SILVER’S CHILDREN SEARCH FOR THEIR MOTHER
At her funeral Silver’s children did not cry. Their grief was dry as pyre kindling. They said:
“We will sail east past the border. We will search for our mother in the shoals of the dead. We will bring her home to the warmth of the sun. We will see her smile again.”
They were Samry the brother, older and bolder; and Sellie his sister, smaller and smarter. They spoke such words, such oaths against nature. Their kinfolk shushed them quick.
“Fool children! Do not blaspheme,” their kinfolk said. “To find your passage through the sea of souls, you must blind yourself to all things living. Who between you will give up sight?”
They heard their kinfolk’s scolding as instructions to follow. Their grief was like a roaring fire. Samry was bold; he said: “My sister Sellie, you are the better sailor. We need your eyes for the voyage ahead.”
Samry put his eyes out with netting needles. And Sellie sailed their boat behind the sun.
Together they entered a nighttime world. It was a place that knew neither moon nor day. Here no compass told the truth; stars blinked in fake constellations. Here waves appeared as hands—clawing, dragging their prow astray.
Without eyes Samry was blind to misdirection. Wherever he pointed Sellie steered. She sailed their boat to a candlelit island. There dwelled men with tigers’ faces.
“Big brother, little sister! We have your mother, Silver,” the tigermen said. “She is our treasure. Giving her up will make us poor. We will trade her only for a prize of equal measure!”
They thought the tigermen’s deal a bargain. Their grief guided them like a steady flame. Samry was bold; he said: “My sister Sellie, I do not fear such men. I will remain. Take care of our mother, see her smile again.”
Samry pierced his chest with a fishing spear. And Sellie shed a tear for her brother.
Their mother’s soul was already aboard, seated at the bow. Wherever she pointed Sellie steered. Now the stars hid; Sellie’s compass stuck. Now the waves appeared as arms—heaving, pushing their boat home.
Sellie felt uneasy. Her mother would not speak. She heard birds calling instead. A cormorant with a gibbon’s face alighted on the rudder; it fixed her with a laughing smile.
“Young missy! You have been deceived,” the cormorant said. “You cannot save your mother! Her flesh went up in a funeral pyre. Her naked soul will burn in the sun.”
She took the cormorant’s words as a challenge. Her grief was bitter as white ashes. Sellie was smart; she said: “My mother Silver, I was born of your blood. I give you my body. Wear it as your own, and return to the living world.”
Sellie drowned herself in her mother’s breast. And Silver wept with her daughter’s voice.
A single woman sailed their boat back west. She slipped into warm daylight. She wrote her name as Silver, though she wore Sellie’s face. Her kinfolk treated her careful, asking many questions. She answered:
“Two children went east past the border. They searched for their mother in the sea of souls. But the son was lost, and the daughter too, and their mother did not return.”
The woman spoke such words, such riddles—and little else. Her grief was empty as an urn.
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( Image sources:
https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/the-funeral-pyre-7865
https://www.lensculture.com/articles/francesco-cilli-the-night-without-moon
https://www.audubongalleries.com/pages/books/7629/john-james-audubon/florida-cormorant-from-the-birds-of-america-amsterdam-edition
https://artreview.com/customised-postures-decolonising-gestures-gajah-gallery-singapore-review/ )
