{listen to the song first, it helps with the story ~ find in comments}
Mama never talked about father. She said the town-folk would never understand. She said shadows flickered in their souls.
But sometimes when the moon was full she would take us with her, holding a candle above the high summer grass and take us to a tree. She would settle me and my sister in blankets against the tree and press her fingers against the running lines of its’ bark.
There she would tell us stories of our father. There she talked to us of how our father had strong shoulders and eyes the colour of bronze. He was a man who would read books in the highest tree branches and played tricks on the wood cutters. How he would tell her jokes, play hide and seek in the meadow and pull his weight in the local mines. She never said he was a good or a bad man, simply a man who lived and loved her.
When we asked her where he went, she would say he could not stay with us. Then, she would smoothly move on to say how he would hold us in his arms as babes and whisper prayers in our ears.
Away from the tree our father did not exist. But near the tree our father was as alive and as real as the blanket we clutched against the cold. Before we left the tree, mama would sing a song, her sweet voice echoing through the trees.
Are you, are you1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNwtBSnJdw0
Coming to the tree1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGX8nCcPXCS
Where dead man called out1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡia2p6KJbRf
For his love to flee1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ74f0KrsskG
Strange things did happen here1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1HpGrut0gd
No stranger would it be1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEDz3uFxIIE
If we met at midnight1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzVxFwrc7cJ
In the hanging tree
I never thought more of it than a pretty song, a tradition. Years passed. We worked hard. I never saw a relative, I was told they had died of a sickness before we were born. My mother talked less and less about our father. The full moon visits stopped. When I had time, I would clamber up the tree and sit in its branches, imagining myself like my father.
On my sixteenth birthday my mama took me to see the tree, her candle flickering in the dark once again. As she walked she sang,
“Are you, are you1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkqECCHhsIl
Coming to the tree1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNrxCrZ7Vk7
Where dead man called out1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2ydwGxFIMe
For his love to flee1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeC0xNbrXXH
Strange things did happen here1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR0HnZiplG7
No stranger would it be1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡanqmHJ8MbH
If we met at midnight1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF4haIhXuJm
In the hanging tree”
There in the bosom of the tree mama eyed me quietly until she lifted her head and sang more words, words I had never heard before.
“Are you, are you1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdbxY8iJ1KC
Coming to the tree1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6FK49OxTrv
They strung up a man1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJLmDTx2Fqz
They say who murdered three1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7QH3V6HFwb
Strange things did happen here1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpOaojRl9dD
No stranger would it be1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGkwdnvu1ib
If we met at midnight1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2LwcEVXFId
In the hanging tree.”
There she explained how father died, strung up for murdering three men. There she admitted the three men had been her uncle and his two sons. Her family had died when she was little, leaving her with relatives. It was not a happy home. She was belittled, played with, beaten. My father had gone to see her and found a scene he had not bargained for. She had not bargained on his anger, as fierce and deadly as a housefire. My father was found guilty and hanged. He had not argued or pleaded or justified. He had kissed her and left for the hanging tree.
I looked up at the tree, our tree, my tree. At my father’s legacy.
“Mama,” I had said at last, “what does the song mean?”
She did not answer my question, only silent tears. She told me she had tried to stop them, she had tried to explain. But no one listened. He only asked for two things from her. He had asked her not to come to the hanging tree when they took him away, but to visit him after he was gone.
And so, she had.
We returned home and never talked of it.
My sister was married, then I was. To a woman who sang our children to sleep and laughed at my jokes. She followed me when I climbed trees, and produced me a son I never knew I would love so dearly.
One night as I was feeding our chickens I heard my mother’s voice ring through the village, her candle flame dancing far away in the breeze.
“Are you, are you1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtZDk5hwVnY
Coming to the tree1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡciBVBj0AiO
Wear a necklace of hope1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbli7IZW3Wc
Side by side with me1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFDn1BHeEOd
Strange things did happen here1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ7kVnrZZRM
No stranger would it be1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ81G4SduyRh
If we met at midnight1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHT42GeWpDc
In the hanging tree.”
Before I knew I was moving I was sprinting for the tree, scattering chickenfeed and ruffled chickens as I went. No mama. No mama.
When I made it to the tree the wind whistled and whispered the song to me, as eerie as the flickering candle lying on its’ side. The silence screamed in my ears, leaving nothing but the gentle creak of a hangman’s noose. There my mama danced, her arms limp and still. Her face was peaceful, as though she had awaited this for many a year.
And still the wind murmured the song, beckoning me to sing along.
“Are you, are you1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsFoG7A8GbK
Coming to the tree1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL0JXWUUfdM
Where they strung up a man1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0eEi5Krxrs
They say who murdered three1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh5tfNKkIvc
Strange things did happen here1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuBtIArxqbX
No stranger would it be1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIBroYvDgQg
If we met at midnight1057Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9sT3KUE7dd
In the hanging tree.”
and then Add to home screen.