the chair, so abruptly, it toppled to the floor. “No wonder you’ve been acting so strange, but why now, today? All of the sudden?”

“S
aint, we really must talk.”

“You’re damn straight!” S
aint picked up the fallen chair and sat back in it. “Speak! I’m waiting!”

****

Nizsm sat at his long dining room table, drumming his fingers anxiously against the white granite table.

“So, it is f
amily by marriage, not by blood, how ironic,” he uttered while he sat across from a thin man with stark white hair and hazel eyes dressed in a white, hooded robe.

“Y
es, Nizsm. Your father married into their family, that is how you two are related. You saw him, the father of the unborn child in question, as an infant. You and he are the same age, born merely two weeks apart.”

“I don’t recall
hearing any of this. Tell me about him.”

The hooded man hesitated and
, with a shaky hand, poured himself a glass of water from the sterling silver goblet. “He was raised in the States, in New York. His mother is not Egyptian, however. She is Korean.”

“He is genetically inferior.”
Nizsm laughed. “This is rich. Unbelievable, actually. Never mind all of this.” He waved his hand. “Who is the woman carrying her?”

“From the information I’ve gathered, she is not an
Angel Child, just a regular citizen.”

Nizsm
’s pounded his fist, on the brink of completely losing his cool. “You must be kidding me, Ali.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“This is unheard of. No one has had a Princess of Life Angel Child from a father who was not pure bred Egyptian or African.” He rubbed his chin as he deliberated. “How is this possible, Ali? Explain this to me.” His golden eyes narrowed, hatred and jealousy blended together inside of him, filling him like an empty glass with no bottom.

“Of that
Nizsm, I am not certain. It is possible, is all that I know. It was never ruled that it was impossible, according to the bylaws.”

“It was supposed to be me!”
He pounded his fist again on the table. “For years, I’ve tried in desperation to have her. I did
everything
I was supposed to do, and she never came. I have four daughters and eight sons, and not one of them, not
one
, will grow mature to be as strong as I, an equal. What about my blood line?! My brothers have had no luck, either. With each female, I was hopeful  ...  waiting. Nothing! Now here this human abomination,” he cried out, standing from his chair, “this
hooligan
, the grandson of an Egyptian coward and child of an Asian woman, goes and produces a Princess of Life?! With an African American woman at that! The baby would be a mutation! This is insane.”

Nizsm
paced back and forth, rubbing his forehead.

“This will jeopardize everything
, Ali. The pregnancy must be stopped. I will consult my father.”

“I believe speaking to Osiris
is the best course of action.” The thin man coughed and fixed his eyes on Nizsm as he paced back and forth across the slate floor.

“Th
at family should’ve never been allowed to leave Egypt. Then, this would have never happened.” Nizsm seethed.

“There was no choice at the time,
Nizsm. Musa needed to leave, make his own way. No one could stop anyone from moving. It was their right, as a family.”

“I need clear answers, Ali.
I need you to tell me how to stop this.” Nizsm’s voice quaked with each syllable uttered.

“Let’s speak to your father first. He knew Musa and his son Osaze
, and even blessed his son, your cousin—the father of the Princess of Life.”

“And
this cousin by marriage of mine, what is his name?” Niszm asked, annoyed and disgusted.

“Osaze’s son is named S
aint. He is his
only
son, his only child, which, well, makes this all the more difficult.”

Niszm paced faster, beads of sweat accumulating at his hairline. The first
born of an Angel Child was considered sacred, and even more so if it was their only, but Niszm didn’t care. He would deal with Saint, regardless. He ran his fingers through his hair, as he grappled with his thoughts, trying desperately to make sense of the matter to no avail. He clenched his teeth, trying to sooth himself, but failed.

“I want that baby destroyed.”

“Yes, I understand that but consider the ramification, Niszm. There is too much karmic debt in your family. If you proceed down that road, you will guarantee that your sons and daughters will bear the weight of your choices.”

Niszm picked up a wine glass filled with cool chai tea and tossed it across the room. It smashed against the stone wall, shattering into serrated pieces
...

****

Saint’s father gingerly maneuvered around the kitchen and set the second coffee mug down on the floral table setting. Saint ran his fingers along the place mat, taking in the warmth of the room. His father stirred a spoon in his brown cup, then joined him at the kitchen table. Osaze looked at his son, his eyes full of regret and sorrow. Saint could see it, but he was unmoved.

“I would like to first tell you that I am sorry. I felt it was important to keep this from you
, until I had no choice.”

“You still kept it from me. I believe I would’ve left out of here, still not knowing the truth had I not walked in on you. Y
ou didn’t tell me anything, I just found you.” Saint peered down into his mug. The hot liquid perfumed the small area while the heat from the java warmed his lips with swirls of steam.

“Yes, but, I was going to tell you this morning, over breakfast.
I no longer had a choice. I had to.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“It’s ... complicated. First,” he waved his finger, “let me tell you why I kept it from you. My father, your grandfather, Musa, fled Egypt with my mother. At the time, she was pregnant with my eldest brother. There was in-fighting within the family as well as neighboring Angel Children. It was about control, about dominance and, well, my father wanted a new life. He wanted to be, how shall I say it, normal.”

S
aint listened intently.

“And, he taught all of his children that. We were not to discuss our psychic abilities or use them at will. He trained us to disconnect,
to turn them off. He felt they caused him far too much grief. My mother, your grandmother, was like Xenia. She was what my father
wanted
to be—ordinary. I thought that was best for you, Saint. This is why I didn’t want any children. Not because I really didn’t want you, Saint  ...  but I was afraid that you’d have to endure what I did. I didn’t want you dealing with all of this!”

“But then you married
Mama! You knew she was one, too, you had to have known.”

“Yes, I did
, and that is part of what drew me to her. Just think, here I was, still feeling like an outsider even though I was born here. I had a difficult time of it as a young boy but I managed—and then, I met this beautiful woman.”

His father’s eyes lit up. “I went inside that little grocery store to get some vegetables for my mother and then I laid eyes on her and I was done for.” He smiled. “It was love at first sight, Saint. Then, I started coming around more and more, finding excuses to get inside that store. Her parents were very nice to me until they realized I had interest in their daughter, but we kept seeing each other anyway.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he seemed to swallow a big lump of emotion.

“She could understand. I could be myself with her. I still didn’t actively seek or use my abilities, but, I could sleep without care, son. No worries of levitating and freaking my mate out.” He chucked weakly.

S
aint wasn’t amused.

“So,
I just didn’t do it, and I didn’t want to talk about it either, but your mother,” he shrugged as he took a sip of his coffee, his hands slightly shaky, “she felt differently. As you know, we hadn’t planned to have children, so this wouldn’t have been an issue but ... ”

“Yes, I know
. I am sorry to have messed up your continued plans of make-believe.”

“S
aint, stop it. I am trying to explain to you what happened—right or wrong, this is what transpired.”

“Riiiight
.” Saint angrily pushed his coffee mug away, causing the brown, hot liquid to splatter on the table. “You aren’t doing this out of the kindness of your heart. Something is bothering you. Now you said you weren’t ill, so what is it? You can tell me the family history and all of that other shit later. I want to know,” he scowled and stabbed at the table with his finger, “why you were at my house then left abruptly. Tell me why you are blocking me! Let me see what you know.”

“Fine
.” His father rubbed his hands harshly against his plaid pajama pants and looked around the kitchen nervously. “It’s Xenia’s pregnancy. It’s a baby girl.”

“Yes, I know. So what?”

His father stared at him, and then slowly lowered his wall to begin full disclosure.

“Let me let you see. I can show you better than tell you. Go ahead.” His father coughed. “
You can read me now.”

After several moments, S
aint managed to walk through his father’s psychic files. He walked inside the stuffy confines and gripped his chest. His entire body started to burn, as if a flame danced deep within him. Saint’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He heaved up and down in his seat, gripping the table edge until his fingertips ached. He desperately tried to keep seated with all of his might as the quick visions dashed through his mind.

T
he Egyptian desert, a man in a white robe, a little baby with large golden eyes and raven hair ... old, worn, tethered scrolls flying into the air, massive angels with large, torn ebony wings flying frantically across sooty, stormy skies, screaming as tattered paper pages fell from the heavens and the earth cracked open—gobbling them up.