NOVEL NEXT 4: Behind The Blue Curtain
I'm afraid of outsiders. I like things that are predictable, but I don't get a lot of renters at the edge of the village. This one is so young. Paulo keeps coming by and watching the door. I think he wants to go inside. He doesn't leave when I approach. I can hear sobbing. I wait with Paulo. I pick him up and knock.
- Sibsil Creed, Stories of Shurwinn, (2779)
Pivot, lunge, strike, swivel, lean, reach, bend. It was day three of my Shurwinn adventure, and I was moving through Jendo forms in my casita. I had decided to ignore clocks and calendars since I had no obligations, but every day I had awakened with the sunrise because the desert sun dawned too bright too ignore.
I had naturally fallen into a daily routine: Jendo upon waking, walk while the morning was still cool and enjoy the shops, spend the afternoon watching stream shows in Shurwinn to practice my language. I had a small floater that folded down to a size that fit in my cross body Chula bag, and it was perfect for hauling my shopping. The open air market was a fifteen-minute walk from the casita, so by the time I got home in the morning, the sun was getting high in the sky and the day was heating up.
I'd enjoyed trying all the new vegetarian foods: thick curry gravies with veg and flatbread, peppered veggies over rice, and fruit. There was fruit everywhere. It seemed like it was falling from the trees— date palms, coconuts, lemons, Marion berries. Many things I knew, and many unfamiliar to me.
My first taste of Shurwinn was costamelon juice. There were street vendors selling varieties of juices, and the costamelon was pale purple. It was heaven in the hot, dry air. I'd bought a huge load of costamelons the day before; melons bigger than my head. When you cut them open, you had to scrape out the seeds, and there was a lilac-colored flesh that was sweet as sugar and pretty much just water. It was the most refreshing thing I'd ever tasted.
I wasn't used to the dry heat. My sinuses felt parched, and my skin was tight and dry. I drank water like never before trying to stay hydrated. While exercising, the sweat just evaporated right off. I wasn't up to sparring strength. My body remembered the forms like an old familiar friend, but I had a few weeks of regular training before I'd be up to sparring again.
And I felt like I could train every day. The pressure in my head had relaxed since I'd gotten to Shurwinn. It was such a relief to actually feel like moving again.
I let myself be carried away by the forms. I was the master of the forms. The forms moved me. Something happy and warm rose up within me. I was moving, and I was grace itself. I no longer thought. I moved. I was the forms.
I felt something tingling within me. Happiness. Desire. My breath grew stronger. I could feel my breasts tightening. What was this? Wasn't I the forms? No, I was a woman, and I was aroused, and it felt good. It was like my body had forgotten that it could feel good. So good; it felt good. It had been so long. Mmmm. Need and want surged, and I decided to let it. I let it fill me, and let myself enjoy it. And it felt so good, so good. I lay on my bed and barely had to touch myself. I was so ready for it. It had been so long, and it was pleasure beyond what I'd ever felt before. I was so relaxed and so alive.
ALIVE! I was ALIVE! And I was on fire! On fire with desire and want and need and a pleasure so intense I didn't think I could stand it. I wanted release, but I didn't want it to end. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't— it crested and crashed through me in waves. I saw lights in my eyes. Stars! Could you see stars from an orgasm? What was that? Was it even possible? I was so charged I could barely see. The pleasure was nearly too much. How could it be this good? I'd never known feelings so intense. Was it always this way for vegetarians?
I inhaled deeply. I came back down, slowing and stilling.
And then my heart wrenched. I was alone, but I wanted to be held. I had been torn open, and there was no one there to hold me together. Sobbing shook me. My heart kept clenching in agony. Was this what heartbreak felt like? It felt like it would never stop. I couldn't stop crying. There was too much pain inside me. Pain for what I'd lost. Pain for all the confusion. Pain because I didn't want to go back to my life. Pain because I married a man who didn't love me. Pain because my family hadn't loved me.
Pain because I was alone. Always alone. Finally, I cried myself out and slowly began to return. I could feel my breath slowing. I wasn't shaking anymore, butI was covered in snot and tears, and my mouth was parched. I felt fragile inside. Like if someone hit me with a feather, I'd break into pieces.
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I got up for some water, and the cool liquid on my tongue triggered a need to down more and more. I was midway through my second glass when I heard a soft knock. I paused and put the glass down and waited. Three very soft knocks sounded like they were coming from the front door.
The blue curtain was drawn over the shuttered door, so I pulled it back. Ritsken, the woman who rented me the casita, was there with a little mirka in her arms. I opened the door, and she held the creature out to me. I reached out, and she put it in my arms and walked away.
The little white furry animal draped itself over my left arm, with its legs dangling down towards the ground, and its smooth tail wrapped around my wrist.
"Well, hello there, little friend," I said to it in Starlend. "Do you want to come inside?"
The mirka thrummed, and it felt content to me, so I brought it inside and sat on the bed. It was mostly white, with a brown left ear. I had seen the mirkas running around the garden. They were a type of large rodent with long bodies and long legs, thin tails and round heads topped with round ears.
He was so soft. And I was sure it was a "he." He just lay there on my arm, thrumming contentedly while I ran my right hand down his furry head and back. I felt calm come over me, and comfort. I kept petting the little mirka and started feeling drowsy. Pretty soon, it was hard to keep my eyes open. I gave up and laid the mirka down, and rested my head on my pillow. My eyes closing, I felt the mirka walk over me and crawl into my hair. It curled into a ball next to my neck, and I knew no more.
Some things don't have to be understood.
Collected Unpublished Lyrics
-Sibsil Creed, Stories of Shurwinn, (2766)
Dream Journal
There was light. And it was soft. Welcoming. A man stood in front of me holding his arms open. I went to him and hugged him. I felt something I had never felt before: home. I was home. It was comfort. It was peace. I belonged.
My eyes opened, and I still felt like I was in a warm embrace. It had been a dream, but it had felt real. Like he was still there hugging me. What was that? Could my subconscious create a dream like that to comfort me when I was falling apart? It felt so good that I didn't think I could create something like it. I had never felt home in that way. Was he a person? Was he real? Who was he to me? Was he mine?
The dream felt so important; I didn't want to forget it. The day before, I had impulsively bought a little spiral notebook in a shop because it sang to me of Shurwinn. It was light brown with delicate dark green vines and bright purple flowers. I went to get the notebook, and returned to the bed to write down everything I could remember about the dream. I hadn't seen details about the man. What color was his skin? What was he wearing? I didn't know. I just knew what it felt like to be held by him.
It was the best thing I'd ever felt in my life, and I wanted more.
I kept writing and thinking about dreams. I hadn't remembered dreams much in recent years. Not until the injury. I seemed to be having so many vivid dreams since the hospitalization. And what about that dream when I was in the coma right before I woke up? With the ancient, round columns and the symbol burned into the stone? I recorded everything that had happened in that dream too.
What was going on with all of the dreams? Could I do it again? Was there some way to get my subconscious to give me another dream with the man who felt like home?
I was so thirsty I felt parched. I wanted costamelon juice immediately so I slid into my new Shurwinn shoes— light, flat slippers with a strap at the ankle— and headed to a shop nearby that had juices. I was still in my exercise tights and tight tank, but things were so laid back that it didn't matter.
I filled a whole bag with costamelon juice and returned to the casita which was just one main room with a bed, a small kitchen, a small tatsu table that sat close to the ground with shiki cushions on the floor. And a tiny bathroom that was just a closet. But the windows were floor to ceiling and the door was solid glass, and there was so much light inside that it didn't feel cramped. There was just enough room to practice my Jendo forms.
The back of the casita opened to a beautiful garden. Ritsken had told me I could eat anything I wanted from the garden. There were lemons and tangerines. Date palms. Flowers everywhere. It was lovely and shaded, so I went out there and sat under one of the trees. There was a staircase running up the back of the building that went up to the rooftop garden.
Ritsken lived in the second floor of the casita, but I didn't see her often. The mirkas were hopping about, but the little white one from earlier wasn't among them. It must've been a pet, but I hadn't noticed Ritsken with it before. I sat there enjoying the plants as the cool evening set in.
The oasis was cold at night. Just after sunset it turned cool, and once the heat dissipated from the stone buildings, it was cold enough for a sweater. I had bought some light loose shorts and bandeau tops to feel more comfortable during the daytime heat, and I really liked them. The fabrics were soft and light and easy on the skin. Shurwinn felt really accessible. It was easy to live there where everything was small and close by.
I felt— different. Like earlier that day I had cried so hard that I was raw inside. As if too many layers of skin had been peeled away leaving raw, tender, vulnerable places. But in the cool of the evening, I felt somehow— renewed. Rejuvenated. Like I had purged something dark and foul from inside of me, and I was cleansed from the inside out.
And that dream. That man. It was still with me. I still felt it. It was like a warm gel had been poured into my soul and was healing wounded places that I hadn't known had needed a salve.
Was this what it felt like to be broken and then mended?