Father always told me and my sister not to go looking for ways to cross the stream. “Never, never, never,” he used to say. “Our people always stay from this side of the stream, the other side is for the others.” And then he would bend a bit and with a whispering voice, always looking around first, he would say, “…the other side is for the spirits.”
So my sister and I spend springs, summers and autumns looking carefully on the other side to see the spirits. Occasionally we saw one or two but we couldn’t agree if it was a spirit of a man or a woman, a boy or a girl.
That was every year till I became seventeen. Then I left the house for the higher education and my sister didn’t want to return to the stream on her own.
Now, I’m thirty four and I’m standing at our side of the stream with my sister and for the first time we both agree, it is our father on the other side waving. He left us a couple of nights before.