Short Story - The communion cake

Paul H. Williams, Contributor

The discovery has put the Revival church into turmoil. The unpardonable has happened, and the seal is interrupted. Nobody in the mission admits guilt, so who could be so sacrilegious, unconscionable, out of order to rob food from the ancestral spirits?

The culprit must be brought before the mission in shame and disgrace. So around, and around the lavish communion table the brethren go as they sing repeatedly, "Don't you trouble Zion for Zion has a key to open sinners' heart, so don't you trouble Zion!"

Meanwhile, in another realm, the river maid spirit who had heard the cry of the brethren is moving fast to rectify matters. It's the rainy season and the river is heavy with mud and mullets. When the river maid reaches the spot where young Akeem Wallace is fishing, she puts a big, blackish-brown mullet on to his hook.

Akeem feels a tug, and a few more. "Ah!" he exclaims as he pulls the fish from the brown water. His heart races when he sees the mullet, his biggest catch ever. With all his might the 10-year-old casts the mullet from the water on to the grassy bank.

As he is about to remove the line from its mouth, the fish's eyes turn red as cherries. He is surprised, but not scared. Just as he removes the hook from the fish's mouth, the fish turns into a chocolate cake, with two cherries on top. Akeem lets go of the cake, and screams horrendously out of the nightmare.

The scream pierces the ears of those gathered in the church, putting an immediate stop to their singing and trumping. The congregants look into the direction from which the scream came, some move towards it.

Akeem, now on his belly, is motionless. Footsteps near him. He closes his eyes. This is it. Reverend Joseph Wallace approaches the spot, people gather. Reverend Wallace goes on his knees, people surround him. Reverend Wallace lifts the skirt of the communion table cloth and peers under.

Akeem Wallace's eyes are now wide open. He shuts them again as his father looks at him in shock. He uses his right hand to wipe his face made messy with the cherry-topped chocolate cake.

It was one of the many cakes on the communion table, and Akeem couldn't imagine why they were there for two days, two days of singing, two days of dancing, two days of drumming, two days of noise-making around the huge table laden with food, food that Akeem loves, food that Akeem cannot resist, food that is to be shared with ancestral spirits.

It was early afternoon when the brethren took a break from the celebration of thanks. Akeem found himself alone in the church. It was just him and the big table of food, food, food. Cakes, cakes, cakes! Akeem circled the table several times before running to look outside. No one was in sight. They were napping in the mission houses and shacks, or were busy chatting elsewhere on the mission compound.

Trembled with nervousness

Akeem took some steps towards the table. He counted the cakes, 20 of them, of different sizes and colours, 20 cakes. And nobody was in sight! His mouth watered, his head grew big, and he trembled with nervousness. He ran back again to the door. No one, no one, no one.

He looked at the table. It welcomed him to feast to his heart's content, and his heart wanted cake. And as if he were in the spirit, he ran around the table, looking at the cakes. He wanted out before the service started again. Just eat and go. He stopped at the front of the table. He saw one that looked like chocolate, chocolate cake which he couldn't resist. And it had two cherries on top of it, sweet-looking, juicy cherries.

He ran to the door for the last time, and back again. Not a soul. Now was the time. Slowly he removed the veil from the cake, and put it on a hand of ripe bananas. Then he heard footsteps, heavy footsteps like when people are trumping and dancing. They were getting closer to the door. He grabbed the cake, and went to the ground.

With one hand he lifted the skirting of the table cloth, and crawled under with the cake in the other. The door creaked and the steps entered the church, the church where all heaven was about to break loose. The voice of a woman spoke, then another, and another.

On his backside Akeem sat, with the chocolate cake laced with rum, rum to appease the ancestors, between his legs. But Akeem didn't mind the rum; the chocolate cake itself was delicious beyond expectation.

The women spoke and moved about the room, Akeem didn't care. The cake was giving him extreme pleasure, but it was also giving him something else. It was making him dizzy, tipsy. Yet, he would have no mercy on the cake, which was not so kind itself. It was making Akeem sweat, on a day that was already warm.

By now, more people had joined the women, and the service was actually in earnest. Around, and around the communion table the brethren went, until one woman saw the veil on the bananas, and then the space where the cake had been. An alarm was made, and when nobody came forward to confess, external help was sought.

In the passion of singing, dancing, and supplication, they now were seeking the intervention of God, the ancestors and the river maid spirit. One of the communion table cakes was missing, stolen perhaps by one sent by the Devil. Around and around the communion table they went, and around and around drunken Akeem's head went, until he feel into a deep sleep, and into a dream.