Redemption in Indigo

6

the djombi begins to instruct paama in stick science

Six-year-old Giana was being exceptionally naughty and no-one could figure out why. She would not play with her little friends, she often ran off when she should have been helping in the kitchen or fetching water, and, strangest of all, when her mother gave her a lash with the switch for her laziness, instead of crying as she would normally do, she gave her mother such a reproachful and annoyed look that the poor woman dropped the switch guiltily and edged away, feeling extremely unnerved.

Giana's Gran, who had become perceptive through years of experience, told them to leave the child alone. She said that something had got into Giana's head and they would have to wait until it went back out again. Giana gave the old lady a big hug and got a wink in return, but her older siblings muttered about how spoiled she was, and how they would never have gotten away with such behaviour when they were younger.

There was little connection between Giana's family and Paama's, so Giana was forced to go looking for Paama herself. She wasted an entire day trying to see her and speak to her, either out in the fields or in the court, but each time there were too many people around, or someone who could not be safely ignored was telling her to run along.

In the meantime, there were tantalising glimpses of the potential of Paama's new gift. Giana was amazed. How could people miss the way Paama's feet stirred the dust of the trails into delicate, artistic swirls? How could they fail to notice that the long grass of the pastures combed itself into neat order when she breezed past it? One thing they did see, and that immediately, was that her skill in the kitchen had reached the level of pure magic. The scents that wafted from the house of Paama's parents made many a body slow down as they passed and break into bemused smiles of sheer bliss.

All this in one day? the djombi thought with a mixture of worry and pride. I must talk to her as soon as possible!

Fortunately, the next morning she found Paama washing clothes by the river. This was usually a communal task, with many women talking and singing together, but today Paama was by herself.

Giana decided to waste no time. She marched straight over to Paama and said, ‘Paama, what is that thing on your belt for?'

Paama stopped her work and stared at the little girl. ‘Small children must not be so informal with their elders. I am sure you have been taught better than that.'

Of course. Giana grimaced in embarrassment and tried again. ‘Aunty Paama, what is that thing on your belt used for?'

Paama smiled mysteriously and went back to slapping the wet cloth against the smooth stones. ‘It is for reminding me that good can come out of the worst of situations.'

Giana was startled and pleased. Perhaps Paama did not have as far to go as she had feared. ‘Does it work for other people, too?'

Paama appeared to consider this seriously for a moment, and then she shrugged. ‘I don't see why it would. Perhaps they have their own reminders. But, child, why are you wandering around near the river by yourself? Does your mother know you are out?'

Giana looked around for an excuse, feeling keenly the limitations of her chosen shadow.

'They come down to the river all the time,’ she said at last.

She pointed downstream to where three boys were playing a variation of King of the Castle. They were wrestling, barebacked and barefooted, on a large, mossy rock, each trying to push the other into the water.

Paama gave them a glance. ‘And why should you try to copy them? Big boys don't play like little girls, and what they are doing is far too dangerous for you to even think about.'

'It looks as if it might be too dangerous for them, too,’ said Giana calmly, still looking down the river.

'They can all swim,’ Paama said with a dismissive shrug.

She continued swinging the wet cloth and slapping it down. Fine droplets of water spun off from the fabric as it arced through the air, catching the sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows around her. Giana's attention was caught by the display. With the Chaos Stick at her belt, Paama was unconsciously selecting the most appealing options that chance had available. There were uncanny patterns in the water and the light, patterns that appeared to be unnatural and contrived but were merely very very rare, requiring just the right combination of angles for sun, water, and wind.

'She truly is a natural,’ sighed Giana to herself while Paama slapped and scrubbed at the clothes in a manner that would have seemed completely mundane and ordinary to the untutored eye.

'About the Stick,’ she began again, wondering how to go about explaining the science behind the Stick to one of Paama's limited education.

There was a sudden commotion. One of the boys had tumbled into the water and was bawling loudly. The little girl jumped at the sound and forgot the rest of her sentence.

'They can all swim,’ Paama repeated, not even bothering to look up.

'Even with a broken wrist?’ Giana wondered aloud.

Paama jumped up to stare at the drama downriver. One boy remained standing on the rock, pointing at his friends and yelling. Another boy was swimming towards the unfortunate one, who floundered and splashed while clutching his right hand in his left. Panicked with pain, he lashed out with his feet at the boy who was trying to save him, catching him a solid blow that pushed him off and spun him away.

'No. He'll drown them both,’ Paama breathed. She dropped the washing and began to run down the river bank.

'Paama! You can't reach them in time! Use the Stick instead!’ Giana called out, running after her.

'What stick?’ Paama shouted back.

Giana began to babble in her haste to take advantage of this unplanned situation. She tried to explain about the different possibilities in the universe, about the chance that seems improbable but that, once it is possible, might still happen. And what if there were a type of focus or control for the quantum fluctuations that determine whether a situation is Go or No Go? One could use it to select the unlikely and encourage the serendipitous. One who had the knack of getting the best out of bad situations. One like Paama.

'What? What?’ Paama yelled distractedly.

Giana was ready to scream herself, but she was too out of breath from making her short legs keep up with Paama's.

'Just use the Stick!’ she gasped.

'You're right. We do need a stick, but there isn't one big enough!’ Paama said, looking around in desperation.

They had drawn level with the boys in the water. Paama danced sideways along the bank, keeping in line with them and in pace with the slow current, but hesitant to risk diving in and struggling to bring one wildly flailing body to land.

'If only there were a branch or snag that they could hold on to,’ she wailed.

There are any number of trees that grow on the banks of rivers, and it is in the nature of trees to occasionally lose a limb to age and decay. Time and wind cooperated to bring to breaking strain the dying branch of an overhanging tree several metres downstream. The branch tore free with an awful creaking and cracking and fell with a sloshing splash into the river, immediately lodging firmly against the rocks. The boys drifted into it and clung fast. Giana stopped short, stunned by Paama's words and their effect.

'Thank God,’ gasped Paama.

Then the third boy rushed up and helped Paama drag the stricken youngster out of the water. His would-be rescuer, who was still curled over from that hard kick, was able to pull himself out onto the bank without help. Giana stood for a moment, hands limp at her sides with relief, watching as they sat or sprawled on the grass and fussed over the injured boy. He was sobbing and coughing from the pain in his wrist and the water he had swallowed while screaming, but he was too loud to be anything but alive. She came up to them, put her arms akimbo, and looked down at them critically.

'Well, I suppose that wasn't too bad, though it was a bit? Much. A more subtle use of the currents, perhaps, or—'

'Shut up,’ said the uninjured boy, getting up and shoving roughly at her shoulder.

She staggered back and stared at him, appalled at such rudeness.

'Stop that,’ Paama snapped. ‘Both of you, make yourselves useful and go up to the village and get help.'

The boy trotted off immediately. Paama turned her full attention to Giana. She seemed increasingly irritable now that the crisis was over.

'And you, little girl, don't come back down to the river unless your mother is with you. Can you imagine if it had been you in the water? You might not have been so lucky.'

'But—'

'Don't answer back. Do you want me to tell your mother what a disobedient little girl you are? Now go!'

Giana went.

The evening's debriefing was depressingly short.

'How are the lessons going?'

'I don't mean to be difficult, but explain to me again why Paama needs to be taught how to use the Stick when she seems to be playing it so well by sheer instinct.'

'Don't make me mention any names.'

There was a contrite silence, and then, ‘I know, I know. I'm a little stressed. I have had to face some challenges because of the nature of my chosen shadow.'

'Be direct. Remember, you don't have to take away her memories. But no-one else must find out.'

'I know,’ muttered the junior djombi morosely. ‘I know.'

The morning after, Paama was sweeping her doorstep when she looked up and saw the little girl from the river. She was walking alone, despondently kicking at dust with her bare toes. Paama's heart softened.

'Child, come here,’ she called.

The girl came up to her and looked up into her face with a surprisingly anxious expression. Paama remembered how many times she had scolded her the day before and was instantly contrite.

'The boys will be all right. They have been warned not to play in the river again until they are older. So, you see it's not just you.'

The girl didn't seem satisfied by this news. She said sorrowfully, ‘I didn't go down to the river to play. I went to see you.'

Paama was surprised and touched by the earnestness in the child's tone but did not know how to respond to it. Then she found something to say.

'I have just finished baking small cakes. Would you like to come in and have some?'

The small face lit up. ‘Yes, thank you!'

When they got inside, she seemed slightly dismayed that Paama's sister and mother were also in the kitchen, but after a few of the cakes were inside her, she was much more cheerful.

'May I come back and see you tomorrow?’ she asked Paama with the directness of innocence.

'Yes, once your mother agrees,’ Paama said.

'She will now that Gran has spoken to her. I think that mothers worry far too much about their children, don't you? It's very stifling.'

Paama raised her eyebrows, but Tasi and Neila looked at each other, smiled, and shook their heads fondly. The child was so precocious—an endearing trait at six, but Paama silently hoped that Giana's mother would shake it out of her before six more years were past.