Expectations

My days at The Community are settling in. Each of them repeats in the comfort of a fresh start. As time passes, I spend most of my time with three people: Tariro, Gudo, and myself. My interactions with the other members of The Community are always pleasant. Our shared decision to commit our lives to spirituality creates a bond that brings people closer together. Lastly, my connection with the moon spirit Yulin has been more fulfilling since I arrived at The Community than ever before. I found time and motivation to reach them almost every night, and each night, Yulin sends me sensations of contentment. It is hard to describe to someone who has never experienced anything like this. Not even the other members of The Community could understand what I felt during those night meditations. It is not solely serenity or peace with my own interior state. There is something else, a real connection. Some sensations that reach me are not even my own. They are a portion of Yulin’s own feelings, at least that is what my own conclusions lead me to believe. Those feelings I experienced are the ones that pushed me to join this large spiritual house. And surprisingly, I still have no idea regarding the possible outcomes. Every day, I wonder what Yulin wants from me. For now, my feelings only convey contentment and a certainty that I am where I must. Many people would wonder why I exchanged my old, pleasing life for a place I almost knew nothing about three weeks ago. The answer is simple, and I have never regretted it: when a being as vast as the moon spirit takes some of their time to reach you and offer guidance, no matter how unclear it may seem, you must fully accept this extraordinary bond for as long as it exists and do your best. Those are my beliefs. My whole life, I listened to what I felt called to. I left my parents’ home for a chance to care for animals in my future livelihood. Later, I abandoned it all to listen to Yulin’s call and join the place I was driven to.

Abruptly, I am driven out of my thoughts and remember that I was right in the middle of the morning communion for the spirit of the sun Zuva. Once the communion for Zuva is over, Tariro and I cook and eat together. She is a better cook than I am. Yet, we both do our best to split the tasks for our meal so we all participate and wait less long to enjoy our food. We made our choice on a dish of roasted pumpkin and root vegetables enriched with a creamy peanut sauce. Tariro is the one who roasts the oiled pumpkin and root chunks until they are browned and tender. On the other hand, I whisk the peanut paste with hot water, warm it softly, and stir to make the result smooth. Once both our parts are finished, we combine the vegetables with the sauce. Only one task remains: savor our collaboration. Actually, we already did this dish twice, and it is definitely one of my favorite ones.

I start with the first mouthful. My stomach growls with pleasure. However, one detail makes me chew longer. The texture of vegetables is not the same as what Tariro usually does. They are a bit overcooked. It is still far from being inedible, but it surprises me nonetheless. Tariro is not someone who would miss simple vegetables. Puzzled, I look at her. She is fixing her meal, hesitant to eat.

“Tariro, is there a problem with what we prepared?” I asked her worriedly.

“No, why would you say that?” she replied, confused by my question.

“Have you tried something new when you cooked the vegetables?”

I am almost certain that she did not. I simply wish to make her see the difference so she can react truthfully to her absent-minded state. And that is exactly what happens when she looks at them. Soon, her eyes brim with incomprehension.

“How could I?” she sighed with resignation, “Hhh… I have always been like this. When something is on my mind, I have a hard time focusing on other things.”

Showing a sign of impatience, I fixed her insistently, waiting for the explanations.

“Fine, you got me. I will talk.”

She eats a mouthful and shrugs her shoulders as if to say that the dish is still quite tasty, no matter the texture of the vegetables. I nod in agreement. Then, she opens herself to me, hesitation showing on her face.

“I heard from two different members that you were fighting almost every evening in the training room. I did not even know we had a training room… And there is more. Apparently, during your first session, you beat the crap out of another new member. That is why some speak about it. From what they told me, it was more of an unmatched beating than a real fight. Why haven’t you told me any of that? Are we not close enough? Do you think I’m not worth it?”

A hint of deception appears from her last question. I feel stupid and decide to answer truthfully.

“No reason really, I was almost certain that you would not be interested in those training sessions. I didn’t want to waste your time with it. Perhaps I was wrong. Do you actually like fighting?”

Tariro wears a baffled expression, her mouth slightly open in uncertainty. She takes another bite, and I do the same—better to eat something warm than let it go cold. As we chew, our eyes meet. Of course, we had both paused our conversation to eat, leaving only an awkward silence between us. The sudden realization makes us laugh clumsily, trying to keep the food in our mouths. It takes a few seconds to regain our composure, and once the laughter subsides, Tariro can finally answer me.

“I do not know if I like fighting, but I do like funny stories. And, from what people told me about this fight, it seemed to be a good one.”

Pleased by her answer, I relate every aspect of the fight I can think of. She is clearly interested in the details. I would never have thought that Tariro was so curious about the techniques and postures one needs to know to win a duel. Inspired by her eagerness, I asked her if she would like to join me for my training session. This way, we could train together and I could help her learning the basics.

Seeing her face, it seems she was not prepared for my proposition. In panic, she told me to let her have one day so she could make up her mind. She is sweet. It cannot be easy to discover something you enjoy but never thought about before. I will do my best to accompany her if she truly wishes to become a fighter. This meal turned into something interesting. You never know how surprising someone can be. I smile to myself as we clean our plates.

After lunch, Tariro and I reach the gardens to lend a hand in the fields. Yet, sometimes, our help is not needed. Living in a large house with two hundred people necessitates minimal organization, so we use quotas for the different working areas. Today, the quota of people working in the fields has been met. When this happens, we must look in the other areas to help somewhere else. Our second choice will depend on our mood. Feeling patient, I suggest to Tariro that we walk to the healing place. She likes it more than I do, and I am well aware of that fact.

The healing place is a small labyrinth on its own. It is composed of many small rooms for resting, an entry space where the injured people must wait before being treated, a washing room organized with a well in the middle, and several wide buckets to cleanse injured bodies all around. Then, if you bypass the washing room by the external corridor, you will meet storage niches full of medicinal herbs. They are mostly plants you can find in the gardens or near the house for senior members who are authorized to freely go outside. The total number of different species is so immense that I would need at least one hour to count them. Worse, it would be hard for me to do so as my knowledge regarding those herbs is very limited. I only know two of them because they also existed in my childhood land. The first one I know is aloe, a succulent plant with thick, spiky leaves containing gel, used for wound healing. The second is mugwort, an aromatic, leafy plant. Its leaves are beautiful with their tiny teeth. The overall shape forms a marvelous trident. If brewed, they can treat fevers and stomach aches. For now, that is the most I can tell about the medicinal plants present here.

Right next to it, there is another room, narrow in the entry and wider in the back. They employ it to dry newly come herbs with ropes falling from the ceiling. The various scents are quite unique. The healing properties of each herb seem to float in the surrounding atmosphere. Walking through this room makes one feel rejuvenated just with the smell. Also, to make use of the remaining space under the drying herbs, they built shelves to store their tools and tables to prepare the necessary concoctions. Lastly, traversing this room will make you encounter a final one with the bare minimum to cook specific meals. It may be necessary to prepare dishes with a strict diet, depending on the patient’s needs.

At first, I did not understand why The Community had a healing place within its walls. Accidents are not common, but they are bound to happen. Most of the time, they involve field workers or fighters from the training room. Some are also caused by expeditions I know nothing about, carried out by senior members authorized to leave the house for a short time. The rest are mundane everyday accidents or health problems related to old age.

Anaya is the one to greet us as Tariro and I arrive after being rejected from the fields. She is a knowing, sage woman who likes to give first aid to injured people while they wait in the entry space. Thanks to her experience, she can easily guide new members like us where we are most needed. Each time I have an interaction with her, I am amazed by her particular charisma. Even though coldness flows from her posture and attitude, she shines with love and care. Speaking is not necessary for her to convey trust, confidence, and mastery. I cannot help but feel inspired by her. If staying in The Community means becoming that kind of person, I feel relieved to be among them.

As we arrive, Anaya is massaging the shoulders of another old member.

“You both here to help?” she inquires with a deep focus on her movements. Her eyes are fixed on the areas where the man needs to relax.

“Yes, Mam. Does the healing place need reinforcement right now?” I reply hastily.

“There is always something to do. The heart of The Community cannot stop working. How could we survive otherwise?”

I find myself agreeing with her, but I do not know what to answer. Tariro’s silence makes me think that she feels the same. Suddenly, as if we had said something, Anaya continues to speak.

“Reach the seventh resting room coming from the left. Once before the door, tap four times gently and explain I’m the one sending you.”

Without another word, we both comply and leave the entry. Following Anaya’s instructions, we are received in the room by another member, a small lady around Tariro’s age with large hips and narrow shoulders. Her face expresses relief when we enter. As I take in the room and observe her, my thoughts drift to the Kingdom’s traditions. In my two years living in the Kingdom of Zimori, I discovered that healing skills were considered to be solely reserved for women. This belief is deeply ingrained in every citizen. With time, I learned to accept this difference, even though many excellent male doctors exist in the Empire of Linghua, where I was raised.

The small room we enter is simple, mostly furnished with a wooden table and a thin bed made of a compacted layer of straw. A woman lies on the bed, her back facing us. She is covered with tiny red blotches. Kudzai, the other woman who let us in, explained that it was due to heat rash. This person had worked for too many hours under the sun without protecting her back. To heal her, Kudzai brings a balm she prepared before we arrived. She made it by infusing zumbani leaves in baobab seed oil and mixing in fresh aloe gel. Patiently, she shows us how to apply the balm with clean sticks. One must dab the stick softly on the red blotches. Care and precision are required. Confident, Tariro begins under the watchful eye of Kudzai. When she sees how adequate Tariro’s gesture is, she sighs with relief and leaves the rest to us so she can help somewhere else. Without a moment to think, Tariro and I are left alone with the patient, and I have to be as competent as my friend, with no one to guide me if I falter. Stress grows within my stomach while I try to repeat Tariro’s precise and soft movements. My first dab misses, and the hurting woman hisses with pain. In reaction, Tariro takes my hand and looks at me.

“Xia, breathe, no one’s life is in danger. If it’s too demanding for you, I will manage.” A reassuring smile appears on her face. She is a caring woman. Nobody can take that away from her. However, I am determined to succeed, even though healing has never been my thing. I have to master the basics. No one knows what could happen to me or someone I love in the future.

I breathe and look Tariro in the eyes, “Please, show me slowly. And explain to me what I need to be careful about.”

She nods with understanding, “Alright, tap the balm onto the red blotch with tiny, gentle dabbing motions, lifting slightly between each touch rather than sliding or rubbing. Take your time and keep each movement slow and precise so the skin is soothed and the person feels no discomfort.”

Along with her explanations, she seizes my hand and guides me through the process. My hands flow easily as if they had their own will. I feel grateful for her patience. Soon, I can do it on my own. I am slow at the beginning, but it becomes faster and faster with practice. The red blotches have reached many places, so even if we are two, we need a long time to apply the balm everywhere. One pressure after the other, the balm is applied carefully. As we work, a serene atmosphere engulfs us like a bubble. Time slips before us. In a flash, Tariro and I have finished the treatment. We both assist the patient to stand and guide her into her bedroom so she can completely recover. However, a task is only over when you tidy your mess, so we walk back to the healing room and start cleaning the table, refreshing the bed, and mopping the floor. Feeling at ease, we make good use of our time together, exchanging stories about our lives before joining The Community. Tariro is dumbfounded when she discovers how rebellious I was as a teenager.

“Seriously? You ran away from your parents’ home for a chance to accomplish your dream of living with animals?”

Her face turning playfully, she adds, “You’re crazier than I thought.”

We laugh merrily. I relish this moment, knowing I still have more to surprise her.

“Yes, I am, and wait before you hear how I have been hired as a recruit guard after pushing a thief into a river.”

Tears of joy glisten in her eyes while I recount every detail of this story. She even needs a moment to catch her breath.

Willing to talk about her, she says, “Well, you sure had an impressive life for your age.” Then, as her voice drops, she adds, “I wish mine had been similar.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking at her with puzzlement.

“We are opposites, Xia. You ran away from your home. I was cast out of mine.”

Quickly, the mood shifts as I measure the meaning behind Tariro’s words. My expression changes, and I listen to her worriedly, not knowing what to say.

“Maybe you don’t know because you were not born in Zimori, but here, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s household. She’s expected to put his family first, even over her own.”

Spontaneously, I throw the first question that comes to my mind, “You are married, Tariro?”. Even if I do not know much about marriage in the Kingdom of Zimori, I am almost certain that it is as important as in my homeland.

A hesitant silence follows. I wait for her answer as we continue to clean the room. As I watch her, I can see she is not quite here — faraway souvenirs seem to boil in her head. With time, she comes back to our conversation.

“I was. My ex-husband was a gentle man, very sure of himself. He was nothing like his parents. They were rude and pragmatic. Feelings did not matter to them.”

“Geez, did they defy your union?”

“Not at first. As soon as I got pregnant and placed a baby in their arms, they wouldn’t say a word.”

Another silence, longer, deeper.

A part of me wants her to stop. Yet, she decided to share this part of her life with me. The least I can do is to respect her choice and help her through it. Choosing my words prudently, I ask,

“I guess not everything went as planned.”

Tariro looks at me and forces herself to smile as she continues, “I got pregnant once, but never succeeded in making it happen a second time… My body must be broken — I’ve heard it so many times that I can’t imagine it being otherwise.”

My eyes grow wet as I understand where this is leading. Tariro notices it and her eyes do the same as she whispers, “I didn’t choose for my body to kill my baby…”

Without hesitation, I hug her wholeheartedly—sharing as much love as I can and covering her cries with the heat of my body.

Some minutes pass as we hold each other. She is slightly shaking. I can sense how hurt and sorrow are rushing through her. After a few moments, the intensity of her grief begins to ease. Tariro’s trembling slows, and the weight between us lightens just enough for her to draw back. Then, her arms loosen, and she withdraws them on her own. We leave the healing place at a slow pace, silence following our steps. Our walk does not feel awkward. I know Tariro needs those quiet minutes, and I do not wish to take them away from her.

After preparing our evening meal, we sat in the right corner of the refectory. Often, Gudo joins us, and when he arrives early enough, we even cook together. Today, we made boiled cowpeas with herbs, while Gudo did a simple wild vegetable stew. Seated at our table, he recounts his working afternoon. Hopefully, he is as lively as always.

“That’s the second time I’ve cleaned the house. I never like it when I can’t work in the fields. And man… this house is spacious, but how can anyone clean something so large? We’re lucky to have such well-made brooms. Sometimes I even feel like my broom is working harder than I am—soon it will be asking for its own bedroom to rest in.”

I always laugh at his stupid jokes, but Tariro does not find him particularly funny. To remain polite and not hurt his feelings, she pretends to laugh in a poorly convincing way. Over time, her act of laughing with Gudo made me giggle as much as the jokes themselves. It is a magic combo that never misses with me. I really appreciate them both.

Then, Tariro takes the lead and recounts our healing afternoon. I am glad to see her mood lighten. Of course, she omits the last part, but otherwise, she remembers everything—from the balm ingredients to the healing technique. Attention to detail and precision truly suit her. She also leaves out my struggles in applying the balm, surely not wanting to cast me in an unflattering light. On the other hand, I disagree with her omission and want to make her shine.

“Gudo, do you know that Tariro is a natural when it comes to healing? At first, it was really hard for me to use the sticks and balm correctly, but she helped me do it perfectly, with patience and guidance. I am lucky to have her by my side.”

Mission succeeded, Gudo praises her, and I saw that my compliment made her blush. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tariro’s expression changes as if some illumination had crossed her. Standing up, she queries in a galvanized voice, “You know what, Xia? If you can learn something from me, then I can learn something from you.”

I look at her with incomprehension. What is she talking about? Gudo recovers faster than I do and asks, “What do you mean, Tariro? Did something else happen?”

A proud smile on her face, she replies, “Xia invited me to come with her to the training room so she could show me the basics of fighting. I wasn’t sure at first, but this afternoon made me change my mind. I should give it a try.”

I am baffled at how quickly she came to a decision. However, I cannot complain, I am sure it will be nice to teach her. Someone like her has to be a dedicated student. Following Tariro’s announcement, I turn my gaze toward Gudo.

“What about you? Would you like to come and train with us? I can teach you too, no jealousy needed,” I question him teasingly, but he understands the seriousness.

“Naa… I’m okay. I’m not a fighter. Worse, it does not seem very funny, not my kind of activity.”

Having anticipated his response, I react on the spot, “Don’t say that until you train with the funniest woman in this house.”

I thought my joke was effective, but I forgot to include all the parties. I do not wait long for Tariro’s reaction.

“That’s nice. I don’t take it personally.”

Not perceiving the humor, we keep silent for a moment, hesitant to laugh. Thankfully, Tariro breaks the quiet with her usual unnatural giggle in Gudo’s presence, and I cannot resist joining in, soon followed by Gudo. Once it’s over, Gudo regains his composure and says, “Well, okay. I won’t come today for the training, but I will soon, I promise.”

I smile at him as we finish our meals. After, we leave the refectory and go our separate ways: Gudo to his bedroom, Tariro and I toward training.

Tariro follows me, her posture uncertain about both the direction and her previous statement. Even though she is behind me, I can feel how tense she is. I am almost certain that she agreed to come with me out of sudden motivation, and she is already starting to regret it. The closer we get to the training room, the more tense she becomes. The door finally appears before us. Its design is rather unusual compared to the other doors of the house: each plank is joined to the next by two thin iron lines barely touching. The handle itself is carved out of iron with an intricate twist on the tip. I grip the handle and open it with confidence. Coming here almost every evening has made me recognizable to the other regular fighters. Since I taught a lesson to that arrogant, untrained fighter, nobody has said anything to me. I even think that some of them are a bit afraid and do not dare refuse my requests when I want to test my skills on them.

Entering the room, we are met with questioning looks. From what I understand, two weeks ago, I was the first woman ever to set foot in the training room. Although it is neither mandatory nor clearly defined, the Kingdom of Zimori is not accustomed to seeing women fight. Here, people generally associate this task with men’s abilities. I returned each surprised gaze with an intense look of my own. In my childhood, when I was angry with my little sister or brother, they would always run away, terrified of my enraged, bloodshot eyes. As I grew up, I learned to choose when to show my scary face, and right now seems to be the perfect moment. Assessing my gaze, they quickly turn their gaze away. Only one keeps his head up, staring straight at us: Shungu. He is the man I defeated. I heard his name during my comings and goings to the training room. Since our brawl, he has never spoken to me, nor have I challenged him again. As he maintains his head up, I hesitate to confront him. Hopefully, his look is not vengeful. I would rather describe it as calm and observant. Nothing to worry about then.

In her overwhelming stress, Tariro did not notice anything. Her eyes are more preoccupied with darting through the room, measuring the situation she has put herself in. I guide her to choose a wooden weapon and strongly advise her to pick a spear. This is the weapon I was trained with, so it would definitely be easier for me to instruct her. Not listening completely, she agrees spontaneously and puts the large, sharp wooden stick in her hands. The spear has a hand-carved wooden tip, carefully shaped and smoothed from scrap wood into a precise, elegant form. Its shaft is wrapped with leather and thread for grip, giving it a simple yet sturdy finish. I adjust the way she is grabbing it and show her the position she must have to exchange blows. Her feet need to be connected to the ground so her equilibrium is steady. This way, she can withstand front attacks. I call it the first step toward spear fighting: stance and grip. Tariro begins by focusing on maintaining a stable footing and ensuring proper hand placement on the spear.

Once she is comfortable enough, we can move toward the second step, point control. It requires practicing steady, accurate thrusts toward a fixed target. It must be done without putting any power into the thrusts. I let her try using one of the pillars supporting the training room. I guide her through the entire process—first demonstrating the movement, then helping her by holding her hands, and finally letting her practice with only minimal advice to adjust her technique. I can feel Tariro’s tension slowly easing. Of course, she is still far from fully relaxed, but at least she is making progress.

When I judge her thrusts to be correct for her first session, I introduce her to the third step, footwork. Tariro must step forward, back, and sideways while keeping balance and the spear aligned. This step is traitorous. One could think it is quite easy, but it is the hardest of the three as it requires coordinating whole-body balance, timing, and movement while keeping the spear in the right direction. You cannot just move the feet. Instead, you have to move several parts as one: the hips, the weight, and the weapon. Many beginners either overstep, freeze, or forget to re-guard after a step. However, so far, Tariro is doing great. Too shy and unrefined in her movements, but at least she has understood the main idea. As I observe her, I witness more clearly the tension disappearing in her body while pleasure appears on her face. Who could have thought that someone so reticent to try training would enjoy the spear this much?

Suddenly, Tariro falls to the ground, her spear landing on my right foot and hurting me in the process. I was lucky to be struck by the handle and not the tip. From what I could see, Tariro overstepped, losing her balance and toppling abruptly.

I rush for her to see if she is alright, “Are you hurt? How do you feel?”

She shakes her head in refusal, her voice tightening, “I knew it wasn’t made for me…”

Opposite feelings mix in my mind. I am relieved that she is not hurt, but I feel for her letdown. Composing myself, I carefully choose my next words, trying to lift her spirits: “You did well before this stumble. You have nothing to worry about. It is perfectly natural to fall in the beginning. It happened to me so many times.”

Tariro’s look avoids me. She heard me but did not listen to me. Only untold embarrassment is stretching on her face.

Quivering, she replies, “I made you lose your time… I’m sorry.”

Damn, she is not listening. Changing strategy, I smile at her with comforting eyes and stretch out my hand to help her up. Tariro stands laboriously, her body still dazed from the fall. All of a sudden, she leaves the training room, her head fixed on the exit, her shoulders shaking with shame. I stand fazed by her sudden decision. Yet I am certain that following her would make things worse. Right now, as hard as it is for me to accept, she wants to be alone.

Guilt and rage engulf me. How could I not see the distress in my friend’s behavior? I witnessed many signs, such as the tension in her body, but I chose to put her through this all the same. Why? Does my wish to make her discover something she could love in the future mean not listening to her feelings? I decided what was best for her and acted with selfishness only to prove myself right. And for what? Hurting my friend while being pitiful…