“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smiles at me genuinely for the first time and I smile back.
“It was an absolutely yes.”
“This is not for public consumption and any mention of it in your article will lead to consequences you won’t like.”
I have to stop myself from stamping feet to hurry him along. “Iunderstand. Can we see it now? I’m starting to feel desperate.”
He laughs. “I like you.”
He abandons his desk and walks slowly to the wall of curtains and draws it back. I watch in astonishment as the wall swivels a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and then wish to God I could go back in time and said absolutely not.
“That’s the Prestige Stool,” I gasp, my eyes wide in shock and horror.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes, of course. How do you have it?” I turn to face him unable to keep the accusation from my voice.
“It’s a replica,” he snaps and walks over to the panel next to the glass case and presses a button. The door revolves and closes.
I sag in relief. Of course it is. It couldn’t be anything else. “Did you know that the original was stolen?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, I heard. I don’t know why it wasn’t better protected. The first time it was taken, the thieves had guns, and the Ashanti’s weren’t able to fight back. They get it back after two hundred years and the first thing they do is lose it again.” He curls his lip in disgust.
“They didn’t lose it. It was stolen.”
“Do you know what the stool means to the Ashanti?” His tone is clipped, his question posed more like a challenge.
“My parents are Ashanti.”
“Your parents,” he says it with disgust. “Shame they didn’t teach you to see yourself that way too.”
“I was born here. I’m American.”
“Only on paper. I’m not surprised your parents haven’t instilled this in you.”
My back stiffens. “My parents did everything they could to keep us connected, but this is where I was born and where I grew up.”
He shrugs. “If you say so.” He opens the panel again. “Did you know that each stool is carved out of a single piece of wood?” he asks.
I nod before I realize he’s not looking in my direction. “Yes, I knew that.”
“They are more than just part of ancient lore.” He points at it. “This one is unusual. The unusual five-legged form is referred to askontonkrowie, or ‘the circular rainbow.’ It evokes the Akan proverb ‘the rainbow is around the neck of every nation,’ and reminding us of the chief’s role in uniting and controlling the kingdom.”
I nod with an unfeigned reverence. Replica or not, to be in thepresence of one always fills me with awe. It’s closely followed by indignation that it’s not in its rightful place.
“A leader's stool is so integrally linked to his identity that his death is described by the phrase ‘a stool has fallen,’” Mr. Palmer continues his recitation. I know all of this, but I don’t say so.
“Which is why it’s so heartbreaking for it to be lost. For a chief to be separated from his stool isn’t just his loss. Every guardian of it is warned that if it is ever destroyed or lost the entire kingdom would fall.”
“And yet, they let it go. If this was the real one, I’d never return it to the very people who lost it in the first place.”
“That’s the same argument western museums made against returning them. But shouldn’t the people who heaven entrusted as stewards of it be in charge of its fate? It’s not as if they didn’t fight to keep it. And to get it back. It being stolen is such a tragedy.”
He doesn’t respond and when I turn to face him, he’s watching me with an expression I can't decipher but that makes me sorry I said anything. Something less than disdain but…
“Most people have never laid eyes on that stool. How did you recognize it?”
My stomach flips at the question and for a moment I’m not sure I should tell him. But that’s silly. The theft is public knowledge.
