Act 6: Conclusions
Angeleen
I am Angeleen, manufactured bride, though
completely human. I don't mind. Custer is
quite the catch, and not just because I was so
told, over and over by my AI tutor, grown to
be his one true love. He has always been kind,
generous, sympathetic, understanding, though
there is probably no one else he shows these
qualities. He is beautiful, with wavy reddish brown
hair he wears flowing just below his ears.
piercing blue eyes that smile on me, a godlike
form, as I've seen in art, muscular but not too
much. I, created for this one job, to love him,
be his love, raised gently under his guiding
care, do share those intimate feelings, not
because made to. This man I have gotten to
know all through my life, is ultimately lovable
when given the chance. We have been happy
together, within our private romance, mutual
muses, wrapped in our ecstatic dance. Until,
that is, I was struck down by illness unknown
to our medical geniuses, or all the AI annals.
Suddenly, I could no longer do much of
anything. Even breath was a struggle, though
not so terrible that I would want it to stop, or
feel in danger that it might. My mind, however,
does not appear afflicted. My thoughts are clear,
abundant, creative as before. I try to abate
Custer's fears, speak, as I can, haltingly, but
with utmost clarity, let him know I am here,
fully aware, glad of his presence. He wants to
raise my comfort level, offer distraction from
my obvious pain. He perfumes our atmosphere
with beautiful scents that leave no residue to
cloud the air. He covers me with the softest
materials he can command. Feeds me
ambrosial delicacies, of easily absorbed
consistency, does everything he can think of
to intimate a paradise for my pleasure, that
I hopefully not notice what I miss. As part of
this distraction, I know only for my benefit,
since he has no interest in City scandals, he
has arranged a 3D display of that ubiquitous
entertainment, 24/7 Gossip I can passively
enjoy while I lay in bed. I often find their
stories amusing, not a waste of my attention.
When it is on, I let it just a background drone
unless a feature captures and holds my interest
for a moment. It's not as if I was ever a part of their
avid audience. I might have watched it for
occasional entertainment when Custer was
otherwise occupied. Today, as I allow the
stories to play, strangely, as if
synchronicity reached out to touch me,
I see, hear the commentary, a young woman
in the Barro is healing people with incurable
diseases. Of course, Barro medical expertise
is severely hampered by our technologies
being forbidden. Perhaps these illnesses she
cured would have been easily alleviated in the
City. It was but a short clip, not offering much
pertinent information, only meant as
entertainment. They did, as an aside, remind
us that features from the Barro are quite rare,
since their City audience knows no one there,
unless a City migrant worker is heavily involved.
The last time, in fact, was before I was aware of
such broadcast stories. Apparently, this one was
unique enough to be on the loop for close to
two weeks, according to the time stamp, shown
randomly, depending on programming priorities.
As it happened, we had not seen it before. It's not
as if we spent much time watching gossip, nor are
we generally aware of what everyone currently knows.
Custer, of course, immediately seized upon the meat,
the possibility of healing me. He called forth servants
to investigate the particulars, to discover if what the
commentator said was true. When the basics were
confirmed, medical professionals were queried for
recommendations. With this information, he knew
what he must immediately do. "I will send
representatives to bring this girl here, ascertain for
ourselves her ability to make you well," he exclaimed,
filled with elation. I countered, as strongly as I
could muster, demanded he understand the
unfairness of his plan. I entreated that if she were
transplanted from her Barro home to serve us here,
she would never be allowed to return to her life
as before. We cannot do that to this beneficent
innocent. What a horrible reward for her curing
me, I implored! Because it was me making this plea,
he agreed. He altered his vision, insisted we fly to
the City Compound in the Barro, along with servants
to make appropriate arrangements once there. They
would need to secure a place for treatment, locate
this girl and tell her where and when to meet us.
A'glee with happy anticipation of me, hopefully,
emerging from this curse, to return as all I was,
he sends a man to do as he has decided must be
done, arrange for a robocar to fly us to the Compound
on the morrow, execute his plan. I feel some trepidation.
What if this situation does not play out as he expects?
How will he be assuaged, his sorrow mollified?
Yet, I also feel excited, in mind if not body; maybe
my plight might disappear. I may regain my life
and his. At least we have a changed perspective, if
only for this interim, a chance to break out of our
current limited routine. It all, this whole interval,
somehow seems unreal, as if an extended dream,
from the time I fell ill through this new
eventuality. Perhaps tomorrow I will awake,
unharmed, uninterrupted. In any case, tomorrow
will be an adventure. Late Spring, they say, warm
and sunny weather to enjoy on our way to what
may greet us across the River.
Bonnie
Curiouser and curiouser, a season of change?
New challenges, terrors, every day? I was
well adjusted to my job's errata. One expects
medical needs to show up unexpectedly, to
present without warning, be overwhelming, not
subject to following routines. My family dramas,
especially regarding Alee, have been difficult,
but not outside what I can absorb, deal with
usefully Yet, too fast, picking up speed, is how,
more and more, that situation seems. I had
never imagined my private concerns would break
out publicly, to, without consent or consideration,
turn our already confused, upset family into
somehow accountable celebrities. Sophia told
us about Alee's appearance on the City broadcast,
"24/7 Gossip". She assured us City folks would regard
this as mere entertainment, their healthcare options
so much better than ours. Meanwhile, we have more
immediate issues, here. The Stakeholders' Meeting
did calm our neighbors' agitation for the most part,
yet pockets of complaint persist. Now, today, I
encounter this new twist. Some Upper's servant
has come to the Clinic to insist I provide a treatment
suite for his employer and wife to meet with this Barro
healer. She is perilously sick, has been for months
without relent, appears ever less alive, so I am informed.
Of course, they had consulted with their City practitioners
of Upper privileged medicine, but found no relief,
no cure. Obviously, the next step, now that they
have been made aware of her existence, is to find,
try, this unlikely healer's ability. I grant access to our
facility, as I appear to have no other recourse. I don't
know what to say about Alee, our relationship, her
situation, so I remain professional, give only what
I am asked for. The interview concluded, the stranger
departs, after ascertaining a block of time on the
morrow for his employer's reservation. I take a long
breath, call Sophia. I have too immediate a need for
information; a text won't do. She, of course, is busy
at the School all afternoon, but understands I must have
her attention. She advises me to calm myself, relax, get
back to my job. She will be here with me to discuss what
has happened as soon as she can. Naturally, I call Cas.
I know he can help me relax just with the support of his
soothing voice, almost hypnotic aura of peace. I tell him
of my meeting with the Upper representative, that I didn't
know how best to respond to him, so I told him nothing of
my knowledge about Alee. Cas, as always, understands my
emotional overload. He assures me we will figure out how to
proceed. I inform him of my call to Sophia, that she intends
to join me as soon as she can get away from the School,
her job obligations. Then she will be able to speak with me,
offer what she knows of how Uppers operate, what ought
be my best course when they arrive. Having shared my
fears, ameliorated by panic, I do as advised, get back to work.
Certainly my ordinary chores still need doing. Their
familiarity will keep me steady while I await my family's
aid in preparation for tomorrow. Alee is still to weak to
access her healing power, though every day she promises
she feels it almost ready to emerge. She says she sees this
image in her mind of a potent candle to be re-lit, that she
tries to find the right ignition, keeps moving closer as she
dances in a trance of inner exploration. We can see she is
so very tired, yet at least equally inspired by her mission
to regain her mojo, as those in need of her help wish for
her as well. She seems so small, frail, and yet still magical.
I believe, we all do, that she speaks from visions she has
the ability to manifest, but how long will that take?
People, in aggregate, are not patient, get testy when made
to wait for what they think they are owed. Presumably,
Uppers, arrogant by nature and long experience as
self-appointed superiors, are not about to tolerate delay.
I finish my professional obligations for the day, make
space for Sophia and I to strategize. Then, we head home
together, to share what has happened, elicit a greater
circle to advise.
Sophia
Bonnie had called me in a panic. She has been
approached by an Upper servant who flew here
from the City with his employer to demand she
reserve a treatment suite in the Clinic for a meeting
with this Alegra, the healer. She complied, having
no idea what else to do. After he left, apparently
satisfied, she contacted me to verify her suspicions,
the efficacy of her response. At that moment, I was,
unfortunately required at the School to teach my
class. As soon as that ended, released, I met Bonnie
at the Clinic. By then her shift was done. We spoke,
for a bit in her office, then on the walk home. On
arrival, we discovered our news was but a piece of
a reason for concern. Alee had, in her turn, received
the Upper's messenger's command to meet with his
employer and ailing wife to perform her cure. Alee,
knowing she is in no position to fulfill this command,
having yet to regain that power, tried to decline. She
attempted to explain that she was not yet ready, despite
her efforts to relight that faded flame. She promised,
assured, when she was able, she would immediately
inform whatever agent they might provide. The servant
would have none of it. He was clear on his mission, that
Sir Custer not be given cause for disappointment. He
warned Alee to be at the appointed place and time, on the
very next day, mid-morning, so preparations could be
arranged before she arrived at the Clinic treatment suite
Bonnie had made available. Having nothing he would
hear to offer, Alee made no reply. Taking silence for
assent, he left, presumably to inform his employer of
what had been done. I've never met this Custer, though
I've known of him from common knowledge, historic
tales. He is an elder, from the first generation born on
City soil. Life extension technology has presumably
advanced since back when his pioneering parents had
started using it, before their relocation, and for their son,
once he was gestating. However he has managed it, he has
been around for a very long time, well over a century.
Thus there are stories dating from his later youth, once
he was noticed enough to be spoken of. Youthful
appearing still, having stopped his aging once he
reached his physical peak, while continuing
challenging activities to maintain his strength,
endurance, physique. Considered arrogant, even
among a class strongly associated with that trait,
he was not generally well liked, or welcomed, in
social coteries. This was fine for a time. He preferred
his own, to him superior, company. Then, I suppose
after a great many decades, his solitary ways become
less ideal. A few decades ago, he began to make plans
for a companion he would create from selected DNA,
eugenic magic, to be his perfect mate. No robo-woman
to pretend to be his friend, but fully human, conceived
and raised to his specifications. Eventually his plan
attained fruition. Now he would be able to enjoy his
folie a 'deux, his imagined blissful union, without
deference to social conventions. Thus, Angeleen, a
graceful beauty, raised to be happy to fulfill her duty
to the benefactor who made her to be his. Unfortunately
for that charming fantasy, not many years after they
were wed, she fell ill. Something like Alee's affliction
if reports of her sudden symptoms, ever greater
draining of energy, muscular pain, wan responses,
are accurate. Now this particularly unpleasant
demanding Upper has learned of a Barro healer,
certainly far from a secret at this point, anywhere.
He has decided, in his entitled manner that this is
the cure he has sought, belongs to him to satisfy
his urgent desire for his lover's recovery. Alee
continues to insist that she feels ever closer to finding
inside her mind that image of a candle wick she may
relight, to regain what she must to aid those
desperately imploring her for a cure to end their
suffering. I tell her, and the rest here gathered, what
I can from Upper lore I've learned over years of
study. Alee, Jamee, Paul, Cas, Bonnie, Jay listen, ask
questions, worry, searching for a way to make this
situation turn out well. Marta had retired after our
initial revelations, saying it all made her feel ill, that
she had nothing of value to add to our deliberations,
so would take leave of us to lie down. Bobby, Camille,
and the kids, next door, busily crafting preparations
for the Solstice party at the Fire Pit late next week,
making artistic decorations for the event itself, as well as
Solstice themed wearables and wares to sell at the Mart
in anticipation of the celebration. These otherwise
occupied relations, we will tell what we decide, when
we do. Cas looks pensive. He hugs Bonnie, stays close
to her side, holds her hand in his to calm her after her
ordeal, consequent fear. He tells us clearly that worries
won't help us focus as we must. He suggests, leads
group meditation, to raise a more peaceful, productive
vibration. What we can do, so far a mystery, we need to
manifest quickly, aware tomorrow is far too near.
Cas
We, Jamee, Paul, and me, went with Alee to meet with
the Upper, Custer, as we were told he was called, who
had demanded her presence at the Clinic. We thought
to provide her emotional support, back up if necessary.
He was much as we imagined from Sophia's description.
Proud, arrogant stance to emphasize his grandeur, his
ultimate power, yet a man, despite his position, engulfed
in fear, pain, trepidation for a loved one's safety. He
made imperious demands, yes, from vast decade's of
practice; but here and now, it is all about getting the answer
he so desperately wants, to restore what he had thought
lost, to repay his urgent prayers. In the face of his obvious
hostility, I countered, offered my gentling aura of peace.
We made our best effort to assure him we meant no ill or
resistance, that, simply, in this instance our sister no longer
possessed the ability he had counted on. He appeared to
calm a bit, though maintaining his superior air. When he
deigned to speak to we inferiors, it was quietly, with dense
iron behind. He warned, forcefully, yet not much above a
whisper, not to toy with him, that his retaliation would be
swift and likely more than we could bear. Then he stormed
out, left us in a state of puzzled paralysis. Alee began to cry.
Jamee moved to hold her, share their tears. Paul looked on,
painfully helpless. I just stood, waited for the fullness of
this event to make sense of it, to develop a forward plan.
Nothing more to be done here, we went home, after reporting
to Bonnie what had occurred. Marta and Sophia would be
at work at the School. Bobby and his crew were at the Mart,
selling their Solstice themed art before the Fire Pit party at
the end of next week. This salute to Summer celebration is
every year a big deal. The whole community gets together
in an atmosphere of gleeful fun, more than a little
inebriation, for those who so choose, a sacred supplication
for a wonderful Summer, a time of warmth, light, easing
of cares, that joy pervade. I have always loved this coming
together, communal accord, shared celebration, dedicated
to our hopes for happy days ahead. As the interval from now
to then passes, preparations escalating, I am fond of spending
hours at the Mart, watching people display their festive wares,
chatter of this and that, act as a happy collaboration, readying
to each be part of our yearly rite. Over these days of greater
sunlight, when all ought feel benign, I notice a mounting
dissatisfaction, hostility toward my family, questions from those
I work with at the Factory, not with anger aimed toward me,
who they know to be a friend, but still, tinged with suspicion,
with growing, if otherwise directed, ire. At the Mart, after
my shift had ended, I wonder what I watch as a developing
crowd surrounds a loud speaker, increases as more people
move closer to listen. There appears to be a contagious agitation,
unlike any scene I have previously witnessed here. I recognize
the booming voice as that Upper, Custer's. I had heard that
after our meeting he sent his ailing wife back home, to the
City, with their servants, while he remained, staying at the
Compound dorm. I supposed he meant to ascertain how we
might be persuaded to do his bidding, come to his aid, or
maybe undertake an investigation, if he believed we were
faking our inability to comply. Apparently, his strategy is to
incite our neighbors to cry out against us, apply pressure we
cannot ignore as we could a stranger, or escape. To that end,
he exhorts them, invents vicious lies about our motives,
characterizes Alee as a heartless player with lives in peril.
I listen a short while to figure out what he intends, how his
falsehoods are being received by people who should know
better, having lived all these years within this shared
environment. I speak, somberly, quietly, my familiar calm
demeanor a counterpoint to the Upper's screaming wrath.
Those nearest me, here on the open path between Gardens
and Mart, where people tend to gather, listen, assent to
my clear sense. I deliver silently a prayer for peace, while
expressing a public plea for their remembrance of reality,
adherence to sanity. My words of reason ripple through
the short distance to the ever more unsettled group of
Barros that are assembling to figure out what is occurring
here. I metaphorically feel their rising temperature mellow,
if only momentarily. I understand this situation, power play,
Custer's angry answer to not getting his way, may prove
a danger to our communal happy plans, as social unrest
is raised. I wait, patiently, wrapped in my practiced calm,
for Custer to have his thorough say, provoke praise from
his enthralled audience. Once he departs our vicinity,
presumably to the Compound for what he would consider
appropriate sustenance, having no trust for local
establishments, I share my disbelief, correct disinformation
he has spewed, to rip the veil of heightened emotional
tactics he employed to spread falsehoods, vilify my family.
I see they listen with agreement that this City stranger has
no idea who we are. I behoove them not to lose our festive
mood, not to allow this agitator to disrupt our Solstice
merriment.
Paul
It's less than a week until our big celebration. As I enjoy
my morning perambulation of our commons immersed
in gay preparations, I feel an unexpected pall, almost a
seething veil between what should be a warmly happy
occasion and something, dare I even think it, evil. I keep
hearing an ominous "Custer says" as I wander familiar
spaces along Garden paths. This Upper apparently means
to terrorize our family, out of some weird retribution for
not succumbing. He has stayed here, in the Barro, after
sending his wife and servants back to their home. Now
he hangs out where people tend to gather, drawing crowds
of listeners with his loud voice, imperious stance. I have
not been among them, having better, more productive
uses, for my attention. Still, every day I become more
aware of this disturbance rippling through our common
air. People already working through despair brought on
by loved ones' illness want more gratifying answers than
we have been able to give them. We tell them, truthfully,
Alee is doing her best to regain the ability they ask for,
but it will take time. We don't know how long. I have
experienced no overt hostility, but feel a pervasive
bitter edge in every conversation, as if below their
surface rationality. Despite the urging of seasonal joy,
they appear, subconsciously, ever closer to the
emergence of expressing a desire for restitution or
revenge. These are the people I have been greeting,
working with, serving, always. I have been ever aware
of their appreciation, their respect for me as Mayor.
Yet, these before me today are not behaving as those
I have forever known. They exude a coldness, even in
this warmth of Summer's closeness. I want, wait to hear
the joyful noise of holiday gaiety. I fear a very precious
solidarity, communal sanity has been driven toward
a breaking point. This is not the world I have grown
as part of. My people, those I have known for all
these years, I thought well, break my heart. I feel
an urgency of tears brim into my eyes, but decline to
allow them to fall. Instead I head for the Fire Pit to
watch those who retain the celebratory spirit decorate,
in rhythm to the jamming musicians, taking a festive
break from rehearsing their repertoire for the big
occasion. I wait pensively, knowing Jamee will arrive
after his shift at the Factory, a fair walk to the South,
where he will be coming from. The late Spring weather,
once again halcyon. This season has been filled with
such glorious days, as if wanting to call us out of our
dark thinking. I stand here, alone, looking out at my
people at play, hoping this beauteous Spring a
harbinger of good fortune, a Summer, a future, in
which these stupid hostilities have been exchanged
back to the community I envision.
Jay
Hey, hey, to the longest afternoon of this perplexing
year. Here am I, not soaking up the Solstice sunshine
before the big party, but cooking in the Diner for the
pre-festival crowd. As ever, on such special occasions,
the Diner overflows with hyped up customers who
enjoy this eating together with friends in public as
entrance to the celebration. This increase in people
requiring meals means Gus must call in relief staff.
Greta and I both support Joseph for his today
elongated shift, extra hours to take us until early
closing to relocate to the Fire Pit. That way, Terry
won't need to come in for a short shift, gets to have
a special day of play. Joseph doesn't mind the extra pay,
nor do Greta and I, who normally would not be working
here these hours. When called to come in, I left Alee,
as usual for her lately, dance trancing on the Theater
stage. She is engrossed in this ritual she believes will
reply with the answer she seeks, the path to re-light
her gift. She keeps saying she feels ever closer to her goal.
I'm not as sure of that reality, yet I do feel something like
greater energy emerging, as if from an undersea journey,
near to surfacing. Perhaps my desperate imagination, but
Jamee has quite recently said he feels it too. Maybe
Summer's beneficence will fulfill our hopes, Solstice
wishes. Here and now, at work in the Diner, I feel uneasy.
The mood is not the cheerful, hale and breezy I expect
on this festive occasion. Instead, the waves of conversation
wafting through to my ears appear agitated, even hostile,
the words "Custer says" a repeated theme. This Custer is
the one who had imperiously threatened Alee, the whole
family, when she disappointed his demand. I heard he sent
his ailing wife back to the City, while himself remaining on
this side of the River. He has been raising crowds, curious
about who he is, why this stranger berates their neighbors,
loudly, in our most populated public spaces. Then there
are the malcontents, happy for an excuse to dissent, applaud
their own opinions as they assume Custer's sentiments
reflect them. Dumb asses interfering with our annual festive
community activities, elated mood. I try to ignore their
annoying folly, concentrate on my anticipated evening to
come. I look forward to partying with my people at the Pit.
Alee will be awaiting me there, as Paul and Jamee have arranged
to take her along with them. She seemed more cheerful, flashed
an impish smile when I left earlier. Perhaps this fortuitous
shortest night will be the one we pray for.
Alee
Lights dim, quiet except for the reverent melody I sing as I
dance, slowly, swiftly, intensely, as my body leads me. I try
to discover in trance where that power on switch, magic wick
candle can be found, revived. Isn't this the shortest span of
darkness for the year, a powerful reset between Sun and
Earth? A sacred day we celebrate, open our souls to all
natural blessings, enhanced by the work we add,
adapting what we need with what we have. My people
feel a simple spirituality. We create rituals, ceremonies,
stories to aver our appreciation, pray our greatest wishes
be fulfilled. In this way, we become more in tune with who
we truly are, with the majestic Universe, Creator, Destroyer,
All That Exists. With a sparkling fondness, which doesn't
interrupt, rather ripples through my trance, I recall Solstice
parties past. Dancing, singing, around the brilliant Fire Pit,
sharing specially made delicacies, jugs of wine, pipes filled
with potent herb, as the ever morphing band radiates our
communal vibrations, players dropping in and out,
continuing the jam we, in concert, dance with. A treasured
treat we all anticipate through the days between, because,
ultimately, we love the fun, camaraderie, joyful uplifting
shared together that turn us from our everyday worries into
momentary ecstasy, what celebration is meant to be. I
anticipate this evening, feel a smile's happy glow, when
my friends and I will join in, become our part of the revelry,
free and easy community at one in exuberance. I let this
delight fill me, surround my twirling form, allow profound
peace. I need not be so intent on my mission that I forget
to take in these effulgent blessings of being alive, in touch
with what living means. Wrapped up in this reverie, I don't
know when the Theater's quiet shifted into loudness
from the entering of something like a dozen men of various
ages. Moving toward the stage, a mass of sound and fury,
I could barely make out what they were saying. Angry
epithets became more clear. What had so riled them was
less apparent, until that Upper, Custer, who had
previously tried to terrorize me and my family, made
his way to the stage to stand beside me. I stepped back,
stopped my dance, as I became aware of my less than
pleasant audience. Perhaps, in fact, they were here to be
entertained, but not by a Theater play of fantasy. They were
after an immersive experience of their own self-expressive
devising. Custer stood by, not looking at, me, scanning
his men to ascertain how to proceed with most impact.
He was not so much seething as emanating an outraged
confidence in his speech. His audience seemed quite
appreciative, punctuating his oration with screams of
assent, bitter sneers directed at me. I knew not what to do,
how I might appease them. I had done nothing to invite
such ire. They seemed to believe I was purposely
withholding what they quite obviously desired, deserved.
I knew I would not be able to penetrate their pre-decision
of what was their right, who was the villain. Still,
I courageously tried to explain I was on their side. I was
not denying them their boon out of willful meanness, or
other untoward motivation. I am simply not at this time
able to comply. I don't know if they even heard me. What
I said made no difference to their menacing demeanor.
I felt an urgent desire to cry, to release my fear. I just stood
there, looking out on these, my people, though I realized,
I truly recognized maybe one or two of them, knew them
maybe not as well as I believed. The men who stood here,
cursing, grumbling, were not among those who stood out
in our community. These were just regular guys, now
transformed, mesmerized, part of an entrained mob.
They had been brought to this state by the urgings,
exhortations of hate, infused into them by this Upper
puppet master. I had never witnessed such a display,
had no idea my people could act, their good sense nullified,
this way. Custer at last took a breath from his haranguing
monologue, turned to face me. Spit falling from his mouth,
along with his hyped up imprecations, he accused with force.
"She claims to have no energy to supply what we need from
her. Yet, LOOK! Here she dances! Obviously, she is
entertained by our tragedies. I had to send my dear,
grievously ill, Angeleen back to our home in the City
to be more comfortable, as much as she can be, knowing
her supreme hope for a cure destroyed." He points at me:
"Angeleen would be already healed, had you done as told.
All these people's loved ones could be well. You have no
right to so cruelly play with our grief. We have given you
every opportunity to relent, to be the healer we were
promised by your previous good deeds, before your
abhorrent bait and switch." He momentarily turned his
head from me to face outwardly. Anger emblazoned voice,
adding emphasis "Are we going to let her get away with
such egregious heartlessness?" he blared, not so much
question as command. I saw the mob of Barros listen,
applaud. A dire tension extended throughout the room.
Someone had turned up the Theater lighting. It was now
as bright, though harsher, than outside.
The mob, as one, moved closer to the stage where Custer
and I stood, face to face. His shoulders began to shake. Out
of nowhere, he struck me, hard. The mob cheered. He
struck again, less unexpected. Deliberately, again and again,
he struck, drawing blood across my face, amid wild applause
from below. Some, and yes, very few, jumped up to grab the
stage edge, pulled themselves up to confront me.
Apparently, walking up the stairs, as Custer had, was not
manly enough for their performance. I knew, had no doubt,
this confrontation would not end well. I knew it pointless
to yell for help. Everyone else was too far to hear, out
preparing for this evening's festivities. The Com, where
the Theater is located, was otherwise empty, with
everyone's focus on the far to the East Fire Pit. Jay would
still be at the Diner; Jamee, Bobby, Paul at the Bar, all too
far to hear voices, even screams, from the Theater. It
seems unlikely that anyone out there is aware of these
men's intentions, or, for those who know my habits,
that there is anyone here but me. My face hurts from
Custer's heavy hand. Now, these others stand within
easy reach, their faces contorted with rabid hate.
I feel weak, nauseous, plead with my brimming eyes,
my voice unable to comply with my desire to speak.
What could I say, anyway? They don't want to know
that I am a real human being, as they. They fall upon
me in concert, screaming so close to my ears,
"Fake Healer!" "Bait and switch!" "What will it take
for you to relent!" they insist, folks I had believed my
neighbors, eyes ablaze with hate. Still shrieking, they
move closer, leading with closed fists, until I fall
to the floor. I know better than to try to rise, to offer
resistance that might greater inflame them. Yet,
despite my obvious helplessness, a couple kick me
where I lay, repeatedly, as I feel my consciousness
fade.
Jamee
What a glorious day for our big party at the Fire Pit!
Done with this morning's Factory shift, I wander a bit.
to enjoy the busy preparations, the Mart ablaze with
decorations, themed wares of vast varieties. The Sun
does its part, shining above, not a cloud to be seen.
Yet, not so much a pall, a maybe less than expected
merry atmosphere, I'm sure it will all clear, as our
celebrations move forward. Getting quite warm, here
in the Summer air, I stop in to the cooler Bar for a
mug of wine, maybe to flute into the ongoing jam,
hang with the guys, regulars and some who have
dropped by to imbibe to toast the holiday. Everyone
here seems to be properly enthused. I happily engage
in light conversation, while sipping my wine. There
will be plenty of intoxication tonight, no need to
overindulge this early. I see Terry, from the Diner,
arrive. He has no shift this evening, since Gus will
be closing early to relocate to the Fire Pit. Thus,
he has Joseph taking a few extra hours, allowing
Terry to slide. Apparently, Terry, out doing errands,
has stopped in for refreshment. I signal from my seat
to come join. As he orders his wine, I notice some
agitation coming from him. He turns to face me,
smiling, but nervously, as he explains he's glad I'm
here. He has a queer incident to relate.
"I was at the Com, picking up some spare instruments
from one of the School's rehearsal rooms." I could see
he carried them in a sack, strapped across his
shoulder. He continues his anecdote: "As I left,
ambling back to the path to the Mart, I became aware
of a pack of surly men, most likely drunk, entering
the Theater. I don't know what they intended,
but I doubt it is good. Doesn't your sister hang out
there with her actor friends?"
A warning sign flashed in my mind. I feel foreboding,
a cloud enveloping my sunny sky. I immediately
jump up and run to the Theater, not knowing
what I might find. What I do find inside, is nothing
I could have ever expected. In the bright light I
witness over a dozen screaming men, brutally enraged
beyond reason. There would be no talking them down.
They surrounded the target of their ire, asserting their
desire to destroy her. Cheering them on from above,
the Upper, Custer, exercising his belief that wielding
power means inciting brutality. My sweet, loving sister,
one who would never willingly cause harm, had been
pulled from the stage where she had been innocently
dancing. It was a mob of like fifteen men, not a true
contingent of we who live here, none I consider friends.
Over the years, I'm sure I've seen them here and there,
but never like this: insane with rage. Though fifteen or
so them surrounded to terrorize, only very few
actually beat upon her. But fifteen big, strong men,
even if it was only a few delivering blows, ganged up
against one smallish young woman, already weakened
from what she has freely given, healing people in need.
I strive to move through the crowd, to get back to
where she is lying, to help her. When I am able to
reach her, I try to avert my sight, find the denial of
disbelief. All I could hear, over the angry shrieks of
these people I had thought part of our community,
was the screaming within me: Too Late Too Late Too
Late! Alee made no sound. A couple of those
surrounding her kept kicking, stomping her inert body.
Her skull broken, as well as rips throughout her skin,
oozing viscous blood. I understood, there had been no
beneficent spirit guiding us through a mysterious
journey to ultimate good. This is a Trickster, evil,
merry sprite. I fall to the floor, silently, cover my
sister's torn body with my own, trying to hug, kiss
her back to life. I barely notice, intent on Alee's missing
breath, as the men disperse, leave me alone.
Angeleen
What an amazing, glorious (is it Summer now?) day!
Sun streaming through my open window, I gaze out
to take in this perfection. My perfect sky view, birds
fly, sing arias, enchanting. Full consciousness shows
me this is no dream. First thing I notice next, no pain.
As I attempt to move out of bed, oh, my, marvelous!
No hesitation, no lassitude, fatigue; my body moves
smoothly. I am alive, lively, revived! Able again, at
last, to sing, dance, twirl like a ballerina, be me.
Overwhelmed by joy, the survival of my spirit through
such a strange ordeal. I feel not just elated, energized,
also triumphant. I know I was not responsible for my
illness, or its disappearance. To some extent, I guess,
I have been both abused and blessed -- a metaphor of
my story. While laid low, unable to express myself
to any but my active consciousness, I was far from
bitter, nor did I entertain anger against some evil
deity. Basically, I maintained equanimity, fine with
whatever I was given to adapt to. I was carefully
raised to fall back on that attitude. I was never meant
to be concerned about myself. All of me belongs
to him, my dear benefactor, Creator. I have no higher
god, or goal. While unable to fulfill what he desired
from me, he, as always, took my full focus, what little
I could give. Now, of course, I am supremely happy,
all my bright, brilliant shine revived. Gloriously
glad to resume my fairy tale, happy ever after life,
Custer provides, our beautiful folie a 'deux. I have
no idea what any of these changes mean, or if there
exists any available reason, explanation. I twirl about,
breathe deeply, my whole being a wide, wide smile.
I have never felt so overbrimming with pride, joy,
effervescence. I can't wait for Custer's face of pure
love and amazement when he returns from the
Barro, most likely tonight. I know he will be
wonderfully overjoyed to see me so vibrant, alive.
We will fuse our shared exhilaration, celebrate as
never before. What more could either of us ask, but
that the destiny Custer most elegantly mapped be
restored.
