act 4

Act 4: Hope and Joy

Alee

My mother, Julia, grew up among Gardners

who used the products from their plots

not only for food, but also intoxicants that

led to ready customers. Gramma Liz and Mom

were more studious. They took their turns in

tending crops, learned the processes of their

family's honored contribution to community,

developed through generations. Julia's older sister,

Grace, with whom she had lived between being

a dependent in her parents' home and moving

into our apt with Eli, now has the helm, along 

with her further family, mutually adopted and 

extended. Julia, in her youth, was Liz's assistant, 

became imbued with scientific persistence, passed 

forward as my sister Marta's bane and passion. 

This to say, a healing gene may have found its way 

into my DNA. Or maybe some ghost or spirit of 

beneficent intention entered me in my era of 

suspension from ordinary existence. Not for me to 

explain, but to experience. Paul and I arrive at Dory's

around mid-morning, after a short but leisurely

walk to take in the glories of high Spring.

Flowering, bright, promising, a warm enticing

energy surges through my body and mind.

Dory seems barely alive, propped on cushions

to add comfort to her encompassing chair.

She speaks softly, clearly, but in short utterance,

accompanied by a struggle of breath, profound

tiredness in her eyes. No surprise. Paul had

prepared me for this meeting. Seeing her like

this, I felt my heart beat hard. Inexorably drawn

to her side, I touched her forehead with open

hands, then grabbed her to me from behind,

standing in front of her as we moved together

closer. I felt the blood run through her arteries,

her heart rhythm, slower, but coming ever closer

to being in tune with mine. Eyes closed, I felt

my lips whisper a kiss upon her hair. I feel her

respond to my erupting care, take in greater

energy. I step back, give her space to act as

naturally inclined. She rises, at first in slow

deliberation, then as fast as one normally would.

Her smile lights us all through the electric

atmosphere. We hug and dance, all three, not

noticing when Tony, back from his shift, enters

the room, sees Dory free of affliction, joins

our revelry. Our encounter had seemed to me

almost without duration, a step into a different

dimension to play a trick on all we believed to

be real. Tony's arrival denies my assessment of

timelessness. I realize now, several hours have

passed. Wasn't my encounter with Barbara much

faster? Not for mere mortal me to understand.

Paul is concerned that I might have run down my 

reserves after applying all my energy twice in

less than 24 hours. But I feel fine, elated, unfazed

by the event I just participated in, whatever

special power I have been allowed to wield.

I want to race outside, feel the Spring shine on

my face, express this amazing grace, this

privilege visited unto me. No, Paul, don't

worry. Let's all go out and enjoy this glorious

day. Jamee must be about, and Jay. We can

fill them in on our adventure. Dory and Tony,

I know you may desire your privacy to take in

your changed condition. If you like, I invite you

to devise with us appropriate celebration, even

if it is enough to walk outdoors, maybe run into

people who have missed you, who you have

missed. We've certainly a story to tell. If you

choose time alone, we will wish you well, not

tarry. I am filled with buoyancy, and must 

move, lest I emotionally explode in embarrassing

displays. Still fairly early in the afternoon, but

today has already certainly been wondrous.

Jamee

My sister Marta, the shy humanitarian, no

not shy, busy. Too much to do to be distracted

by chatter or social interaction beyond family.

Her active intellect caught up in improving

Barro agriculture, better seeds and methods,

solutions for our human needs of nutrition,

medicinals, fabrics, bigger harvests, healthier

Gardens. As long as I've known her, all my

life since she is like nine years older, that's how

she's been. Teachers noticed, and recommended

her to be sent to Uni for a teaching researcher

career in agricultural biology and techniques.

Her passion is well-compensated by Barro

standards. Far from her motivation, still it

allows our family greater financial stability

to each express our individual passions, whether

paid or freely given. Cas, of course, devoted

spirit guide, embraces life as sacred journey.

He wafts through ours gracefully, an agent of

calm, peace, security, as he sees his role in

this amazing Universe. How would we get on

without his daily ministrations, domestic

labors on our behalf. Though his innate

spirituality seems to have had little effect on

his closest brother, Bobby. Bobby's spirit

loves to party. He follows his musical muse

through the Bar, public gatherings, private

celebrations. When not playing, or passing

skills to those interested and paying for

lessons, or while partying, just for fun, he

can be found carving instruments, drums,

flutes, pipes, as he learned from Eli, but

more artistically intricate in decoration.

His artistry seems to flow so easily, as if 

breath from his hands. Then there's me.

Had our next older brother been born alive,

Alee and I probably would not be. But,

here we are. Today I entangle with Spring,

playing my flute to the natural sounds of

birds, bees, butterflies, around the Forest's

edge, between River and trees, away from

the bustle South and East where people tend

to gather for commerce, social exchange.

Usually I would find entertainment less

reclusively, enjoy the sights, smells, music,

company, food for my voracious curiosity.

I take my fill of the stories, unique personalities, 

all the splendiferous varieties of humanity I

encounter in our somewhat small community,

boundary to my direct experience. My private

synthesis of these impressions on my

consciousness express, I guess, as a general

amiableness, happy to join in both labor and

temporary adventures, one of the guys. My

true heart, passion, though, belong to Alee

and Paul, my closest companions as far back

as I go, at least for Alee, born so close to me

that I have no memory before her.  Paul and

I became us when mere children, I but five,

he an older eight. We created ourselves

together, continue to intertwine. This morning,

they intend to meet with Dory, find answers

about my sister's newly manifest ability. Boon

or fluke, where will this twist in her story lead?

Soon we will reunite.  I will learn what has

developed.  I am not far from the Tower where

Dory resides. I play my music on the way, along

the wide path between the Gardens, to be able

to see them emerge after their meeting. From

here I can also observe ebb and flow of people

below, like a Theater show, well practiced dance.

Upward, clear, blue sky, flowers blooming on

the South side of the path, redolent of heavenly

perfume. The world blooms! Immersed in

mindless, ecstatic glow, my flute seems to play

in tune with ambient music of its own accord.

Not long until I get the word that brings me

in communion with my dearest kin. Who I am,

will be, have been continues to enjoy a glorious

mystery my intense curiosity cannot resist.

The people who make up my coterie, greater

family, always part of me, say often that I am

a welcome presence, each in their special voice.

They say I share an air of joy.

Paul

A couple of puffs on the magic pipe before I

open myself to this day, my world. Not a

habit I engage in much of my time, a luxury,

a pleasantry that might help ease me when

such occasion arises. Jamee is happy to drink

or smoke in the way he enjoys a laugh, a joke,

with the guys in social relaxation. Naturally

more quietly observant, considerate to the

point that I often hesitate to speak lest I

intrude, I do join in socially, jovially preserve

my reputation as Mayor of the full community.

Alee has her own inner space entertainment.

Still, she is always happy to party with family,

friends. Otherwise, she and Jay have no 

interest in flora-based intoxication. Marta

seems to enjoy testing her theories of euphoric 

plant product enhancement, relaxed in her bath.

Bobby, of course, is immersed in it all, gets

high while and by banging on his drums,

bellowing lyrics as they come to him,

sipping, smoking, as pipe and jug come

around.  We interact with these merriment

inducers, just part of who we are. Now,

out on the Garden path to encounter whoever

is about, Alee on my mind. Her unselfish

generosity has blessed away every bane from

those desperately ill I have found, asked her

to help. I notice Bonnie as well has sought her

aid for patients beyond her Med knowledge 

to improve. Fortunately, I suppose, so far

those have been few. Alee seems pleased with

this ability. The people she has brought relief

to shower her with loving hugs, grateful praise.

I have no doubt she experiences a special kind

of high. Perhaps it has become a gratifying

habit she does not want to break, a mutual

benefit to Alee and whoever is her current 

recipient. Jamee sometimes whispers to me

when we are alone together, he fears she may

go too far in her enthusiasm for distributing

her gift, fall back into illness herself, with no

one to cure her. Of course he is protective of

his most cherished sister. He had been her

major caretaker too many years to bear without

continued trepidation. I reassure: "Look at her,

she thrives! We won't let her override good

sense, to deprive herself of proper rest, or

neglect activities that replenish her energies

rather than deplete them." Satisfied, he sleeps,

secure from troubled dreams. It has been but

a very few weeks since Alee's healing ability

has manifested. All appears well in that regard,

so far. In this relatively small community, how

many grievously in need of healing will present

to us? Most likely, the greatest number have been

revealed.

Bonnie

My mother walked into the River while I was

away, on the other side, in the City at Uni-Med.

Learning my trade, to provide care for my

community. While in City territory I was

unable to communicate with folks back home.

I did not know of this family tragedy until

I returned, several months later. My younger

brothers had by the time of her demise

arrived at appropriate ages to be able to

work, provide for themselves. In my early

years, my family was fairly happy, normal,

secure. Then the scourge of illness, too early

death for my sisters, took its toll. Dad disappeared

into the depression of heavy grief. Overwhelmed,

he took to drink, staying out late at the Bar. He

seemed to drift away from us. Eventually he

found another home, with other broken men,

mutually befriended. Mom did her best to

sleepwalk through her obligations to her 

dependent children that remained. I escaped 

into my mind a different way. Overtaken by my 

obsessive need to find treatments, cures, in my war

against disease, I turned to study. My teachers

became impressed with this serious, studious

teen of piercing intellect. They recommended

me to attend Uni-Med. Thus my regrettable

history of childhood trauma, family drama,

goal creation and follow through found means

to be inspiration to carry me into a valuable

vocation. The whole dichotomy between disease

and healing remains my great mystery, guide

and goad. Alee, beyond her conscious mind,

seems to have been allowed a glimpse into that

secret. We have no idea how, can but behold

outcomes. Paul, as Mayor, at times gets told of

people in need of aid, by those he sees on his

daily rounds. As a Med, I occasionally get patients

for whom we have found no effective recourse.

Not every day, or even often, most of our

encounters are fairly routine, or at least within

our collective experience, knowledge of useful

treatment. Still, any one left to contend with

incurable illness is more than I can feel

comfortable about. Now we can ask Alee

to pitch in, a new resource to help us win

against this relentless enemy, disease.

Over these more hope filled weeks, she has

obviously enjoyed being of service, providing

miracles for folks in need. Melded into her

repertoire of fulfilling chores, her signature

swirl of happy activity, all appears to be

progressing well. Yet, bit by bit she seems

to be less there. I am thinking she must get

more rest between engagements, more

energy built up within her to expend in

her healing labor. Paul and Jamee, along

with Jay, her closest family, agree. We

all most certainly don't want a repeat, even

on a smaller scale, of her previous decline.

Her well being, despite the salubrious effect

she may have on others' lives, must be our

chief responsibility as her family. Cas,

aware of my concern, agrees to speak with

Alee, learn her opinion, work with her to

discover our best solution, to keep our magic

goose able to continue to supply our hoped

for gold of health restored, not just this

little while, but into a more fortunate future.

Bobby

I come from a fairly musical family. Not so

much Marta; she, like our mother, is more

a serious, studious sort, intent on her current

experiment or plan. Though, again like Mom,

she does know how to have fun, happy to

dance as music commands, if not a participant

in its manifestation. I, we, get our rhythmic

predilections, I am told by Cas, family

historian, and Dad, way back when we still had 

him, naturally from Dad's origin family, a musical 

clan. Cas has the stories memorized, happily 

shares them when asked. He likes to be a carrier 

of family narratives, enjoys unraveling those 

threads of information that he can understand 

our past, how it has led to emergent circumstances, 

who we now are. I'm more about current events, 

the this and that of local gossip, ins and outs of 

relationships. Mostly I want to be in the center 

of the rhythm, exclaiming with my drums, within 

this buzzing community as it becomes my greater 

family. Jamee and Cas, less effusive in manner, 

make use of their wood carved flutes, originally 

gifts from our father, later added to by gifts of 

mine. Each has his separate interpretations of

meditative enhancement through spontaneously

created tunes. Alee is Alee, a musical sprite,

always in movement to her inner symphony, 

melodies often expressed with lyrics of her 

self-inspired songs. Camille, happy to sing, dance, 

join in times of merriment, is more wed to other 

talents. She leaves this particular part of artistry 

to me. Her own artistic sensibility blossoms into 

marvelous beauty in her hands. And, can that 

woman organize, excite, entice, ignite, lead the 

charge to manifest projects, parties, classes, 

promotional shows, whatever ideas flow from 

her active mind. I chose a superb partner to 

complement my life. Camille doesn't speak, 

except quite rarely and then only to me, of 

her childhood family, the one she ran from 

so young, long before we met. Bits, pieces 

of that sad song, here and there I've mostly 

heard from the old boys' reminiscences,

stories from their younger days when these

events occurred. Back when Camille and I were

beginning, they thought I ought to be told about

my newly engaging special friend.  Tragedy was

her legacy, that sent her wild into escape at an

early age. That part Camille had admitted to,

proudly. She often says she raised herself, made

herself the accomplished woman she has become.

Apparently, long ago, before she was born or 

even thought of, her origin family was fine.

Carolyn and Andy, their happy toddler, Anna,

who was to become Camille's mother, a lovely

household, supported by the products of both 

parents' artistic inclinations. All destroyed one

horrid afternoon when Andy was lost to a 

tragic accident. Carolyn took to drink and herb,

she claimed medicinally, to mask her grief. Little

Anna, pretty much neglected, found dangerous

companionship once in her unsupervised

teens. She discovered she was pregnant at 15.

Two years into Camille's life, her young mom, 

unable to further bear her miserable mother's 

scorn, her own intense disappointment with 

how her world turned out to be, disappeared

one night. The next day it was learned, she had

walked into the River, drunk and alone, drowned.

Carolyn was, if anything, harder on Anna's

daughter. Camille did pick up a bit about

caring for, dressing hair, from her grandmother's

paying occupation. Early on she started hanging

out at the Mart for artistic education, watching

those creating their work for sale as they tended

their tables, analyzing aesthetically engaging

products on display. From there out, the tale

is one Camille has no problem talking about.

Yes, the buzz of gossip fills the ambient air.

It's so invasive I am often barely aware of what

I know from its ubiquitous aura. I beat my drums,

sometimes sing, share smoke, drinks, anecdotes

among band mates, all part of the jam, as folks

join in, step away. These past few days I keep

hearing, even get queried, that my sister Alee

is said to be healing people who had been ill

without hope of recovery. Did I know what

miracle medicine she had discovered? Did

I know the truth of the matter, what they

should do, from friends with loved ones

in dire circumstance. I knew not how to answer,

as Alee's escapades of late I had but vaguely 

attended to. Yes, I was aware that she had

helped Barbara, Jay's mom, Dory, and others

to wellness, conversation on this topic being

shared among my family. Maybe I might find

out more, at least give them warning of the 

relentless questions swirling about. Marta, 

when I speak with her, agrees we have become

a subject of public interest. She too has heard

gossip at the School, where she teaches.

Word is circulating throughout the community.

Perhaps we should address what is being said.

I don't know, is what is happening here 

appropriate to call a Stakeholders' Meeting?

Would it be better to just respond one by one?

I guess it's time for the family to decide how to

proceed. I am glad to pass, not have to make

these decisions, figure out plans. I'm happy to

play my bit part, beat out rhythm, syncopation

from my musician's heart, through my drums,

flutes, familial groove.

Marta

Relaxed in my bath, after the worries and

work of my day. Released from hurry, or

hurry up and wait, I have these moments to

decompress, reflect. Sophia and I are so

different in temperament, yet we click, each

giving the other what she missed to be

complete. She comes from a different place,

brings unexpected perspective. My voracious

intellect appreciates the greater range,

vicarious experience. She loves history

because she gets immersed in the stories.

I provide fascinated audience, as well as

critical eye, as she might get carried away

with fancy, rather than demand careful

analysis. Sophia, a breath of enthusiastic

movement, while I wallow in my staid

routines, we meet, infuse each other with

a healthy balance that sustains, nourishes

our separate ambitions. Even when apart, 

we share that caressing glow, deep feeling

of hearts beating together, between us. She

teaches me of my community's past, enhances

my understanding of the greater history

between her City society and here. When

she was little, her older sister, Daphne, also 

a fan of historic stories, would entertain young

Sophia with tales gleaned from her studies.

They still share that passion, stay in touch.

Thus, Sophia often spends some hours in the

Compound, not only to document her

research findings, mostly to have that time

with her sister in 3D chats through the

communications tech allowed in the opaque,

electronically protected Compound we Barros

are forbidden to access. The City wants us

ignorant of their advanced technologies, lest

we revolt, overthrow them, or otherwise 

cause them distress by imposing our exile

descendant selves on their superior

consciousness. After all, the point of us,

the Barro is to leave them in peace, Uppers

unruffled by the presence of annoyances

from the less than loyal Citysons.

Apparently their methods for treating

injuries, disease, are unimaginably more

effective than we have knowledge of, due

to technology we are forbidden. Yet, Sophia

has told me of an indigent class, also denied

the benefits of City largesse. Those the Uppers

consider unworthy, inferior Lowers, though

not responsible for disturbances that would

be cause for exile, are instead sent to bleak

domicile, the Poor Dorms. Bare dormitories,

where they are provided with unappetizing 

nutritional requirements, that the elite who 

sent them there get to feel pride about how

amazingly beneficent they are to so care for 

these useless human parasites. We have 

generously supplied food and shelter to 

these who offer no suitable return, they tell 

themselves, so humane. Down a well-trodden 

lane from their public home, those who have 

no hope, no desire to go on, make use of the 

Suicide Booths, their remains picked up by 

robots when surveillance notes a pile up, 

taken to the Factory on Barro soil, for 

processing into energy, thus worth more 

than when alive. Though in some sense 

somewhat aware of the Factory system, 

I rarely give it thought. Most of us don't. 

I doubt very many here know much about 

City ways, except, of course, for those like 

Sophia who have relocated for whatever 

reason, migrants, not exiles. The warning 

Uppers intended us to be, that Lowers not 

act up, has apparently been successful,

except for rare occasions. Yes, some who have 

come here to follow their passions or for 

particular employment may speak a bit of 

their personal City histories, adjacently 

supply information about how the City 

operates. Pretty much, as long as the Uppers 

stay on their side of the River, don't mess with 

us, we safely ignore them, return the favor, 

concentrate on our affairs, discoveries, 

relationships. Recently, my sister Alee has 

us concerned. Her usual full force commitment 

to disperse the benefit of this strange ability 

to reach into the ailing, pull away their disease, 

seems to have become ever more draining. 

She insists she is well, maybe a bit fatigued

now and then. She promises to get more

sleep, unencumbered relaxation, more

recovery between sessions, to be more

conscious of her limitations. This might have

been an adequate solution when we only

knew of a few who presented their need,

those any of us were personally aware of.

Now, however, people are buzzing about

the miraculous return to health of people

they had written off. Children at the School

even are asking questions about Alee's 

intentions.  Some have family, family

friends, they believe need her ministrations.

In this intimate community, what catches

the public interest travels fast. It is almost

surprising not to have insistent knocking

at our door, demanding satisfaction.

Perhaps that will happen. Bobby has

suggested calling for a Stakeholders'

Meeting to air everyone's concerns,

anxieties. If told the whole story, we hope

our neighbors will understand, have

good answers, or agree to discuss and

work out how we each can receive what

we need. We would meet in the Theater,

a panel of principles to explain our situation;

all wanting to participate able to take turns.

An apt plan, we sibling stakeholders assent.

Tomorrow, Bobby and Cas will get the

process started, speak with appropriate

people to arrange what will take place.

What I feel was meant to be a happy

blessing for overall benefit, has instead

become an issue, complicated. Our best

expectation is that open communication

expel agitation, make our path clear.

Jay

At the Theater, watching Alee dance, sing lyrics

we had crafted for her music. This is her refuge,

happy place, where she freely offloads overwhelming

emotions, refreshes, more restful for her than sleep.

She practically lives here, these days, the time she

takes from what she believes to be her duty, in

order to recover enough to continue to heal those

in need. She equates, accepts this ability as reciprocal 

for her recovery. What has become a greater

motivation, less beneficent, more personal,

seems to be an encroaching addiction to the

admitted pleasure she receives, entwined with

that other's mind to fight against, mend their

disease and misery. She tells me each such

experience feels unique. Its not a known

euphoria she feels each time, but always a

new thrill, a gleefully anticipated adventure.

She confides in my familiar company without 

censor, or distilling for public view, as we 

ever do, each a part of who we are. Jamee,

supreme listener seems his gift, hears her

confession as well. We are concerned, tell

her why. She heartily agrees, then flies into

exuberant reply: she is fine, happy, enjoying

the limelight, certain this immense responsibility

she takes on is to her ultimate benefit.

Certainly, it has been to mine, my sisters, 

father, most clearly to Barbara, my mother, 

herself. Where all I knew were glowers, now

she glows. She has transformed into the woman

we would have wanted to know, without 

harried unbearable sadness, anger, carried 

by her inner demons to hold her soul in a 

living hell. She has regained her place at the 

Mart, selling her wares. No longer enchained 

by irrational fears, people, she finds, can be

kind, accepting, when not chased from her

sight by her unwelcoming negation. I guess

that shocking episode that frightened us,

led to Alee's revelation, was far from

misfortune, rather a blessing. Yet, not a

blessing unalloyed. We can't allow Alee

to destroy herself out of some notion of

mission, or her mounting addiction to the

pleasure that accompanies her expenditure

of vital energies. At the Stakeholders' 

Meeting, maybe we can convince the

greater community, including those

clamoring for her aid, to help us to get

Alee to understand the necessity of

conserving what she needs to continue

both her own beloved nature and her

ability to heal ever greater desolation.

Someone among us has already made

a connection to that parable about a

goose who laid golden eggs, that I agree

applies. I hope our neighbors are wise

enough to see we share a side, no

disagreement between our mutual best

results. All I want is my chosen family

restored, even as the one I had come from

has been transformed.

Sophia

To celebrate my sister Daphne's birthday

on this late May afternoon, I remember

to claim a few hours to catch up, a pleasant

tete a tete away from work or obligations.

The drama at home can wait while I spend

this time at the Compound. Maybe by my

return there will be further developments,

a more certain plan devised. Not for me

to dwell on until then, I tell myself. I find

my happy state of mind, to give my sister

the gift we both most appreciate, time

together, even if not in the flesh. The

Compound is fairly quiet, in this

interval while most City transplants are 

at their daily jobs. I have managed to get

away for a rare playdate in the afternoon.

The walk here was refreshing,  a sparkly,

sun-filled part of Spring, when flowers

bloom, birds fly through a halcyon blue sky.

All troubles thus lifted while participating

in this relaxing scene. I am ready to tell 

Daphne, enthusiastically, what a marvelous

day she has been given to celebrate her

blessed existence, another year gone by

filled with treasures of new memories,

accomplishments, anticipation of where this

year will take you. She enjoys my effusive

nature. Close sisters, lifelong friends, even

now that those I call family has expanded to

both sides of the River. My bond with Marta

is of a different kind, strongly cherished, ever

lasting, yet taking nothing from my other

loves, pre-existing, with their own emotional

histories. How wondrous my destiny, to

shower these blessings of profound, devoted

friendships. Daphne is abuzz with excited

questions. Apparently my Barro family drama

is not so easily dismissed in this carved out

interval. When she insists I fill her in on what

has been happening here, she has no idea the

healer she speaks of is my adopted sister, Alee.

"It's on 24/7 Gossip," she exclaims, as if that

explains all I need know to provide answers.

Obviously other City workers in the Barro have,

in their conversations with old home friends, 

passed ahead this information, now circulating

throughout the community. It must have come

across as a super hot story, filled out with bathos,

dripping sentiment for this City entertainment

program to have picked up on it, to hype in

their style, engage their audience with what

passes for breaking news, that good Citysons

should stay in tune, to be well informed. 

"They had pictures!" Daphne enthuses. I

bet they did. I fear this development will not

be to our benefit. Barros, when all is said and

done, can be quite reasonable people. Culturally

entitled City folk, not so much. Daphne is

gushing that such a miraculous healer could

be a savior to the indigent, miserably living

in the Poor Dorm. She could give them a 

better option than the Suicide Booths, to free

them from otherwise untreated illnesses, allow

for possibilities to improve their futures. Of

course, my tender-hearted sister would think 

of benefiting these unwanted  City dwellers, 

though they are generally ignored by Lowers in 

better circumstance. Those who remember their

existence tend only to opine that they are

abhorrent parasites, to more easily dismiss

these people's plight. I for one don't understand

why City hierarchy demands this suffering

class. Perhaps the Uppers who devised this

plan thought it a warning to the Lowers of what

might happen to them if they were not loyal

enough servants to properly execute the work

imposed. I know from my studies, Uppers,

except for some arrogant assholes, like to think

of themselves as beneficent secular gods, wise

and generous. Yet that ancient brand of paranoia

runs deeply through their group consciousness.

I don't want to tell Daphne too much. We are

aware that these conversations are not private.

I tell her I have heard these rumors too, though,

of course, not on 24/7 Gossip, which is not 

broadcast outside the City. I see no reason to 

concern her with my Barro family happenings, 

far from the world she knows. We chatter about 

this and that, share anecdotes from work until 

it is time for us to part.  Tonight, after I relayed 

Daphne's unsettling news, expected agitation 

ensued. Alee seems chastened. The level of her

disposable energy has obviously waned 

beyond deniability. I hear soft crying from

Jamee as he holds his sister close. She smiles

to reassure him, but not with her signature

force. A sadness has taken our collective voice.

No one knows what to say. Later now, while

those who can are sleeping, my day goes

round and round through my unquiet mind.

I don't exactly understand what troubles me.

It feels a jumble of anxieties, random sentences

recalled. There is no reason for City people to

require outside healing. Despite it being denied

to the indigent, City healthcare is superlative,

ever so much better than what we have here,

in an entirely superior league from what we

are allowed. They enjoy technologies Barros

are not permitted to even know about. City folk

must see this Barro healer as mere entertainment,

a fantasy, not part of who they are.

Act 3: Healer

Act 3: Healer

Alee

They say happiness exudes from me.

Not bubbly effervescence, or even simple

glee of naivete. I am to an extent self-

contained, emit a special fantasy sheen

that colors whatever I see, makes my

world a theatrical play. Not a side effect

of my illness or recovery, this inner magic

has always been me. My closest seem to

revel in it, have no issue with appearing

on my stage, each in their way co-creators.

Thus what might be seen as unexceptional

gets enhanced as song and dance under

my spell, let loose naturally to express

indulgence in exultance. For my morning

shift at Gus's Diner, I've been replaced by 

Jay's sister, Nadia, who had worked relief 

along with Jay, Greta and others, that now

include me. We get called when the shift

cook is overwhelmed with orders, or unable

to be there for whatever reason. Jay used to

work front while I cooked, though arriving

not as early. I prepared for breakfast before

opening to customers without her presence.

She would take orders and payment, clean,

accept deliveries, keep all in order, along

with Gus, or when he was otherwise engaged.

Since he slept in a room above, he could be

wakened for emergencies, if that is where

he was. Sun high in the warm, Spring sky,

today, we are released into other activities 

since no shift looms. At the Mart we find

Jamee, also free, having switched back to his

early shift at the Factory, since his time no

longer is divided to tend to my necessities.

Many have asked me what it was like while

I seemed so distant, unable to participate in

much communication, hours alone, quiet,

wan, almost a ghost. For me, then, real life

was but a distraction from the stories I saw

in my mind, loud enough that my body's

pain, suffering, got drowned out to a major

extent. As days became months, years, I

learned to manage as if I looked down from

a separate plane. Jamee kept me sane, connected,

amazed by his grace, never appearing fazed,

or other than my joyfully loving brother,

eternal friend. Sophia regaled me with histories,

dramatically rendered, as practiced in her

classroom, to grab and hold attention. She

showed me plots and characters from our

past to add, expand my inner theater's repertoire.

It was not so bad, except for all the time,

opportunities, I keenly believed lost to me

forever. I have always been naturally active,

maybe overly expressive, not the retiring type.

I felt, when I let myself, locked down, held in

a devil device against my will. I now carry no

regret, but know, deeply, strongly, that I never

want to feel like that again. Cas, our family

mystic, says I've been through an alchemical

trial, to expect to be changed profoundly, though

he doesn't know how at this stage. I am glad

to be happiness exuding Alee, aloft with love,

relief, buoyancy, lifted from a well of grief for

former abilities, now I've reached the other, 

better side. I know, at least, what not to take

for granted. Every little interaction, exchange

of energy, beams of Sunshine, smell of rain,

squishy mud, each exhilaration, are blessings

to be fully inhaled, expressed, appreciated with

profound respect. Yet, may I not forget in all

this emotional soliloquy to live lightly, entice

with gaiety, let loose laughter, camaraderie, let

it all shine through me, the Alee they all love,

well and happy, their living miracle.

 

Jay

No, Alee and I aren't attached, as some might

imply.  We have our separate romances, amply

discussed, criticized within intimate observation.

We have our unique activities, follow individual

passions, obligations. Yes, we share a special

relationship. Mutual confidantes, partners in

mischief, soul mates of a sort. Of course, Jamee

and Paul also hold her close, Jamee sometimes

closer than I. Yet, we are always there for each

other as needed.  Playmates, work mates,

co-creators, ever up for fun, commiseration,

inspirational or silly conversations, best friends

forever.  Today, beauteous mid-Spring, between

our Kitchen shift and Theater choreography session,

Alee brings us to her current bedroom, the big

one they moved her to due to the attached bath,

when they knew she would need attentive, direct

care. We came here so she can shower, change to

lighter wear, while I do a quick edit to our

recorded script for theatric development, before

also changing to a more flowing costume for

ease in dance. Not an ignorable text, but a loud

annoying ring from my phone insisted I respond.

My next older sister, Greta, blubbered that Mama

was experiencing something seriously wrong.

"We don't know how to help," she confided.

We are all quite aware of Mama's vendetta against

the Clinic's Meds. Only one floor above us, I told

Alee what Greta told me, and we quickly ran to

see just what was up. Mama, pale, twitching

uncontrollably, unaware that we were there.

Calling Bonnie, at least to provide what information 

she as a medical professional had was my initial 

impulse. Alee, meanwhile, leapt to Mama's bed, 

humming softly a soothing tune. We witness, 

Greta, Nadia, and I, Alee wrap her arms around 

Mama's back and shoulders, touch foreheads, 

her eyes closed. Tears seemed to squeeze onto her 

lashes. I heard her murmur, so quietly I could not 

discern her words.

We watch silently, unable to do more, in a sense

enchanted. Bonnie knocks, enters, finds us in 

Mama's room. Neither of the two in their seeming

trance move, or even glance in our direction.

Bonnie is already upon that astonishing scene.

She touches Alee, who turns, takes her hand,

eyes now widely smiling. Mama rises. She is

well, almost glowing with health. Her manner

subdued, confused, but only quite mildly

disturbed, more like suddenly finding you are

not overwhelmed in a realm of ghosts, spiteful

demons. Right here, right now, clear-minded,

protected by friends and kin, her voice, as if

from a place of awakening, calls us near, calls

us dear, tinged with obvious grateful love.

This is not the Mama I remember, even from

yesterday, from all my days as rebellious

daughter. This is not the woman who raised me

to believe myself nothing but a burden, best

ignored when not the immediate focus of

wrathful paranoia. Yet she is strangely familiar,

maybe someone my child mind had glimpsed

once in a while, a woman that could have been

a rendition, who might have raised me differently.

Who would I be then? Alee is a'glee, merry in the

attention her healing has elicited. She adoringly

reminds me that our bond is dominate, scoops

me up in her happy dance. Witness to a 

circumstance I would never have imagined,

glad that this, I guess miracle, happened.

Still I wonder how, why, what will become of

it? Not my nature to fall to optimism. My life

familiarly a chaotic mystery, I am not given to

taking good fortune at face value. Clearly,

though, we are all experiencing an amazing

day. May as well celebrate. Bonnie assures us,

all is well in hand. She calls on Clinic staff to

facilitate Mama's admission for examination,

now those paranoid fantasies have fully faded 

as Mama's intrinsic motivation. Alee and I

cannot wait to tell Jamee and Paul all about

our excellent, outrageous adventure. By

now they should be home, downstairs.

Jamee

My beloved sister, it seems has brought us

all in to populate one of her fantasies.

We could not have foreseen such a salubrious

eventuality. Our happy clan, despite past

trauma, do what we each can to give back,

to honor the blessings of our community.

Has Alee's new ability been bestowed to

increase her, and by extension our, power

to serve? Cas might better understand, with

his spiritual inclinations. He tends to see what

we do subsumed within a bigger plan. Not

for me to know. I just hope Alee's recently

revived energy is not too taxed by her act

of healing another's, Jay's mother's, disease.

Paul has been pensive since Alee and Jay

regaled us with this amazing occurrence.

Giddy, emotionally high, they spoke over

each other, bringing Paul and I into their

small coterie of those in the know. No doubt,

Bonnie, once she has taken care of her Med

responsibilities, will tell us of the aftermath,

what she thinks it all means. I am thinking

this a good evening for an extended family

dinner meeting, maybe a celebration to

honor Alee's brave action, Barbara's health.

At least we can talk, give thought to this

unexpected development, because, as a

closeknit family, what affects one affects

all.  I text around my invitation, only

saying that there is a matter of importance

to discuss, and, dinner's on us. Then Paul

and I decide how we will expand our meal

that all attending may be well fed with

appetizing cuisine. Alee and Jay, too

filled with elation to stand still, hug and

twirl, swing each other, laughing,

singing, making faces, generally being

them, but much more energized than

I've ever seen. My concern that Alee

might be depleted after her act of

healing is apparently without

corroboration. I allow myself unbridled

happiness. People are arriving to

discover what I asked them here to say.

Alee and Jay, still high from their

experience, fly out at once to share

their news. Sophia, Marta, Bobby, 

Camille, and Cas (the kids left to play

next door while their parents find out 

what has happened, before they get 

called over for dinner), each in their own

way react. Dazed, bemused, curious,

congratulatory, every one hyped, whether

silent or bubbling over with emotion.

I have yet to find a calm moment to

reasonably speak. Into the thick of

this bubble, Bonnie, our trusted source

of educated medical authority, arrives.

Bonnie

My family certainly wants answers.

Am I not their professional Med?

Even when their prejudices or

lived experience lead them to believe

differently from me in some instances,

I, and those I affect, count on my

intelligence, education, years on the

job. I still evidence those qualities that

got me noticed, now long ago, by

my teachers. I like to think I pass

forward what I have learned, use

my skills to help where I can,

people distressed by disease, injury.

My goal achieved, embarked upon

as a teen who had seen, shared in,

the suffering my dear older sister

endured until she could no more,

the ripple effects on my parents,

brothers, me. We had been mostly

happy before Tara fell ill. The

stable ground we expected transformed

into sand. Several months after

Tara's passing, our youngest, Louise

was born, but to last less than a

year. It had been a difficult gestation

and birth, complicated by our

mother's dispiriting grief. As it

eventuated, my parents no longer

felt the necessary connection to

go on together. Dad moved out to

a different Tower. Mom did what

she had to, to be a mother to the

children still dependent. My lesson from

this family tragedy was that I needed

to learn to be a healer, discover cures to 

replace the misery of those afflicted

with sickness, injury.  I told myself

over and over that this is my mission.

When Alee seemed lost to us, I could

find no cause after medical tests. Yes,

I felt frustrated by the limits of what

I knew to do, based on my training and

subsequent evolving knowledge. Just

another as yet mysterious disease yet

to be identified, was my assumption.

Today, the way she was able to move

to Barbara's assistance, heal with touch,

intention, transference of grace, clearly

I am out of my league. There is so very

much in this Universe, even in this little

world, that I, we, have yet to begin to 

understand. Or do the City Uppers have it 

all in hand, keep the greater knowledge

theirs to appear invincible? Maybe a bit

from each conjecture, or another I've yet

to guess. What matters here is rather that

within the mystery we have been presented,

our Alee seems to have awakened from

whatever kept her down with greater 

ability than what had been at her command.

What can I say to my gathered family to

allow them calm acceptance of this 

unexpectable development. It is not my

place to speak of Alee's achievement. I

have no special medical explanation.

We are examining Barbara at the Clinic.

Perhaps the information we seek will 

be revealed. I tell that to those here, assure

I will share what I learn. Meanwhile, we

can enjoy our meal and conversation.

We have every reason to believe this

healing a blessing, especially for Jay,

Nadia, Greta, even their older sisters,

their father, of course Barbara herself.

Alee has always seemed a magical being,

overflowing with the need to express her

active imagination, inborn grace. We

sorely missed that strong, delightful

presence these past four years of her

essential absence, unnatural silence.

Yes, we spoke to her quiet form, assumed

she heard. On occasion she would muster

up a few words that leant credence to

such assumption. Overjoyed that we 

again get to act as happy, enthralled

audience to her exuberance, this further

unanticipated turn of events may be but

a glimpse of what is yet to unfold, or,

it could be only its own instance, fueled by

Alee's devotion to Jay. We await fullness of 

impact, result, as we would whatever befalls 

us, affects us as people connected through 

mutual love. 

Camille

Yes, Bonnie will make it all make sense.

I have the deepest respect for my sister of

circumstance. Her manner of calm intelligence,

exactly what we need when agitated by

surprise emergencies. Bonnie and Cas feel

like my kin, siblings from other mothers.

We have been together, created our home,

are raising our kids, for like half of our

lives, if not from our beginnings. I never

want to speak or think about mine. All

that time when child I was becoming the

Camille I would be, was far from happy.

Why go there? Eventually I broke free,

made myself a merrier model. Found an

older friend happy to take me in for

companionship, and various chores.

I learned to support myself, selling my

art at the Mart, fashioned from Rec Center

materials and supplies I figured out how

to devise, or getting paid for temporary 

tasks here and there. I learned to distill dyes,

paints from common Garden and Forest

plants, in craft studio space, using tools

there provided by the Upper grant to

sustain the School. I knew Barbara to

an extent back then, through her oldest

daughters who she sometimes supervised

in selling her knitted products. Gwen and

Rebecca, from that acquaintance became my 

friends. They eventually moved in with Laura 

and me, once Barbara's crazy became more 

than they were willing to continue to bear. All

to say, I am amazed by her recovery. I 

never wished her anything but well. Still

it galls me that sweet, adorable Alee,

yes I know, so thankfully returned, gets

to be heroically cast as if she had manifested

some well developed skill, not merely a

recipient of a marvelous gift that allowed 

this apparent miracle. Yes, of course, she is 

the baby of the sibs, generally has been a 

merry presence, that lifts spirits, naturally 

kind, generous. Yet, aside from her parents' 

tragic demise, and, of course, her years of decline, 

she has always been blessed by her loving family,

her creative abilities, the abundant sunshine

she has seemed to spread, that endears her

to friends she easily inspires. It's not

jealousy. Bobby, my work, my kids, (including

Diana and Julia), my found family, are

everything to me. No one had ever cared,

loved me as Bobby does. He has courted,

welcomed me, generously, tenderly, been

my previously undreamt of support, partner,

confidante, playmate, my person with whom

I resonate, navigate the world. Back when I

seemed defined as rebelliousness, based on

well-founded fears of rejection, I had no idea

such love, security, would ever be a possibility.

I don't begrudge Alee her friends and family,

the magic aura she exudes. I do detect a

supercilious superiority from her, too.

She has not earned through hard, directed

work, bit by bit built skill, her artistry. Her

creative abilities, imaginative flair have

always just been there for her to share,

exult in. I get that for so long we thought her

lost to us. I'm sure she believed herself

beyond repair. Of course I am glad to have

her back in all her glory. It's just that our

stories, so widely divergent, converge

here with Alee cast as the conquering hero,

worthy of worship for what has occurred

to her, without her plan or effort, or in the

case of her unwanted vacation, consent.

Despite all my hard-earned accomplishments,

beyond Bobby's ever endearing appreciation,

applause, I mostly go unnoticed. Yes, they

enjoy, respond with loving delight when I

fashion their hair, gift them with artistically

enhanced wearables. They accept me, as I present

to them with welcome, even respect. A kid

who never got enough positive attention, I guess 

I continue to feel a deficit.

Paul

My mind moves as it does, as if surveying

a puzzle. When pieces click I see a picture,

sometimes a plan. Nothing grand, but

how to fit needs with reciprocal fulfillment,

facilitate beneficial meetings, bridge between

what has been, and what could be better.

My job, more my calling, fits this temperament,

gives me greater ability to spread what

service I may provide. Alee, so dear to me,

beloved sister and friend, always amazes.

She and Jay, filled with excited glee, tell

us their tale of heroic rescue. Jay exclaims,

her mother is somehow cured: "I've

never seen her so clear, so normal, before!"

Poor almost motherless Jay, at least going

forward they may be able to forge a loving

relationship. Jay has successfully become

her own brand of joy, over the years we've

known her, as she has grown into one of

our clan. Would a demon-free Barbara

have given her a more propitious start?

Apparently, we all carry scars, obstacles,

bad memories, once we've been around

long enough, or even as legacy, pain,

hopefully balanced by pleasure, loving

company. I have for years been visiting,

in my daily Mayoral wanderings, Dorothy,

Dory for short, a fondly recalled teacher of

each of us old enough here. She has been

suffering ever more intense debilitation from

a cruel progressive disease, apparently

genetic, because previously seen in decedent

members of her exiled family. No longer

able to put forth labor, nor at this stage take

care of her own needs, her devastated life

partner, Tony, does what he can for both

of them. He continues his job as Clinic

Auxiliary, brings in Credits to afford Dory's

comforts, provides her necessary care with

simple adoring devotion, tries to shield her

from his emotional despair. They have no

progeny or other close relations. Their world

has been their service to our community.  

They deserve more, a reward of grace to

restore their ability, their joy in giving,

to continue that formerly happy destiny.

Have I been given a way to test Alee's

mysterious power, while possibly

allowing Dory a cure? I will discuss

this tonight with Jamee, is my go to

inclination. He can advise what I may have

missed, or suggest further information.

Yet, here we are gathered to take in this

emergent situation. I can throw open my

plan to the whole clan for conversation,

before any decision is reached. Alee seems

interested. she and Jay, still busy giggling,

appear to respond with whole hearted 

affirmation, a desire to try, without hesitation. 

We all remember Dory's kind and cheerful 

preparation, our educational foundation. 

She offered not only subject classes of facts, 

practice to perfect basic skills. We were also 

imbued with a  values permeation, learned  

social responsibility, that we grow our

individual abilities to the benefit of our

greater community. Sophia, a fellow teacher

at the School, tells us Dory has generally

been well regarded among the staff. "She

was always ready to help, no matter how.

Genial, collegial, not one to merely do her

job, then leave for leisure activities, Dory

clearly genuinely enjoyed all the aspects of 

her vocation. She has been missed. Yet, we

never think to visit her. That will be fixed."

Sophia has spoken, apparently a further

affirmative. We all agree, Dory and Tony

need to be informed of our plan, asked if

they wish to proceed. I am happy to act,

once again, as go-between. Alee wants to

know if she ought come with me, re-introduce

herself to Dory, since they have not known each

other for some time. I am of the opinion that

that would be fine. Even if no solution 

eventuates, our visit could perhaps act as

a distraction from what loneliness adds

to Dory's affliction.

Sophia

I remember Dory welcoming me, that first day

of my position, teaching at the School. Yes,

everyone was welcoming. I was not ignored,

nor hazed, but treated as I expected to be by

as yet unnamed colleagues. Dory's welcome

was special. I have witnessed it since with

subsequent arrivals. Fond, almost a

conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes, she

makes it clear we all belong here in our

common enterprise, providing the best

education, that each younger generation

thrive, usefully communicate, based on

lessons shared, skills inculcated. An

undeniably kind soul, and fun, any one of

us would unhesitatingly attest. Even after

these years since she has been here, well

remembered. I should certainly make sure

to visit now that I am reminded she still

lives near. Tomorrow Alee and Paul will

suggest their experiment. I don't want to

interfere. What if this healing blessing is

real, if Dory were returned to her previous

glory, reunited with her inborn teacher's

rightful self-expression? Wonders do exist,

despite our human limitations in understanding.

Tomorrow, while Paul and Alee visit Dory,

Marta diligently as always engages with her

calling, after my morning class at the School,

I intend to go to the Compound, interface with

my sister, Daphne. Though she is over two years 

older, we have always been closer than that

span would imply. We share passions for

learning history. As little girls we founded our

secret binary society, where grown-ups, older 

brother, Jeff, most especially, were kept out. 

She is now a researcher/professor at the City 

Arts and College Complex, called the Center, 

her childhood dream. Unlike me, she's had no 

interest in leaving City friends, conveniences. 

Cradle to grave surveillance, no big deal, since 

her research is always approved. Never rebellious,

happy to stick to the unwritten rules, a price

easily paid to avoid making waves, enticing

unwanted attention. Private in her manner

seems enough to elicit the space she desires,

while she concentrates on her work, personal

relationships. I, of a more flamboyant nature,

am happier here, where I can be more me,

without fear of censure. Thus, I do attempt to

be circumspect when in the Compound,

technologically cut-off from Barros' entrance,

where full AI surveillance reigns. Of course,

when I communicate with Daphne, or

others I knew in the City, including Jeff,

Mom and Dad, I do my best to be circumspect,

stay within guidelines of appropriate

conversation. I know there is constant

monitoring, a major feature of City life.

All these years of being free to express

spontaneously, means I must be careful

not to forget where I am when beneath

City skies. Even the popular streamed

entertainment, 24/7 Gossip, may without

compunction, often does, relay what may

have, for the participants, been considered 

private information, complete with

pictorial confirmation. Yes, there are 

compensations like arts, culture, appropriate

education, advanced medical advantages,

(though the gold standard life extension

procedures and practices are only allowed

to Uppers, jealous of their pre-eminence),

endless opportunities to enjoy lifestyles that

suit. Despite these enticements, I prefer to

take root in this more primitive, less glitzy,

milieu. I feel at home with my Barro family,

love the research I get to do, this society of

simple pleasures, work as service within a

reasonable community, even if tragedies,

preventable with City technology, occur.  

Apparently, so do wonders unaccounted for

in City records or legends, or what I've

discovered here so far.

Cas

I know I can be seen as other worldly, not

withdrawn, drawing from within. My intuition

guides me. My practice of permanent meditation

keeps my mind at ease, exudes that aura of

calm, deliberate, peacefulness my somewhat

manic family can depend upon. Events of

late have increased their need. Yes, a complete,

unalloyed blessing when Alee became her full

self again, but even with all that joy, an

unsettling shock. Now that this healing ability

has been revealed, however it develops, the lot

of us feel to some degree rocked, unsteady about

the solidity of our expectations. I admit to some

unspecified trepidation. Not one to question

Divine intervention, rather I cultivate authentic

acceptance of whatever occurs. Yet, I still have 

natural fears and hopes. I am a man, not some 

devotional saint. Today I take in this expansion 

of understanding, ponder its meaning,

possible repercussions. Seated at our family

table, replete in memories of meals past, I smile

gently, humbly, reach out to silently embrace

each in turn, Jamee, Alee, Jay, the others having

stepped out to attend to their own affairs. I

hold Alee dearly, find the depths of her eyes 

with mine. As always, my baby sister fills me

with a happy reverie just to see her here, fully

present. Again a force of nature, perhaps an 

unwitting volunteer, messenger from some 

author of destiny, for not just her or us here, 

but everyone, everywhere. My envisioning, 

not based on reason, logic, tells me, just let 

whatever unfolds spin its own tale. Tomorrow, 

Alee and Paul will fill in the next installment of 

what is to become of this story. Maybe what 

happened with Barbara was a fluke, a one-time 

cosmic joke that gods may laugh about our 

confusion. From deep in my heart, I speak to 

Alee. I offer blessing and calm acceptance of 

what may transpire. I explain her only 

responsibility is to act as inspired, as before.

She is not in charge of whether anyone is cured.

She is a vessel, a dispenser of medicine, not the

source. She smiles, arises, pirouettes and bows,

grabs up we three in broad embrace. For this

instant, we become a dance of grace and flowing

love.  Blissful, this is my happy place, among

those I most closely carry, including family just

now outside my view. These people are my

true home. Never a chore to care for, the pinnacle

of my desire is to provide as they need. What 

better life could there be for me? Paul and Sophia 

return to join our after dinner dance. Marta is still 

soaking out her day's frustrations in a relaxing bath. 

Bonnie, Bobby, Camille, and the kids have gone next 

door, into their evening activities. I imbibe the peace 

as we each allow our comforting distractions to release 

us from nonproductive agitation, dissipate heightened

excitement, that we might find restful sleep, in the 

fullness of time, that we may be re-energized

to take on what tomorrow may bring. I kiss my

little sister, give bright smiles all around, as I move

to retire to the room Bonnie and I share. She will

trim my hair as prelude to commingling. See, we

are a happy, normal family, going about our happy,

normal reaction to mystery. I do remember Dory

as the kind of warmly giving person so very not

deserving what has befallen her. I sincerely hope

my sister can overturn her misfortunate fate, let

her retake her rightful place, regain what we all

have lost as a community created by all who serve.

Act 2: And So It Goes

Act 2:  And So It Goes

Alee

Not one to follow a plan, I flow through my

present circumstances.  After all that regrettable

fallow time, I  am ready to try out the various 

bits of my former life, to discover what fits the

new, the now.  Jay, my trusty sidekick of yore,

again, together as we belong, merry tricksters at

play, or comfort when those occasions of serious

nature occur.  I hope my neighbors carry only

fond memories of our high jinks, are happy to see

us about in their midst as before.  Gus agrees to

me joining his back-up cook list, though he has

a full complement.  Jay's sister, Nadia got promoted

to my shift when I disappeared.  Her sister Greta and

she have continued to back up as well, though Jay

has given up her service shift to a younger worker

I've not yet met.  The Community Center, generally

shortened to Com, home to the School and Theater,

along with its myriad rooms for other uses, comes next.

The Theater, as always, calls me, my second home for

so long, where I can dance and sing, create marvelous

fantasies for the flock to perform, where I haven't a care,

just a sort of ecstasy from breathing that, to me, hallowed

air.

Then on to volunteer at the Kitchen, two-hour shifts for

a pittance paid in Barro Bucks from the tax taken in rent

and payment for Community goods by those who can

afford it, along with a free meal of what our work provides 

for those who can't. After meal preparation, Jay and I

grab a cart to carry our share of food to deliver, to their 

Tower apts, to those who can't get about due to disabilities,

who have no one to do for them. While visiting to give

them sustenance, we love to hear their stories.  We offer

the news of the day, help them feel connected.  If we see

they need medical assistance, I call Bonnie at the Clinic.

She sends a Med to discern how to proceed.  Then, we

continue on to feed each next on our list. Once our day's

work has finished we play, make up scenarios as we wander

our terrain, often accompanied by friends who enjoy the

game.  Finally it's time to head home for dinner, family

chatter, catching up with Jamee, Paul, maybe Sophia and

Marta, whoever of our clan happens to be there. Jay has

long since been part of us here, where she has always felt

more at home than upstairs with her mother and sisters,

now mostly on their own, except for Nadia and Greta, the

two next older to her, who have stayed to continue to

take care of Barbara, their erratic Mom.  Jay officially

lives there, too, but rarely appears where she never felt

she belonged. She is perennially welcome here, and with

other friends, as well, sleeps wherever she is when that state

overwhelms conscious activity. She likes to encourage

serendipity by not following plans, acting as each moment

demands.  Dinner and concomitant conversations done,

we return to my happy place, my Theater home. Tonight no

performance looms, just uninhibited fun.  A lovely day, early

in mid-Spring, now softly closes, in readiness to merge

into the next. My future unforetold, what I do know, what

feels like peace, though friends, family, community have

moved on through their destinies, filled any hole my absence

left, I am still and always a part of them, they of me. How

we play out day by day may be a mystery, right now I

feel fine.

Jamee

I am not only about my close ties with Alee and Paul.

I guess I tend to be seen as a follower, though certainly

there are those who know me as Jamee, a man of my

own predilections, motivations, merry company. My

days have several components, with others and alone.

A regular shift at the Factory helps keep me physically

on track, where I get to see, throw about facts and

philosophies, with co-workers who expect me as part

of our routine. At last freed from the need to spend hours

attending to Alee's survival, I can return to my generally

more peripatetic lifestyle.  Yes, I often accompany Paul

on his rounds to keep tabs on his people, their urgencies,

aspirations, to determine how his knowledge of resources

might assist. I enjoy the engagement in conversations, 

gentle ribaldry.  My raging curiosity happily discovers

all those disparate bits that bind into glorious stories,

who each of us ultimately is.  Pleased for these opportunities

to wander my world, look in here and there,  find where

I may be of aid, join in games, converse on subjects both

small and wide, why would I desire any other life, now

that Alee is back, fully part of our world, my grief released.

There's always music to enjoy, accompany.  Usually I carry

my flute on my journeys, riff on some tune of my own, or

with other players I come upon, impromptu concerts to fill

our common air, often promoting impromptu dance. We

Barros can be a happy lot, given little encouragement.

In inclement weather we have the Bar to relax in, play on

the stage, dance with abandon on the hard wood floor.

Of course, wine and weed for purchase enhance our 

camaraderie, good cheer. Not that we need intoxication

beyond the shared exhilaration, together here, outside

from our current cares, at one with simple fun.   Some

nights the Theater flock plays for audience. Paul and I

like to attend, enjoy that experience with the others

present from the community, watch Alee in her element.

Song, dance, theatric stories that express full emotionality,

gifts from our thespian neighbors, friends, family, we 

recompense, when flush enough with tips left in a box on 

the bar for that purpose, along with a separate box to tip 

the staff. After Theater night, we might go for a bite at Gus's 

Diner, where Jay and Alee are often cooks early in the day. 

Now they have transformed into customers of others' 

culinary fare. No need for the fancy atmosphere of the 

Restaurant, available for special occasions that want more 

rarefied celebration. Tonight's Diner menu is exactly what 

we desire after the show.  Eventually, Paul and I retire to 

home to gift each other every attention. Alee and her flock 

of theater friends have gone off to their own adventures. 

I reflect, a simple soliloquy, a tale of charm and grace, as 

my lifelong lover says I spread wherever I alight. Finally 

the night carries me to dreaming while another day awaits.

 Paul

It always renews me to look into my dearest love's deep

green eyes. I feel as if I gaze into the sea, though I've

never seen one.  I  suppose it to be much like our River,

but greatly more immense, with no discernable end,

as with Jamee and me, our profound bond. I admit

way back when we first each became aware of the

other, when I was but eight, Jamee merely five, that

part of his appeal was his big, beautiful family, so

different from mine.  His people seemed a pantheon

of love and fun.  Even their public spats were more

like theater than actual disturbances in their

obvious mutual regard.  My parents' home offered

no refuge or warm welcome, no squabbling siblings

to count upon.  Mine are sour folks, not salty sweet.

I tend to think they got together to, like some folie

a' deux, enjoy the treat of mocking everyone not them.

Better to think on today's pleasures, not dwell on

what has long been misfortune past.  My official

role as Barro Mayor, paid in kind by those with goods

or services I find useful to meet my modest needs,

chief among them, caring for my aging mom and dad.

I do look in on them, though more rarely now that they

are independent of that necessity, hear their demands,

mollify, implore them to act more kindly toward neighbors

who come by to help out, be less of an unpleasant

chore.   My work, far from onerous, allows me to be

generous with my abilities and time.  I get to wander

my world to find what needs doing, who needs

guiding, where I  can interfere to improve, or instigate

initiatives to enhance our communal lives, both

overall and one by one. On many of those tours,

Jamee joins me, adds his open-handed generosity,

amiable curiosity. People seem to well respond

to our genuine interest.  In instances of dire emergency,

they feel assured that we will readily, effectively

provide in every way we can be of aid.  I get to extend

the empathetic man I naturally am to my community.

How could I feel other than blessedly fulfilled?

Now that dear Alee is again her rambunctious self,

my blessings more brightly than ever bloom.

Early dawns, before our outward looking day

begins, in our, to me, sacred room, I gaze lovingly

into Jamee's deep green sea. Every morning,  I am

thus renewed to engage with all the dramas and

joy of my privileged employment, my chosen

intimates, a world that is my home.

Sophia

They say I've gone native. Though, of course,

Barros are not native to this land, not originally.

I've gone free, to be, to become, me, as I choose.

Happy to have the grace of the gods to exchange

a City existence for this vibrant, even often exciting,

more natural life.  Free of constant surveillance,

the need to appear as if in a restrictive public

square at all times, I am here the Sophia I could

previously only see in fond fantasies, safe from

the probing AI eye. I have always been fascinated 

by stories of the past, tracing relevance, aligning 

the bits and pieces that make a history. Granted

a teaching position, research permissions, a decent

City credit salary for this less expensive economy,

in relation to what native help is paid, I do well,

and perhaps some good. All I am intent on learning,

eventually teaching to my students, the Barro

story, my enduring passion to discover, I am here

able to teach myself. This inquiry demands I pursue,

by inspiring trust through empathy, deep, probing

conversations with those old enough to remember

even older relatives, mentors, whose tales they

pass forward.  I get to wander this once to me

foreign terrain, explore architecture, City bequeathed

and Barro erected, the more temporary structures

made for everyday commerce, the personal projects

that last as social institutions derived from private

business dreams.  I imbibe, explore derivations of

customs, examine those intricate strands, as if weaving

a vast mural behind my eyes. I know I am a 

romantic. Far from interfering with my astute

reasoning that captures and combines every scrap

of evidence I find, in narratives, explorations, suppositions

analyzed for nuggets of fact to be mined, my tendency

toward imaginative fancies adds to my overall

ability to understand and continue to piece together

what was. What an exhilarating place I have found!

By now I have gathered luscious fruits of these

opportunities that I can share.  More importantly,

I have become a blessed member of my adopted

Barro family. They keep me in touch, in merry tune,

with the intimate facets of my personality. Marta

and I, so different in our styles, outward facing traits,

Somehow, we are each the completion the other

needs to bloom into all of our potential beauty.

Who we have become together grows day by day,

into a better forever. Love and duty, both for me

seem like enthusiastic play. Marta and I, though

co-existing at the City Uni-Teacher's Division,

never met then. Barro and City students were kept

separate, to deny too great a chance of untoward

communication. We met here, in our capacities as

faculty at the School, shortly after we began our

tenure, when still quite young, close to 21, less than

a month it turns out between our births. From the

start, we had endless thoughts to share, were

amazed by how immediate and intense our mutual

care, understanding became manifestly obvious.

Her family pulled me into their heart. My parents,

siblings had given me sound foundation for who I

was then yet to be.  Not effusive, but loving, basically

kind, if at times arrogant, intelligent, responsible,

fine models, mentors for an academic career. I

sometimes  am in touch, from the Compound

communication platform, with one or another of

them, share anecdotes from both sides, tell them

how I'm faring, get to hear about what is important

to them. City Compound cut off from the Barro

in which it stands to the far South, on the River,

surrounded by a high tech opaque fence so none

can see in, screened against entrance by any but

City approved immigrants that we may temporarily

enjoy the benefits of City engineering, including

the ability to communicate with people still in

the City.  Of course the price is AI surveillance

within its confines, as in any City designated place.

Thus I only tell my City family only what I safely

may. Not the way I would choose to be restricted,

out here where I have the chance to be authentic.

Well over a century back, the Barro, not yet named, 

was but a strip of unmanned land, cleared of its 

natural forest by massive fires while Earth was 

erupting against us, as within the what would 

become City parameters, across our wide, 

winding River. The Uppers, those of self-proclaimed 

divine right, once they had arrived, with their chattel

and technologies, quite obviously in charge of

how things would be,  didn't want to be bothered

by Lowers lacking obeisant loyalty.  They decided

to exile those unwanted nuisances to that barren

space emanating from the River's other shore, to

find ways to survive, or die. By long, lazy habit,

that practice has continued, including  a policy

of diverting potential refugees from the greater

world of survivors, trying to find a possible new

home, after the changes that made so much of

our planet less welcoming to humanity. Over

these vast decades, Upper enthusiast improvements

have added their influence to how we have

evolved into today. There are still some few forest

dwellers subsisting, as they have learned to on

what they can forage or kill. Most of us live within

the ubiquitous Garden paths, housed in the

Towers, hi-rise hovels as they are often fondly 

called, erected by Barro labor with materials,

tools, specific blueprints provided by some Upper

project plan. Concomitant, the Clinic was built,

back when the idea of using Barro descendants as

soldiers against possible invasion by violent refugees

instigated a project to advance their health,

strength, stamina, and numbers, thus abortion

methods were  not taught in Med education.

The Clinic was filled with appropriate tools, furnishings, 

for medical necessities, at first staffed with City Meds 

specifically trained to ancient practices to deny us 

access to their advanced technologies.  While there 

was no AI surveillance, as per Upper policy of 

ignorance in regard to Barro doings, City workers 

could not be sure their colleagues would not tell on 

them if they deviated from expectations.  Thus need

for the Compound, to facilitate such communication, 

was perceived and made to be. As it turned out, no

violent invasion occurred.  Exploding drones were

sufficient to repel those with hopes of immigration

to the City. Occasional stragglers simply got diverted

to the Barro. Still the Clinic survived, thrived as Barro

pearls were selected to train as Meds for their own,

still by precedent policy paid in Creds by a City open

grant.  Bit by bit locals were able to serve as Auxiliary,

do the work to support the Meds, also paid through

the Clinic resources. Decades later, the Community

Center, the Com, was conceived. It was the result of

a group of bored Uppers devising an architecture

project to include a School to teach basics, give Barros

the training to do the jobs now needing to be filled,

to discover pearls, people with unusual natural

talents that City mentors could develop to be useful,

for Barro employees for Upper schemes, as well as

those who might migrate based on their special

abilities to become City Lowers instead of remaining

what is considered lesser entities by City understanding

of class. The Com, of course, evolved to fill its many,

varied rooms with studios for all manner of crafts,

the Theater and rehearsal spaces, laboratories for all

kinds of science research education, kept within approved

boundaries, whatever occurred to us to use it for,

including a community Pantry/Kitchen and the 

Recycling (Rec) Center, as well the Tool Shed, a repository 

for community tools to be borrowed as needed.  Between

the Com and Clinic, some Lower entrepreneurs created

the Store, once City paid Barro residents had Credits

to spare, to sell conveniences the Uppers would allow.

Local merchants took to setting up temporary spaces

to display their wares, referred to as the Mart, East of 

the Store and Com. Over time, the Diner and Restaurant 

were established, but not before the Bar,  below the

Mart, a place of camaraderie, social recreation, eased

with intoxication, music and dance. To the much

further South, well East of Barro commerce, community

services, has long stood the Factory. Pretty much,

that's the landscape, buildings, gardens, commerce,

fundamental pieces of my history gathering excursions.

I excavate layers that never seem to end. My 

self-inspiring work, heartfelt friends now family,

each new day a further discovery.

Bonnie

Warm, relaxing water, I pour with cupped

hands over my face, long, luxurious hair.

Peace.  No need to resist drifting away.

Cas has the household sorted, every 

member under the spell of personal 

affairs, soon to meet over our evening 

meal. For now I get to release pent up

feelings, fatigue, from Clinic busyness,

healing or grief, frustration with myriad

details of operation, blood, gore, repair,

medications, all becomes a blur.  As Cas

would advise, I fall into meditation, free

my mind, let built up anxieties melt,

that I become the Bonnie I share with

my family.  This family that feeds,

cossets, unlike the place where I mostly

raised myself after the tragic passing of

my beloved older sister, Tara, though

for her an end to suffering. My fascination

with the biology of health, how our

bodies work, and how they fail, grew 

from my dutiful, loving care for her,

and later Mama, baby Louise, during

those horrid days back in my middle

childhood when illness plagued our

family.  I used what I knew, or thought

I did, but to no avail. In those less painful

times, before my sisters died, Mama 

reduced to a gaping shell, going

through motherly chores as if by rote,

we had been a normal, fairly happy

group.  Of course, Papa too was traumatized.

He grew to want no part of the home that

had once been filled with comforting kin.

He took to working double shifts every

day at the Factory, then to drink and find

commiseration at the Bar. We rarely

saw him awake, unless while in

preparation to forsake us once again

for better company. Barry and Steve,

my younger brothers, too little to

perceive other possibilities, did their

best to not be a bother, played quietly

in their room, took their louder games

outside. All to say, as a teen I spent my

days and evenings studying, puzzling 

over lessons, the ideas they inspired,

delving ever more deeply to discover

what science might reveal. I thus learned

skills, gifts I could give to those I held dear,

as well as professionally.  I provided Cas

and Bobby their vasectomies, after we,

combined, decided to limit our pregnancies,

in consideration of my and Camille's 

demanding careers. Though Sophia, Marta

and I attended Uni for a time simultaneously,

we were in different divisions, not thrown 

together.  I had known Marta to some extent as 

older sister of my good friend, Cas. Yes, he was 

several years younger, but we were somehow 

sympatico. When I returned, replete with all I 

had learned at the City's school, he had moved

next door to the apt where he had grown, to 

care for his invalid grandparents. I took one of 

their two vacant rooms, helped Cas with Dan 

and Liz, while interning at the Clinic.  My days 

were full, learning through intense experience 

in preparation for my future position as head of 

staff, after years of taking care of patients 

presenting with ills and injuries of every 

description. I am no historian, like Sophia with 

her academic background, or Cas, so fascinated

by his family's stories.  Of course I know the

basics we're all taught, how our ancestors were 

exiled across the River when City values clashed 

with their activities or personalities, or they had 

appeared as refugees from worldwide devastation. 

Then, over these close to two centuries, we grew 

into a people of our own devising. Occasionally 

there have been interferences by bored Uppers 

wanting to do something for amusement, by their 

lights philanthropy.  Their longevity without 

physical diminishment results in a desire for 

untried entertainments. We have all been taught 

of these past developments, but rarely think about

that knowledge, caught up in current issues.

Of course, in that sense of less than consciously 

aware attention, I have gleaned much from

proximity to conversations of my more

historically astute family members. Sophia

often visited Alee when she was so ill, to

regale her with historic stories, distract our

invalid from her inabilities, while giving her

imagination more fodder for fabricating

fantasies to amuse herself. Even now that she 

has regained her preferred activities, Alee 

incorporates those histories as greater grist

for theatric plots. We each have our passions,

our emergent dreams, escape mechanisms.

Humans, in all our glory, confusions, reparations,

endlessly amuse me, perhaps especially when

I am knee deep in the mysteries and ministrations

inherent in my profession, their fragilities, those

I can and cannot cure.

Jay

Jacqueline!  Do I look like a Jacqueline, or

Jackie? I could have gone with Jack, but Jay

suits me better, more to the point. Barbara,

my mom, anointed us each with her current

fantasy when we were born. Seven lasses

to bless our less than happy home. The story,

as I've been told by various sources over the

years, but mostly her own version, ranted in

diverse manic moments, that old familiar

tragedy of young infatuation. Sweet, innocent,

16, though she often seemed a bit peculiar

to her social group, clearly a beauty, too

attractive considering her limited experience.

Mal, an older man of twenty, undeniably cute,

a flirt, endearingly intense, broke her defenses.

He promised, sincerely, to take care of her,

no matter what their future might bring. 

Strangely for him, he meant it. He actually was 

smitten, as he relates these days when I visit 

while he's feeling nostalgic. She had broken

his defenses, too. Then came Gwen, first born

of their eventual dynasty of seven daughters,

quickly arriving one by one in a mere nine

years. Barbara, not much past seventeen,

believed back then in the family she was

creating, at least when she was stable, which

slowly became more and more rare. Mal

did his best to keep his promise, held it

together through six subsequent daughters,

a decade of heaven tinged hell. By the time

I was little more than two, he no longer

called our place home, though he would

come by to play with us, commiserate, implore

our patience, from time to time. He still

resides at the bachelor apt with other men

retreating from their bad romances. Once

they were grown enough to strike out on

their own, my two eldest sisters moved

together to the apt next door, at first along

with two others, Camille and Laura, then 

as just them. Mostly I see them around and 

about when our days intersect. Though my 

official residence is still with Nadia and Greta, 

sisters next above my age, who take care of 

mom, all the rest having flown to better homes. 

I do my best to try to forget them, engaged in 

my merry chaotic existence. I spend my nights 

with the friends I end up with when sleep takes 

me. Barbara and her attendants, or more often

just Nadia and Greta, can be easily found

selling mom's knitted wares at the Mart, a

center of activity, so I often encounter them

there or at the Diner. Barbara, through all of 

her self-made tribulations, has found comfort 

in creating knitted garments quite lovely and 

practical. Many are happy to buy from her. 

This activity apparently works well within her 

fantasies. Now freed from the exigencies of endless 

pregnancies, she still must contend with unwanted 

dependencies inherent in her instability, inability 

to discern reality from her suspicions, irrational 

fears. Despite her obvious need of professional 

care, she won't let Meds near. She still resents 

what she believes their cavalier attitudes when 

she endured end of pregnancies' laborious pain.

Early on I learned it best if I refrain from 

interference in her drama. I found friends I

can count on, frivolous fantasies that belong

to me and my coterie, especially my sacred

sister, Alee, who when we were children, 

welcomed me to join her adorable family

who treat me as one of them. Maudlin is

not my style. It's much more rough and wild,

raucous, yet soft and subtle when the suit fits.

Comprised of many bits, pieces, I get to express

as I decide, or if what some say is true, what

fate demands.  Probably a combination.

Look, the Sun is falling through this early

mid-Spring sky. Ready to find out how this

bit turns out tonight.