Cradle of Stars

By johnnedwill

"Grandmother! He's here again!"

Eshe looked up from the fire she had been tending and peered through smoke-filled eyes at the girl in front of her. "What do you mean, Chasiku? Who is 'he'?"

The girl hopped from one foot to the other. "It is the Ghost Man, grandmother. He has come back and he's shouting at people."

The Ghost Man. Eshe nodded. She remembered the Ghost Man from his last visit. He was a European; a missionary. The village had called him the Ghost Man for three reasons. First was his white skin - totally unsuited to a life under the African sun. Second was because he worshipped three ghosts, or so he claimed in his badly accented Swahili, and was always speaking of them. Finally, nobody in the village could be bothered to remember his name. So, he was now and forever the Ghost Man.

"Alright, child." Eshe pointed to a staff of polished wood that rested against the wall of her dwelling. "Bring me my stick, and I shall go to talk with him. See if he can be persuaded to go away, hmm?" The girl did as she was told, then helped the old woman to her feet. "Thank you," Eshe said. "Now, where is the Ghost Man? Take me to him."

"Yes, grandmother." The pair stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. Eshe's eyes took a moment to adjust and cleanse themselves of soot. "This way, grandmother." The sky above them was blue. Streaks of white cloud ran through the sky, high enough that they did not obscure the peak of the Great Mountain to the north. From the far side of the village, Eshe could hear someone speaking out loud, declaiming the glories of foreign gods.

"I may not be able to see him, but I can hear him," Eshe said, and tottered towards the source of the disturbance.

A European man, his face red with sunburn and sweat, was standing between a trio of dwellings. He was holding up a book bound in black leather with gold -coloured writing on its spine. The man was calling out, loud enough for almost the whole village to hear him: "Listen to the Word of God! All those who turn to God will be saved! All those who refuse will burn forever!" Many of the villagers had gathered to hear the Ghost Man's tirade. His rantings were a welcome diversion from the chores of everyday life.

Eshe waited for the Ghost Man to draw breath. "Burn forever? There is not enough dung or wood in the world for that." There was a ripple of laughter from the villagers. "But all one has to do to avoid this fate is listen to you? It seems like a fair bargain to me."

The Ghost Man glared at Eshe, angry because she had made him look foolish in front of the villagers. "You must not just listen. You must hear and obey the Word." He brandished his book. "The Word that I have come here to spread, so you can all be saved."

"Why?" Eshe asked. It was a simple question, that the Ghost Man was prepared for.

"Why? Because my God has told me to."

Eshe smiled at him as she would smile at a child. "And how does your god speak to you? Through dreams? Through visions?"

The Ghost Man strode through the crowd of onlookers and held up his book for Eshe to see. "Through this."

"Thank you." Eshe did not wait for the Ghost Man to give her permission, but snatched his book from him. The book's binding was soft and dark; its pages were edged in gold and whispered as Eshe turned them. "Your god is quieter than you are," she said.

"Give me!" The Ghost Man grabbed at his book, prising it out of Eshe's hand. "How dare you mock my God." He turned the book over and over, examining it closely for any signs of damage. Then, satisfied that nothing had been torn, creased or otherwise defaced, the Ghost Man clutched the book to his chest and sighed in relief.

"You are welcome," Eshe said.

"Wise men who met God put their words in this," the Ghost Man growled. "I would not expect a -," he uttered a word in his own tongue, "- like you to understand."

While Eshe did not know the word the Ghost Man had spat at her, she understood the intent behind well enough, as did some of the young men who had been listening. "Did the Ghost Man insult you, grandmother?" one of them asked. "Shall we chase this dog away with sticks and stones?"

Eshe shook her head. "No. There are other ways. Better ways." She turned back to the Ghost Man. "I am not an ignorant person," Eshe began, but the Ghost Man stopped her.

"No? Then how do your -," the Ghost Man uttered that word again, "- gods talk to you?"

"I can show you how. And what they say to me."

The Ghost Man laughed. "With drawings scrawled with a twig in the dirt? Through idols made from straw and rags?"

"I am sure that you will believe it when you see it with your own eyes and hear it with your own ears," Eshe replied calmly.

"Tricks!"

"No. Not at all." Eshe turned away, balancing on her staff. She waited a carefully calculated moment, then called back over her shoulder. "Well? Or are you too much of a coward?"

There was an indignant snort from the Ghost Man. "I fear nothing. My faith in my God will protect me."

"Then why are you standing there? Come."

Eshe allowed herself the satisfaction of a smile. More than seventy years of life had taught her how to make people do what she wanted them to do.

Once they arrived at her dwelling, Eshe turned to Chasiku. "Clean the hearth. And bring me fresh fuel for a new fire."

"Yes, grandmother." The girl busied herself with Eshe's instructions.

The Ghost Man had to duck his head to pass under the lintel. "This is where you live?"

Eshe ignored the European's obvious contempt. "It does for now." She pointed to a rug - one that had been brought all the way from Zanzibar by an itinerant merchant. "Sit. Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"A drink?" The Ghost Man took off his sun-bleached hat and wiped his forehead with a piece of stained cloth. "That would be good."

Eshe retrieved two wooden bowls and a green glass flask from the low shelf that served as her larder, and poured the contents of the flask into the bowls. "Here. Drink. I think you will find it refreshing." She passed one of the bowls to the Ghost Man. The European looked at the frothy, yellow liquid in front of him. Eshe picked up her own bowl and took a sip. The liquid left a creamy foam around her lips. "Good," she said, and smiled.

The Ghost Man took a drink from his bowl, and coughed in surprise at the sour taste. "Strange. But good."

Eshe laughed. "You lie badly." The Ghost Man scowled, then returned Eshe's smile and took another gulp of the liquid. It was plain to Eshe that the contents of the flask were beginning to have their desired effect. She poured another measure of the yellow liquid into the Ghost Man's bowl. "So, tell me again why you come so far to speak to us about your god?"

"Because He commands me to."

"Ha." Eshe pointed a bony finger at the European. "Yes. But why do you do this? Why, out of all your brothers and sisters have you taken on the burden of coming to our lands and preaching to us?"

The Ghost Man looked thoughtful. "Because," he said after a minute's silence. "Because I want to save you and your people?"

"Save us from what?"

"Sin. Sin and death and pain that lasts forever. You are -," there was that word again, "- who do not recognise the danger you are in!" The Ghost Man's voice rose, becoming agitated. Once again, Eshe let him speak until he had to pause for breath.

"But we have no need to be saved."

The Ghost Man looked puzzled. "But you do!"

"I know our future. And it is not one of fire and suffering. It is one of stars and splendour."

"And how can you be sure this is not a trick of Satan?"

Eshe reached for a clay pot, and emptied out a handful of bone-grey dust from it. "We speak to our long-yet-to-come descendants."

The Ghost Man looked shocked - scandalised! He struggled to get to his feet. "Witchcraft! Speaking with dead is witchcraft! A mortal sin!"

"But what is it if you speak with those who are not-yet-born?" Eshe threw the handful of dust into the flames. There was a flurry of sparks, and a pungent smoke started to rise from the fire. "Why not see for yourself, Ghost Man?"

The European looked to where Eshe was pointing. The smoke from the fire was gathering in the doorway, forming the silhouette of a man. "What have you done to me?" the Ghost Man wailed.

"You called me, grandmother?" the figure whispered in perfect but strangely-accented Swahili.

"I greet you, child of time," Eshe replied. She rocked back and forth. "This one." She slapped the shoulder of the Ghost Man, pushing him back down. "This one does not believe me when I speak of the future."

The smoke-wreathed figure chuckled. "Then he should come with me to see the truth." A dark-skinned hand coalesced out of the smoke and was thrust across the fire. "Come with me, shade of the past. See the shades of the future."

The Ghost Man rose, his eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway. He held out his hand; hesitated. Then the strange figure reached out and pulled.

It was as if a veil had been stripped away from the Ghost Man's eyes. He could see clearly now. Eshe and the village had vanished, replaced by the grassy plains. To the north was the cone of the Great Mountain; but, even though it was night, the mountain was not in darkness. Instead, its flanks were covered in a sea of lights, each one gleaming and shining crystal-clear. Silver threads ran across the plains towards and up the mountain slopes, their termini marked by clusters of red. Amongst it all, the Ghost Man was sure that he could see a myriad shapes moving with purpose.

The Ghost Man turned to ask his guide a question, then stopped. The silhouetted figure had gone, replaced by a young man of African ancestry, dressed in unfamiliar but sturdy clothing: overalls, covered in colourful patches. A tool belt hung from the young man's waist, laden down with devices that the Ghost Man could not fathom. It took a minute for the Ghost Man to find his voice. "Wh-what is this?" he stuttered.

"This is our city," the African replied. "We built it.; We live in it. we work in it. From here we send great vessels into the sky and the void beyond - to the moon and the stars."

"And what do you do there?"

The African pointed upwards. While the Ghost Man was familiar with the constellations of the night sky, he could not fathom what he saw. Above him were unfamiliar stars in patterns he had never seen before. "We build those. Artificial moons and satellites. Factories and ships to sail the void. They take us from this world. This is our now. This is your future."

"But how do you get there?"

"How?" The African laughed, deep and booming. "Watch."

From the direction of the mountain came a mournful hooting. The lights on the slopes shifted and changed colour, as did the lights along one of the silver threads that crossed the plain. And then - !

There was a sound so loud that the Ghost Man could not hear it. He could only feel the pressure suffocating him. A streak of light burnt along the thread towards the mountain, then leapt up and up into the sky on flames so bright that the Ghost Man had to shut his eyes or be blinded.

"That is how," said the Ghost Man's guide. "This is all done by science and engineering. Your book and your god have no part in this."

"But - !" The Ghost Man opened his eyes. However, he was no longer on the dark plain before the shining mountain. Instead, he was back in Eshe's dwelling, sitting before the fire. Have I been drugged? Was all that I saw just a hallucination? The Ghost Man stared at Eshe, unable to give voice to his thoughts.

It didn't matter. Eshe nodded. "Was that the truth, Ghost Man?" She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "There was more truth in that than there is your book."