There’s a solitary oak tree 7 miles off the Othaya-Karatina highway. It’s on the way to my paternal grandmother’s house. Past Mukurweini you take a left, and you keep driving until you get to a corner that comes at you suddenly. And there it is – the oak tree. 

The day before my mother dies, she tells me that she saw the tree. It is the recurring theme in her dreams. The latest dream ends with her standing in front of it, while a man in a Land Rover drives straight at her. Or rather it. She places herself between the car and the tree to save him. She fails.

“Mum, what do you think the dream means?”

Par usual, she avoids the question. First asking for water, and then asking me to help her sit upright in her bed. 

“Is that better?”

She nods. I retreat – carefully watching her take sips of water. 

“What does the dream mean?” 

“You want your mother to die? I can’t drink and talk.” 

So we wait and wait until her thirst is satiated. And Mum, now out of excuses answers. 

“You know that’s where he did it.” 

“Who?” 

“Your father!”

Her statement unlocks my family’s reluctance to discuss my father’s death.

“What do you mean he did it? Is that why you never drive through that route?” 

She makes to sip her water again, but this time, her hand trembles, and the water makes its way to her dress. 

She nods, as I dab off the spilt water from her dress. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She explains – most men in my father’s lineage have taken their lives. My father told her that it was a voice, that needles you into it. 

“But how do you know that it wasn’t an accident with Dad?” 

“He was a remarkable driver. When they found the car. There were no skid marks. No discernible attempts at making the corner. And the guy who bought the wreckage and restored it said, the brakes worked wonderfully for years.

“You understand now, why we kept this from you?” 

It’s my turn to stutter. “I understand!”

Her explanation helps to contextualize why the voices I hear have always felt so familiar. They are family. 

Curious. Every time I’ve thought about ending it – I’ve had a car in my hands, those voices in my ear and an oak-shaped tree in my windscreen.

PC: Pexels/Marta Wave

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Hello,

Shorter post to test out that this is still working. Hope you are keeping well, and warm.

• Fiction