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MUSTARD III – Ch. 13 | KT OLLA

IT was 1956 and a time in the year when seasons twist and turn.

It had rained for several months, and fields had grown. Then rain stopped as the heat returned.

And then the heat dropped and poured rain. It was forth... then back-and-forth.

Yes, the rains that poured went in days; and suddenly Earth was cold. So cold that bodies broke.

It was post-harmattan in ’56.

Well, the cold wasn’t the issue; but the uncertainty was.

This struggle between passing cold and the coming heat... no, it went so tense any tough skin would break.

Yet that year it wasn’t just anybody that broke down – but Morrow, as his ageing body failed.

Morrow went completely under the weather as he caught cold.

It wasn’t meant to be serious at all, as it was just the weather—or so, his wife had reasoned.

Yes, Maria had thought like anyone would have, that he’d be just fine.

But this change in seasons was just her excuse. Morrow was really done with his journey. 

Thus, after a few days of lying in bed, Tomorrow passed on.

Sorrounded by his wife and children, with a couple of his grandkids, Morrow breathed his last, and waved this world bye.

Even so, Joshua wasn’t there with him.

True, the 31-year-old was starting his finals then at the Grade-II Teachers College.

But then they sent a man to tell him. The messanger met him doing papers and spared him the sad news.

‘Banji, do your studies well, uh? Baba asked me to give you this!’

He handed him his own cash gift for the errand, and said Papa sent greetings.

That evening was the day Morrow passed—the day Joshua started his finals.

Those papers would qualify him to teach higher schools. So the newsman spared him then.

Now when Joshua finished his papers, he went back home...

Then he saw that the man had passed and was, in fact, buried—his father, his pillar-stone.

And then, he cried.

Yes, it hurt this young son that he wasn’t by his old man those last moments of his life. It hurt him more he wasn’t at his funeral.

No, it hurt him much more that his dad wouldn’t see him grow...

And most of all, that he passed just while he strayed.

So, Jo cried and blamed everything he could. The course, the piano, his bottles of beer.

Yet what he loathed were his drinks. He’d turned a drinker.

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