Impressions

Seven days had changed it all. Not only my everyday environment, but also the people I held close to myself. In one week, I lost my home, my animals, and my lover. Life had definitely decided to surprise me again. At night, when those souvenirs rush back in my head, I cannot help but wonder why I chose this path. I never really doubted my spirituality before. Still, every night, while my eyes closed and my body aligned itself with the moon, I can feel reassuring tickles of certainty rushing through my heart. I almost ponder if this spirit made of light and hope makes me experience these comforting sensations to cheer me up. Perhaps they knew. I would not be surprised if one of the greatest spirits could perceive my hesitations. After all, they are Yulin, the shining spirit of the moon.

And every night, sleep finally catches up with me. I try to evade it as long as I can, for it reduces my time of connection with Yulin. At the end, I know I can’t escape it, as my eyes close from the reflection of the moon and open toward the unconscious lands of long-awaited rest.

The wide, echoing sound of the gong wakes me up. It has been one year since I started my night meditations and communes with the spirit of the moon. Since then, I have stopped calling myself an early bird. And it is no different in my new home, The Community. Only the large gong in the hall can wake me from my sleep. The Community uses this gong several times a day to structure everyone’s life. The first call asks us to come inside the great hall for our morning meditation. We are strongly encouraged not to eat before, and I cannot help but interpret it as a request to wake up late.

While I walk through the narrow corridors made of grayish engraved stones, I continue to imagine the countless workers who were needed to create this massive house. I can distinguish blurry patterns with various representations of the sun, but it remains impossible for me to tell how old they are. A nice woman in the room next to mine mentioned an impressive library when we presented ourselves. I think I would like to visit this library and find out what I can learn about my new home.

I see a few other women starting to hasten their pace. I should do the same. We are lucky to be near the great hall location. From what I heard, men are on the opposite side of the house. I would not have been able to sleep that much if I were there. Good for me.

The great hall is quite a dazzling place. This is the only room any stranger from The Community can access, so it was the place I discovered at first before joining them. The ceiling is separated into layers of various shapes, almost like the interior of a rich pyramid. The stones’ shapes alternate between smooth and angular ones. Each line of layer has its own unique pattern of lines. Right at the top, in the highest spot, there is a round glass letting light through toward the sun altar. The whole area has been built to experience the heat of the sun circulating in our minds. The altar itself is composed of a heavy glass panel redirecting the sun’s reflection toward the various pillars crossing the room. At this hour of the day, the sun rays create a mandala pattern above our heads, resembling a simplified version of the sublime sun.

Soon, I find an empty spot on the various exquisite carpets ornamenting the ground. I am seated right next to the same woman who told me about the library. Once we are all seated, we must veil our eyes and begin the ritual. As we completely close our eyes and reach our neighbors’ hands for the meditation, I smile at my own neighbor, glad to be with someone I have already met. I am still not used to grabbing hands with people I barely know. Although the house is large enough for the two hundred members of The Community to live together peacefully, I have never been surrounded by so many people in my everyday life. If you add that to my fight experience, I have a hard time remaining calm while allowing my hand to be held by anyone. It is for the same reason that I meditate at the end of the row. Like this, I have to bear only the touch of one person.

As our hands hold timidly with one another, I can feel a bit of distress coming from her touch. I suspected that she was a recent member like me, I guess now there is no more question about it. I should ask her name after the meditation. Who knows? Perhaps we could help each other adapt to this new life. As my mind wanders in the calm environment, it comes to rest in a single realization. The meditation is beginning.

The instant we are all silently seated, anyone can raise their hand to guide the ritual. The first to raise his hand is the one to preside. Since I am here, it has been a different person every day. I wonder who it will be today. Then, a faraway figure in the front rows raises her hand and stands up. From the back where I am, I can barely make out the person’s silhouette. She looks old, feminine, and serene.

“For I am Anaya, and I wish to guide us to welcome Zuva’s care on this new rising day.” Her voice carries many tales and experiences. She sure seems to be a knowing woman.

It is fascinating how well the sound can bounce on each surface of the great hall to be heard easily. One could almost think that it follows the sun’s reflections to share every single word in a clear tone through our ears.

The meditation goes by like the other days, we keep ourselves silent and focus our thoughts to express thankfulness to Zuva. Every five minutes, Anaya shares a gratitude sentence with us. Her words are deep and help us in our communion.

“They who infuse life and energy in all of us shall always be approached with deep recognition.

“Our minds once lost themselves, but our hearts knew they cared for us as much as for every other being.

“Sun may you shine or may you hide, we now know better. Everywhere you are and everywhere you remain.”

The meditation ends with soft gong sounds and gentle squeezes in your partner’s hand. I feel lighter after our shared gratitude for Zuva. This way of meditating with others is new for me. Not only that, but I am still adjusting to how they call the spirit of the sun. In my homeland, the Empire of Linghua, we call them Tudigan. Everyone thinks about this spirit several times a week. He is precious, cared for, and fully revered by the whole population. Here, in the Kingdom of Zimori, it could not be more different. Except in The Community’s house, my new home, nobody believes in the existence of spirits. They are not even legends, but only foolish things to lose your time with and avoid real life. Even after living in this Kingdom for quite some time, I continue to be surprised by how much its villagers despise spirits.

When the ritual is finished, we can move toward the refectory for our meal. On my way, I see the same woman I was sitting next to a few seconds ago. Promptly, I match my speed to join her. She is a tall and slender woman, like many in The Community. She also chose a close-cropped haircut for practicality. Her face is thin, and attractive curves shape her nose and mouth. Shy wrinkles are visible around her dark green, tired eyes. You can tell life has not been easy on her, but beauty surrounds her nonetheless. I already feel at ease just by looking at her and do not hesitate to approach her.

“I could tell by your touch that you’re still acclimating to the morning meditations. How do you like them?” I gently tap her shoulder to certify she heard me.

Turning around, she looks at me with uncertainty before easing herself with recognition.

“You saw right through me, didn’t you? Indeed, I’m a fresh member of The Community. I’m Tariro. And you? Do you mind telling me your name?”

“Xia,” I am looking straight at her, waiting for the one question people often ask me.

“I don’t want to be rude, but I must ask, your name and your face are rather unusual. Do you come from another land?”

“You are quite the perceptive woman,” I replied, letting my teasing sarcasm unravel. “Have you already heard about the Empire of Linghua, Tariro?”

“Never really, is it far from here?”

“Is a two-week trip on the sea considered to be far for you?” I asked her teasingly, almost anticipating my contentment for her probable startled reaction. And it did not miss. At this rate, I will soon present myself as a medium.

“You can’t be serious? So that’s where you got those beautiful eyes.”

Warm, gentle laughs came after that, breaking any awkwardness remaining between us. We prepared our meal with the available provisions and shared the rest of the afternoon together. I learned she was from an outside village near the capital city of Gungara, where The Community resides. Like many villagers, she was growing vegetables and grains like sorghum or millet. She is thirty-one years old, but I could not learn why she came to live here. When she mentioned her age, rooted sufferings appeared on her face while her traits tensed with the simple mention of this number, so I did not ask for more details. Instead, I changed the subject to point out how comforting Anaya’s voice was during the meditation. We both agreed easily on that point.

After our meal, we went through the long and narrow corridors to reach the gardens. Asymmetrical lights lined the way. Their reflections reveal the various patterns on the tiles. At times, it displays the usual lines forming various versions of simplified suns; at other times, it takes the shape of trees, mountains, or rivers. Believing in spirits means knowing they are in every natural being. This belief is visible through every part of The Community’s house.

Once outside, the overwhelming daylight hides our eyes for a time before revealing the small, furnished fields of the house. When we became members of The Community, we agreed to give our hands, bodies, and time freely in exchange for a roof over our heads, two meals a day, and a fulfilling spiritual life. In my case, I decided to respect my share of the contract with the option I knew the most, farming. My childhood on my parents’ modest farm had forged my green thumb.

The fields of The Community cover the entire left section of the gardens. On the other side, in the right area, there is a large space of sand and clay, glazing through the sunlight. I have seen many people using it as a playing field for a team sport I know nothing about. Evening hours seem to be the most appropriate to play due to the reasonable heat and nice visibility. But those are only guesses. I have never practiced this sport. Once I feel more comfortable in this house, I am definitely going to give it a try.

The vast sports field and the vegetable fields are simply separated by a medium-height fence of strong acacia wood. If you sum up the size of each section with the surface of the house, it is certainly quite impressive. Particularly so when you know how close we are to the center of Gungara. Except for the king’s home and the main military building, nothing is bigger in the capital than the house of The Community.

Since my arrival, I have spent my afternoons helping in the fields. Today, a scrawny old man named Takunda is in charge of assigning our roles. Like with the meditation, each day, another person will rise to the spot and be in charge. Everyone can manage the group, and it seems to work pretty well. How can they all be so selfless and trusting with one another? I am impressed. This place is one of a kind.

A lot of people are working in the gardens, which is not surprising. At this time of year, with the beginning of the rainy season, everyone naturally spends more time cultivating the land, even outside The Community. This period is the appropriate one for sowing most crops people will need in the coming year. There are so many that even when Tariro and I were both working there those last few days, our paths never crossed.

Before starting, we must take the necessary tools: an overused hand hoe and a shabby basket of coarse palm leaves. Then, Tariro and I wait our turn before Takunda to receive our instructions. Hopefully, we did not wait for long.

“May I hear your names ?” Takunda quivers in a neutral tone.

“Xia,” I reply.

“I’m Tariro.”

Takunda’s gaze pierces our eyes, letting the silence dig its way for three long seconds.

“Oh, I get it, you must be from the last seed. Pleased to meet you.

“Pleasure is ours,” I replied without thinking. Tariro nodded in return.

“You, the tallest one, take those millet seeds and sow them in the next empty row of turned soil,” he requested from Tariro.

“As for you, take the pumpkin seeds. Each seed needs precise attention, work, and space. Be sure to watch out, and if you have any hesitation, reproduce your neighbor’s movements.

“Follow your friend and stop at the row before hers. Once both your rows are done, repeat the process by alternating rows of pumpkin and millet. This technique enables the plants to spread along the ground, retaining moisture.

“Seems clear?” Takunda concluded.

“Crystal,” I replied while Tariro nodded for the second time.

In my homeland, we did not have pumpkins, so I carefully observed the other similar rows to see if I could learn anything from them. Those rows were made of wide spacing, large seeds, and sprawling vines. It looked almost the same as the winter melons I used to harvest in my childhood. I feel confident about it, so I will plant the pumpkin seeds the same way.

Things go smoothly. I’m almost certain I am doing it the right way. As I merge my efforts with the dirt I have to commune with, I sense a curious eye watching me. At first, I did not care. But the uneasy feeling continues for a long time, too long for me. A puny man keeps his uninvited gaze upon me. At some point, it is enough to raise my temper. Annoyed, I twist my body in his direction.

“Do you need something from me?”

He stops his work and lifts his chin, no longer pretending not to watch me. Then, a slight smile appears on his face.

“Do I look like I need something from you?”

What does this reaction mean? Does he think I did not witness his strange behavior a minute ago? Let us see how much longer he can stay confident.

“Indeed, you seemed to need something from me. At least, that’s what I concluded since you were watching my every move for the last two hours. Why else would you look at me so insistently?”

Some people raise their heads, peeking with discomfort and judgment at the man. His eyes now avoid my gaze, a flush of shame spreading across his face. I knew he would not keep the innocent act. Surely, he will stop annoying me now. I lost enough time already, I must refocus my mind and hands on sowing the pumpkins. The rest of the afternoon passes in the blink of an eye, the heat of the day embracing our bodies. Soon enough, my stomach grumbles with appetite. This call of nature comes just as the exam moment that Takunda exclaims,

“Hey, you two! Quit working already. You both reached the limit. Tidy your equipment and leave. Surely, you must be hungry.”

I nod my approval and stand up. We are encouraged to be careful with our limits and not overwork ourselves. If someone is tired, they can stop and join the hall for a resting meditation. It is part of the Zimori Kingdom’s culture not to push oneself over its limit, nothing like my home country in that regard. Curious to see who could be the other member still working at this hour, I turn around. What is not my deception when I notice it is the same guy who annoyed me before. Tariro must have left for today. I should see her tomorrow. Then, preferring simplicity over bad temper, I ignore the troublesome man and find my way back to the refectory. At least I hope to, but as I cross the landing of the outer entrance, an uncertain voice reaches behind my ears.

“I was dazed by your sowing technique with the pumpkins. All my life, I have been a field worker, but never have I seen someone as efficient and skilled as you are. When you confronted me about my indiscretion, I was baffled and reacted with misplaced pride, too shy to expose my real thoughts. Sorry about that… I’m Gudo, by the way.”

It was my time to feel dazed. Certainly, I did not expect that. I stop my stride to stare at him, trying to decipher clues of sincerity. His eyes are stuck to the ground while his body moves awkwardly. Fine, he is speaking the truth.

“Well, Gudo, you seem to have a hard time conveying your intentions. No worries, I will not hold any grudge against you. At least next time, do not attempt to look cool. Honesty is good enough.”

Any irritation I feel toward him quickly fades, leaving only pity for his clumsy ways.

Finally cooking my meal, I discover that Gudo and I are almost the last ones to eat. He prepared his meal faster than me and joined an empty table. Watching him eating alone, I almost feel sad for him and decide to join his table so I can eat with him. He opted for a simple meal: a warm, thick sorghum porridge, lightly sweetened with wild berries. I sit down next to him. His shoulders are withered upon himself. Feeling my presence, he opens a bit and watches my own meal. Confusion lit his face as he asked,

“Excuse me, could you explain to me how you managed to obtain this texture with the pumpkins on your plate?”

I smile. Of course, he would wonder that. I cooked tender pumpkin cubes and fresh leafy greens sizzled quickly in a bit of oil. Using a hot pan mixed with some oil is not common around here. That is what I explain to him as he listens with care.

“Does it not risk burning easily with this technique?”

I grin, “It depends on whether the vegetables are willing to cooperate. Those things are sensitive beings. You must treat them with absolute respect.”

“Sensitive beings, huh? I’ve never met a vegetable with an attitude before,” he chuckles.

“Oh, they can be quite stubborn,” I reply, wagging a finger at him. “Miss a step, and suddenly your pumpkin cubes will start plotting against you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I should be careful. I don’t want to face a rebellion on my plate.”

This unexpected cheerful mood was comfortable, and it continued until the end of the meal. I am glad I ate with him. On the same day, he went from being a nuisance to an amusing lad. Who knows what he will be next week? A god? Proud of my inner joke, I wish Gudo a good evening and leave the table.

As we always eat early, free time is available for late sleepers like me. Until then, I stayed in my bedroom, analyzing my new environment and processing the changes in my mind. However, at the moment, I am in a different mood and wish to visit more precisely the corridors and unknown rooms. The house can be a real labyrinth if you leave the main axes. The walls’ colors, textures, and patterns vary constantly, demonstrating the various transformations and renovations that occurred through the years. The colors of the stone range from greyish-white to deep reddish-orange, passing through tints of crisp yellow. The overall atmosphere reflects serenity and knowledge with a hint of control.

In my stroll, a discussion between two men of large postures caught my interest. I follow them carefully.

“We must hurry. It’s our turn to keep track of the seekers.”

“I know, it just feels unnecessary. For now, almost none of them visit the training room.”

“You’re right, but it’s our duty, and no one but us can do this properly.”

His comrade agreed as they continued their walk. Five long minutes later, they reach a tiny door and open it with confidence before disappearing. I wait for some minutes on my own. Some time later, I gather my curiosity and reach for the door. Opening it gently, I listen to the noises. I can hear the battle strikes from wooden weapons. They are not very fast. Regarding the sound, I am almost certain that two untrained people are exercising. Fighting means a place I would like to be. Not hesitating further, I walk into the room casually, as if nothing were wrong.

Four men are watching the fight with little interest while two others fight in the middle of the room. The ground is a mix of compacted earth, clay, and sand, nothing like the usual stone of the house. The room is much larger than I imagined it to be. At least ten pairs of fighters could train in it. Each wall has many supports coming inside the room to maintain the wooden weapons. They have various kinds of each, like wooden clubs and maces, long staves and practice spears, round shields, and even blunt wooden swords with curved blades. A compulsory huge smile carves along my face. I always dreamed of having a room like that.

My entry made the four men look at me with doubtful eyes. As I join them on the wall but do not say anything, they turn their attention back to the fight. I do not wish to ask any questions or speak with them. Staring quietly at the ongoing strikes feels like a good strategy. Soon after my arrival, two of the four men leave the room. With a glance, I confirm that the two remaining ones are the ones I followed to come here. Promptly, I join them in their mute observation of the fight.

Between the two fighters, one is clearly in a bad position. His legs are trembling, and he barely keeps up with the other. Every following impact makes him shake more and more, until he falls from exhaustion.

“I told you, you are no match for me,” exclaimed the standing man with self-approval. I could not find the end of this fight more unimpressive. His last moves had consisted of simple blows aimed at the middle of his opponent’s torso. It had been useless to fight this way, and it made the struggle last longer than necessary. A soft kick would have finished the job a long time ago. While the man on the ground gathered his remaining strength to stand up and leave the confrontation area, I stepped forward, determined to show some humility to the previous winner.

I select a spear. I have always been more comfortable with a long-range weapon. I approach the standing fighter, but hear a voice from behind.

“Mam, do you need help with something?” inquires one of the two men on the wall.

“Not at all, I only wish to join the training session and challenge this fighter.”

Strangely, silence emerged from my words. Every man in the room went speechless.

The standing fighter is the first one to recover.

“You’re sure about this? Is this your first time?”

Having the impression that no one is giving me the credit I deserve, I reply hastily.

“I assure you, I have strong basics when it comes to fighting. However, seeing your previous fight, I could not say the same about you.”

Again, silence.

Not waiting for another word, the fighter prepares himself and waits for me to join the encounter. He positions himself lazily, almost provoking me with overconfidence. I let him do as he pleases while I block my stance with care and concentration.

Abruptly, he rushes at me, aiming for my feet with his curved blade. I dodge easily, leap over his strike, and tap his body with a strong push using the back of my spear.

Recovering with difficulty, he manages to stand and runs at me, slashing toward my left shoulder, or at least trying to, but I block the attack with my spear and immediately kick at his right foot. He begins to fall but steadies himself with his blade and charges once more. This time, his sword drives straight for my torso. I knock it aside with a forceful blow of my spear. Baffled, he watches his weapon fall. Not giving him an instant to react, I press my advantage. A heartbeat later, the handle of my spear crashes into his ribs without mercy. He collapses instantly, his heavy body striking the ground with a painful, reverberating thud. No one speaks. For a moment, the only sound is the shifting of compacted earth from the impact. Ten long seconds pass before the defeated man can breathe with ease. Clutching his ribs where I struck him, he glares at me vehemently.

“Who the heck are you?” hissed the beaten fighter in outrage.

My answer flows on its own, too sincere to be held.

“A real fighter. Not like you.”