She awoke in the dirt beside her bed. Dust clung to her face, as she opened her eyes, staring in to the side of the straw filled mattress. Her pillow sat upon the bed, a high bright mountain of mango red unperturbed by its owners dirt-ridden sleep. Her blanket at least, had the decency to follow its master to the floor, keeping her body heat close during the chill of the early morning. She looked again at her mattress, before a noise reached her ears. Wishing she could pretend it away, she held on a few minutes more. But the noise persisted it sounded like a forced throar clearing and a humm. She softly turned over and looked toward the door. There were three standing in the doorway. One young man, an old woman, and a girl child. The man had his head in the farthest, but would not cross the boundary of the room with his body. He was the one making the noise, urging her to rise. Pushing weariness aside for duty, she rose in one fluid motion, and treading on bare feet, walked beween them, out the doorway of her hut. The man and two women followed. The whole village was gathered near the water’s edge, in the pre-dawn stillness when birds are still tuning their voices, and animals are still cozy in their dens. The village gathered at the waters edge, waiting for her. The woods surrounding the people the huts, and the tribes territory was bathed in a thin veil of mist, but the river, the water itself was covered by a thick, voluminous fog that was shielding the water from sight. If one didn’t know of the river, they might just see a wall of fog. It looked like a cloud path winding through the forest, thick and eerily threatening.. The kind that would lure small children to follow in play, only to be lost forever. The elders could smell the menace in it, while others just felt unease.
The village watched her in a sort of reverent anxiousness. She walked to her place in front of the river of fog. The man melted back into the village, his task was done. The child picked up a large bowl, and carefully stepping toward the dense fog, scooped up some of the hidden water. She then held it up, while the older woman stood behind her, and the village watched, breathless.
Anna took the bowl from the girl’s small hands, and just as the sun shone its first rays through the trees, she took a deep draught of the water.
Instantly the thick, vile fog that bound the river dissipated. The village let out a cheer, and rushed to the water’s side, scooping up handfuls of water into their mouths, onto their hair, their skin and each other, rejoicing. Further down the river, deer timidly stepped near the banks, and lowered their head to the water. Raccoons bent their heads, along with rabbits, foxes, and other animals of the forest.
But Anna did not see any of this. The poisoned water was currently seeping from her stomach into her bloodstream, dousing every part of her body in its wrathful pain. She collapsed to the ground, and the bowl went rolling away. With ever weakening limbs, she crawled back to her hut. With the help of the old woman, she crawled into bed, crushing the high, serene mountain that was her pillow. The old woman tenderly wiped the sweat from her forehead, then quietly slipped from the hut, to share in the revelry of the village.
A thick haze of pain kept her confined to her bed until the sultry heat of late morning, forced her to leave her hut in search of a breeze. She stumbled out, and sat for a while with her back leaning against the mud wall of her hut. A cool breeze crossed her face, lifting the sweat as it passed. The poison was weakening, and needed to be purged. So she walked a pace into the woods, squatted and made water. After she felt better. She returned to her hut, put on a new robe and went to see her people. She walked away from her hut and into the village. She walked to the elder women who sat weaving clothes, making food, and sharing their wisdom with the pregnant women and injured men who were confined to the village. Between stories, and stitches, each person acknowledged Anna in their own way. The elder women bobbed their heads, the injured men and pregnant women called out a greetings like songbirds, reaching out their arms to be touched. She touched them all with a tender greeting, then continued down the path to the fields. She walked through the trees, remembering days that she would follow her mother. Walking though the forest, her mother would sing songs. Songs about the village’s life, its stories and its past. She would teach the stories to Anna, telling her that a tribe’s past is what gives it life in the present. Anna still felt the poison cycling in her, but not as intensely as this morning. She could function, and hopefully help her tribe will continue to survive. She arrived at the fields just before the hot meal. The time when her people stopped, ate, exchanging news, then slept beneath the cool of the trees, while the heat of the sun gave life to the plants, and dried the fruits to be used during famine. She cam upon them when the food was being distributed. The men and women voiced their greeting, as the children ran to touch the “Water Woman” For a few minutes, the bottom half of her was completely hidden by the bright colored clothes of the children, along with brown little arms, stretching as far around Anna as they could. After the children calmed down, she sat among the adults, listening and sharing news of the morning. After the meal was done, one child, pushed by the others shyly asked Anna to sing them a song before the rest. She put on a theatrical face of deep thought. Then excusing herself from the adults, lead the children away to a cool place to lie down. They spread their blankets and sat on them leaning forward in anticipation. Anna dramatically raised her hand in protest that no song could be sung while any child sat up. Instantly every child laid down. Some on their back, some on their side, but with every pair of bubbling brown eyes looked eagerly at Anna. She noticed that some of the adults were settling down near her. Close enough to be within earshot, but not close enough to seem too eager to hear children’s stories.
A mischievous look came into Anna’s eyes as she started humming one song, then softly started singing the refrain, and then promptly stopped, bringing an abrupt end to the story that had just started to breathe. The children sent up a cry of protest, and the adults laughed quietly, this was a game that Anna enjoyed.
“What?” she asked. “you are dissatisfied with my story”
“Yes” cried out the children in unison.
Well what do you want?”
“More!” They replied, enjoying this bantering back and forth as much as Anna was.
“More? How much more?” She asked, scratching her head in mock concern.
“All of it!” They cried in glee, for they new it was a long story.
“Hmm, I know what I will do, I will sing until you sleep.”
“After little thought, the children agreed, one vowing loudly to stay awake until the story met its end.”
After the agreement was made, Anna had the children get comfortable, as she introduced the story as a hum, then a wordless melody. Finally, when the tale was ready to present itself, the words spilled from her mouth into the ears and imaginations of her people. As she sang, she walked silently among the children, her bare feet striking the ground rhythmically. As the story progressed, she made a swift stooping motion and made a tossing action onto the lying children. Much like a farmer would scoop wheat and toss the seeds evenly into the ready earth before him. Although she was throwing nothing, the children each felt their muscles relaxing, their eyes getting heavier, and the voice of the story drifting away. Not long after the story was begun, Anna slowly brought it to a halt, with the silent inner promise that it would be released in it entirety, if only it could wait for the evening meal. After the story was eased of its fear of becoming a half completed blanket, forgotten and discarded, Anna looked upon her people. The children curled up like little round brightly colored gifts. And the adults, laying separate or in pairs. The concerns of the fears which they hold, gently set aside, like the tools that they use to prepare the soil with.
Sleep brings peace and oblivion, and that is all Anna ever wanted for her people. Peace, and oblivion. Not having to know the pain that must be endured to ensure their survival. Oblivion from the poison that contaminates her body. She slowly withdrew from her sleeping people, holding them in a protected ring of peace. She walked though the trees, under the great green arching limbs, beside deer tracks, and on fox paths until she reached the bank of the river. The river, mother to all in the village, source of life and source of death. Anna greets the goddess with the respect she demands. Then softly lowers herself to its banks, and watches as the water passes smoothly by. There she contemplates. The river in its harsh death, and yielding life. Her people, and her village. Still weakened by the poison that contaminated her blood and what lingers, Anna sits.
Today she is preoccupied by something. The pairs that were resting. It fascinated her to watch the pairs, because no matter what was done, the pairs, when given the chance would return to each other. Much like a robin returns to her chicks, or a turtle returns to the water. It is natural for the pair to be together. Some were single at one time, then a change happened and they became a pair. Some have been pairs for long times, but no matter how long they have been pairs, it is entirely natural for them to be together.
Anna thought more and more about the pairs. They were intriguing, because she never had a pair. She had her mother at one time, but that was not a pair, that was more like a teacher and a pupil, not an equal pair that Anna sees sharing sun mat sleep by each other. Anna wondered what it would be like to have a pair. To be with someone instead of with solitude. What kind of interactions do pairs have? What do they say, what do they do? Anna wondered into the swirling voyaging waters.
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