Tears in the Nighttime

“Why are you crying Grandmama?” Junie asked in the darkness of their familiar hut. The sun had long since gone down, but he could see her tears glistening in the moonlight that streaked through the poorly maintained thatch roofing. Baba was supposed to fix that. He shook away the thought and moved over to his grandmother who stood in the doorway. He placed his tiny hand in hers and looked up at her with all the purity and bravery that an eight-year-old possessed.

“Is it because you miss Mama?” The question lingered. “I miss her too, but I don’t cry. I’m strong like she and Baba told me to be! Baba said boys shouldn’t cry.” Junie must have been right, because she squeezed his hand tighter, in that special way she did now whenever she talked to him about his mother these last few days.

“Junie, my sweet strong boy, it is important that we cry when grieving, or when happy, or anytime the feeling comes to us. It is how we offer our feelings to Walu and allow ourselves to be healed.” She said now looking down at him, her cheeks still wet.

“Walu?” He asked, confused.

“I see Baba did not teach you about Walu. Perhaps he did not know everything after all.” Grandmama began.

She smiled at this statement. Even though he was gone she still seemed to poke fun at the man her daughter had married. Junie always enjoyed when the two of them would playfully bicker. He knew he would never hear it again.

“Come, I will teach you, as I taught your mother when she was just a nibble smaller than you.” She finished.

The night’s air was cool: carried onto the beach following the rolling waves. There was only a short walk from their residence to the beach, and it was walked in silence, at least between the two of them. Junie didn’t mind as he loved the sound of the earth’s rhythm in the quiet hours. At this time the nightbirds chirped, the bugs of summer made their quiet scuttles along the trees, and the ocean cooed its soothing crashes against the shore. He even loved the quiet whispering of his grandmother’s robes fluttering softly against the breeze and her sandals clacking with each step.

When they arrived at the beach Junie removed his sandals and allowed his toes to wriggle into the sand. Something about the specks sifting between his digits was calming: it was familiar. Grandmama knelt beside him resting her knees in the sand. She reached down and took a handful. She held her finely wrinkled fingers almost eye level with the boy.

“This is Walu.” She exclaimed.

Junie watched the grains of sand spill from her hands for a moment before he finally cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Walu is sand?” he asked.

Grandmama chuckled, her smile the same as when she was teasing his father, and shook her head. “Walu is more than sand. Walu is dirt, and rock, and everything around us. In the air, beneath our feet, and surrounding us.” The remaining grains of sand spilled from her palms as she moved her hands to gesture to their surroundings. She rose, and inched towards the water. “And this is Walu’s soul.” She explained.

If Junie wasn’t confused, he certainly was now. Still, he followed his elder, and allowed Walu’s soul to wash over his toes. It was freezing cold, but refreshing.

“Grandmama, I don’t understand. What is Walu?”

“I suppose you would call her the earth, but our ancestors called her Walu. They knew her by her spirit name.”

That answered one question, and raised so many more.

“Why haven’t I ever heard about Walu, like in school or anything, and what does this have to do with crying?” He asked, still remembering the conversation and lingering feelings that prompted this beach visit.

Grandmama let out a deep laugh that ended in an uncontrollable snort. He watched the age lines of her face shift into her chubby cheeks as she laughed, and noticed how the hue of her gray hair reflected the moonlight. She looked just like Mama, but older. For the second time tonight, he fought off tears. He allowed his emotions to flow in the opposite direction causing him to contort his face, and cross his arms. Though a mask, his frustration was genuine. He still didn’t understand anything.

“Junie,” she finally said, “you can’t learn everything from a school book. You can learn that Walu … the Earth is seventy-one percent water. Most of the human body is water too, I know they teach you that. You can even learn that you’ll die in three days without water. But science can’t explain why people cry. Did you know that?”

He didn’t.

She continued, “That’s because science doesn’t teach the story of Walu and her children.”

Now Walu had children? He was willing to bite on this line.

“The earth has children? Explain.” he demanded.

“Walu is the mother of all life. This was not always so. She was once barren like the other solar spheres – planets you would call them.” She began.

While explaining Grandmama knelt again, and began to illustrate the story in the sand with her index finger. She was no artist, but her scribbles sufficed for the eight-year-old. He squatted in the sand beside her. He focused first on her rich brown eyes that both he and Momma inherited, and then down to her drawings.

"After the solar sphere’s creation their parents Yanma, Order, '' She translated, “and Fastfa, Chaos, forbade their children from fostering life for fear it would upset the perfect balance of the universe. They would go so far as to steal away the solar spheres’ souls to stop them.”

“Wow! Yanma and Fastfa were terrible parents.” He interrupted.

A scolding palm tapped the back of his head. It was firm enough to serve as a warning, yet soft enough that it wasn’t painful. More annoying were the grains of sand he felt migrating into his hair due to Grandmama’s hands being covered with them.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” She questioned.

He nodded, while attempting to wipe the sand from his curly hair.

She continued, “While the other planets were content with this there was nothing Walu wanted more than to be a mother. In secret she gave birth to the flora and fauna of the bygone days, using her own soul to give them life. Yanma and Fastfa found out her schemes of course, as parents often do.” With this statement she shot him a glance and he quickly looked away. “The two would reprimand her, changing her in ways unsuitable for sustaining life: volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and great freezes. She would remain barren. Determined, she did not weep though, and kept at her attempts despite her sadness.”

Junie thought of himself like Walu in that way. He hadn’t shed a single tear since the day of the accident. He was strong and determined. His chest instinctively puffed outward as if his bravery could fend off this pain forever.

Grandmama continued, “Eventually Walu created humanity. They were her most beloved creation, and imbued with more of her soul than any other creature. She was as proud as any mother could be.”

Junie followed along in the sand as Grandmama’s fingers further illustrated the story. Her humans were no more than stick figures and Walu only a circle, but he got the gist. His eyes trailed back up as the story continued.

“When her parents discovered this new creation that was more imaginative, and had more potential than any of her previous, they had enough. They would punish her more harshly than before, and there would be no redemption. Walu’s forests burned, her lands splintered, and the ocean, her soul began to dry up and disappear.”

An unexpected gasp from Junie interrupted the story. He was far more invested in the story than even he knew. “What happened next?” he asked in a hushed tone.

She continued, “When the humans noticed the state of their mother they began to weep for her. They shed their tears, portions of their souls for their dying mother. It was painful, and they would suffer, but it would put their mother at ease. The downpour of their tears was so great that the oceans began to fill again, and Walu was whole once more. She wept in misery and joy. Her tears rained down from the skies onto her children. She did not want to die, but also did not want her children to die for her. Much to her surprise her own tears renewed and soothed the souls of her children, as their tears had healed her. Neither Yanma, nor Fastfa in all their power could stop this cycle of rejuvenation. This is why it is important that we cry when we have these strong feelings. If we hold it in we can’t heal Walu, and she can’t heal us.”

Junie was sniffling now. Balled fists rubbed at his eyes attempting to stop the inevitable. “But crying won’t bring Mama or Baba back. They’re not like Walu.” He spat out in spurts.

They were coming now, the tears. They streamed down his face, becoming one with the ocean below. He couldn’t stop them, and he didn’t try to anymore. Through his tears he could see that Grandmama was crying too.

“I know, Junie. Still you must cry. It’s okay.” She assured.

He took her hand again, locking his small fingers into hers and together they wept.