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.