by Nel Franks
‘I think you’re a natural at this style Gaia. You’ll know enough to progress to the next levels in a few more months. Do you intend to keep it up?’
‘Yes, Sister Panndra. I like doing it, it makes me feel good. And I think I want to be a trader when I graduate. And you said traders need to know how to protect themselves.’
She looked interested. ‘A trader? Hmm, what brought you to that choice?’
‘I’ve always been very interested in how we got the things we don’t make ourselves, and I’ve been watching the Traders while I’ve been working in the Office. Sister Sylva told me a little about the men’s ...’ I stopped, suddenly wondering if I would implicate Sylva. I coughed, to cover myself. ‘Sorry. Sister Sylva told me a little about the means of keeping track of products, as part of my filing duties,’ I temporised. ‘I’d really like to know more about how it all works, and what traders do.’ I ended on a hopeful note.
Panndra looked at me keenly and then laughed. ‘I think you might make a very good trader someday Gaia, but you’ve got years yet before you can specialise. But keep coming to the self-protection classes; it’ll stand you in good stead if you do end up as one of us. If you’re going to do the classes regularly, it might be a good idea to invest in some of the underwear. I can give you the name of the woman who makes them – it might be your first step in becoming a trader!’
I took the woman’s name, Mari, and decided I would see if Tomma wanted to visit her. I was ambivalent about wearing the underwear in the public classes, but it wouldn’t hurt to find out about them. I had been saving my acolyte allowance and thought I could probably afford them now.
That week, all three of us had one of our rare days off together, so we went to visit Mari. She had a huge mulberry tree in the yard behind her cottage and younger mulberries planted all around her boundary. There were an enormous number of silk cocoons stored on a flat open weave basket and a large vat of boiling water on a fire in the backyard, with cocoons bubbling in it. Another woman sat on the back porch in the sun, crooning to herself as she spun an extremely fine thread on a large spinning wheel.
‘My friend Beckya helps me with the spinning,’ Mari said. ‘So far, I’m the only one who knits the underwear, and I can’t keep up with all the silk production and the spinning and knitting myself. I’ve been hoping to find someone who would like to learn the knitting, but no-one seems to want to.’
‘Is it part of the Spinners and Weavers Discipline?’ Tomma asked curiously, watching the flying spinning wheel.
‘No, it’s not,’ Mari said, ‘So far, it’s just a hobby of mine, but the underwear is becoming so popular, I’ve been talking to the Mistress in the Spinners and she’s talking to the Chief Mistress in the House of Crafts about whether we can form a new discipline, or maybe a sub-discipline of silk knitting. It would be great if we could. I could get some acolytes then to train for the knitting. And I could train someone to carve the bamboo knitting pins too. They bend so easily, or they get rough and catch the silk thread. I spend so much time making new ones. It would be wonderful to have someone to do that.’
‘What about the silk production?’ Rosie asked, looking at the cocoons festooning a wicker frame by the back porch. ‘I’m working in the gardens this year, and this is really interesting.’
‘Have you seen the mulberry orchard?’ Mari asked. Rosie shook her head. ‘It’s some distance away at the edge of the big orchard. The Enclave produces wonderful silk already. It’s actually one of our Trade goods’ she said, looking at the bands on my skirt. ‘But that’s all dyed and woven stuff, not knitted. I’d like to start a fine silk knitting sub-discipline. I think there would be such a demand for the products.’
‘What exactly do you make?’ I asked, intrigued with how this cottage industry might turn into a trading commodity.
‘I knit custom products at the moment, but I’m sure we could work out some standard sizes that would fit most people without the need for individual fitting. I make long- and short-sleeved tops, and long- and short-legged hose that tie around the waist. At the moment, I sell mostly to the Traders, the women who take the self-defence classes and the shepherds and other outdoor workers, because they keep you so warm under your winter robe.’
‘Oh!’ Tomma sighed. ‘I wish I’d known about this last year. I nearly froze to death out with the sheep.’
Mari grinned. ‘I don’t think a first-year acolyte could afford my underwear. But if we were able to start a knittery, then probably the price would come down.’
‘How much is a set of long-sleeved top and long-legged hose?’ I asked. If I was going to wear them, I wanted the maximum coverage. She named a price that made me blink, while Rosie gasped and Tomma nearly fell over. ‘Well, I think I would like a set,’ I gulped. ‘How long would it take to make?’
She looked a bit despondent. ‘I can take your measurements anytime you like, but I have so many back orders, I won’t be able to start on them for many months.’ I was relieved, it would give me longer to decide and to save. ‘I’ll put your name down on the list, that way you won’t lose your place, and when I start the set before yours, I’ll contact you to come and have your measurements taken. That way you’re sure they’ll fit you, if you’re still growing,’ she added, looking me up and down. ‘If you stay slender and fairly flat like you are now, you’ll be very easy to knit for. That might bring the price down a bit,’ she said kindly. I felt embarrassed. My body had felt weird to me ever since I had gone through puberty. She took my details and we left, walking back through the Core towards the Hall.
Tomma said, ‘I think I might become a knitter! What a way to make a fortune!’
I grinned. ‘I don’t think she makes a fortune really, Tomma. Imagine how slow it must be to knit on those fine bamboo knitting pins she has. You’d go blind and crippled working at that for a long time.’
Tomma deflated, but Rosie said in a dreamy voice, ‘I would like to work with silkworms. At least they’re not something you would grieve about when they have to die. And they produce such a useful long-lasting product. I think I’m going to ask the Gardens Mistress if I can spend some time in the mulberry orchard.’
Tomma and I looked at each other, surprised and pleased. This was the most positive and forward-looking thing Rosie had said in a very long time.
Radical
Gaia, Summer, Year Two, Initiates
I HAD DECIDED I WOULD only go to meet Rove about once a month. Tomma went nearly every week on her day off, and she came back looking so fresh and happy that I didn’t want to intrude. But I did want to know about Trade in the Male Enclave, so I asked Tomma if she would mind if I came along the next time we were both free.
She smiled. ‘Of course I don’t mind, Gaia. Rove has been asking about you. You know you can come with me any time you like.’
Life was becoming very full. The Office often asked me to stay back late, even though they weren’t supposed to. I had my classes with Panndra, and Ellina took up most of my other time. It was hard to get to see Rosie and Tomma. I just couldn’t fit in work, recreation, and worship every day, let alone having any personal time. I knew Ellina wanted to spend our next day off together, so I felt a bit guilty when I was relieved that our days didn’t coincide. All I told her was that I was spending the time with Tomma and we would probably go for a walk.
Tomma and I walked to the pasture by the Wall and found Rove minding sheep near the edge of his woods, where he had a clear view into our Enclave. We waved and hurried to the Gate.
‘Hello Gaia!’ he called through the Gate as soon as he arrived. ‘I saw you coming with Tomma. How are you enjoying your time in the Office?’
I began to talk about my interest in the Traders. Rove didn’t know a lot about trade in general, although he did know about how skins, wool and sheep meat were transacted.
‘Mostly we eat all the meat here in our Enclave,’ he said, ‘But we do trade the skins. Your Enclave takes a lot of lambskins, and the Expelled take
a lot of sheep skins. I’m not sure why the difference though.’
Tomma spoke up. ‘I think we like the lamb skins for the babies. I know each new mother gets a lamb skin to wrap her baby in.’
‘Oh, right. That makes sense. It’s a bit sad for the sheep though; one of their babies has to give up its skin to make a wrap for one of your... I mean, our babies.’ His tone varied between humour and real poignancy.
‘You really like your sheep, don’t you Rove?’ I probed.
He sighed. ‘Yes, I do. Well, most of them. Sometimes the rams are a bit... well, rambunctious.’ He laughed at his own joke, and Tomma joined in. I rolled my eyes. ‘I like my ewes. They’re not very bright, but they do care for their babies with a lot of courage. My father keeps telling me they’re just a product we grow, but he doesn’t spend all day out here with them anymore. He doesn’t get to know them like I do.’
‘How are the skins traded, Rove?’ I asked. I didn’t want to find out about how they were slaughtered particularly. He launched into a long explanation about the sheep markets, and selecting breeds for skins, or wool or meat, and how the products were handled by stock agents who dealt with the slaughterhouse, the tannery, the butchers and the skin traders. But he didn’t know much about what happened on trading missions, other than the kind of stories that circulated after the return of a mission. Tomma was starting to look bored and fidgety, so although I was intrigued, I thought I should leave them alone for a while.
‘I’ve got to go to the privy,’ I whispered to Tomma.
‘You could go behind a bush,’ she suggested half-heartedly.
‘No, I’ll go back up to the Core. I’ll catch up with you later. Goodbye, Rove,’ I added more loudly. ‘I’ve got to go. Can we meet again in about a month? I’ve got so many other things going on at the moment I can’t come more often than that.’
Tomma looked faintly thankful, as they both called their goodbyes.
On the way back towards the Core, I thought about the life of boys and men in the Male Enclave. There were aspects that didn’t seem as good as our life, like only being able to learn about one job. But there were freedoms and activities there that everyone seemed to know about, that were hidden or secret in our Enclave. I felt so frustrated with wanting to know what that other life was like. I kicked a bush as I passed, growling, ‘I wish I was a boy!’
The simple truth of it struck me motionless.
I wish I was a boy.
I wish I was a boy.
Suddenly a whole range of feelings and frustrations came into focus. I did wish I was a boy. I had felt so confused about who I was, since ... well, since as early as I could remember. I didn’t feel comfortable in my female body. I didn’t like my breasts, other than they were rather small. And I was disgusted when my hips had started to swell and round out. I wanted to be stronger and bigger, to be able to handle anything that happened. I wanted the freedom to go on trading missions, to choose what I might want to study and do for my work. I wanted to see the rest of the world, and not be hemmed in by the Wall. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life inside this one compound, however large it might be.
My mind raced in circles.
I wish I was a boy.
I don’t want to live in this body. I know it’s crazy, but I wish my body was different. I’ve never felt like a proper female—girl or woman. I’ve never felt right.
I want to be a boy.
I want to get out.
I collapsed rather than sat down. I felt everyone might be able to see what a huge wrongness I had just thought. I sat beside the road, absently pulling up grass stems. The ideas might be wrong from everyone else’s perspective, but they felt absolutely right to me. But anyone who heard them was going to disapprove, to such an extent that it might be dangerous for me. I was stunned by the idea that my sisters could ever be a danger to me. But if the ideas were so radical that I might be in danger, I could never reveal them to anyone. These ideas were going to be something I must keep completely to myself. A shudder ran through me; my own thinking had put me in danger, and at the same time, I could not seek support from my dearest sister-friends. It felt bizarre, not to be able to talk about my deepest issues with anyone—we always shared everything, talked about all the different ways to view situations, debated the pros and cons of any solutions. How could I work though something this big without talking to anyone?
Oh, dear Goddess, what was I going to do? A new thought began to coil coldly through my brain. Was wanting to be a boy a sin against the Goddess? Sometimes I wasn’t sure I actually believed there was a deity, an entity, called the Goddess. But most of my sisters certainly did. If I were to reject my female body, given to me by the Goddess and made in her image and with her procreative abilities, what would my believing sisters do to me? Would they think this was a rejection of everything their religion believed? What might they do to me? The spectre of the terrible punishment dealt to the woman who was sterilised floated through my mind. If they could sterilise her for getting pregnant, the very thing the Goddess apparently wanted, what would they do to me if I rejected my female body? Could they, and a cold chill shuddered down my back, would they even actually kill me?
The severest punishments were reserved for those who broke the rules about lying with men and going outside the Wall. I wasn’t going to lie with men, I had no interest in that, but I did want to go outside the Wall. Slowly I began to breathe again, and to consider the enormity I had discovered within me. As I began to consider all the implications of my revelations, that cool part of my mind that would look at any idea, no matter how contradictory, began to probe the implications.
I wish I could change my body.
Well, there’s no way to do that. The most I can do is work hard, lots of exercise, get fitter and stronger, build up my body.
And maybe I could squash my breasts somehow?
Maybe. I don’t know how. And there’s no one I can ask.
I want to get out. I don’t want to live inside the Enclave for all my life.
But do I want to live here inside the Enclave for most of my life?
Probably. But if I go outside the Wall by my own choice, can I ever come back in?
No, not without some terrible punishment that would probably include being Expelled, which would put me right back outside again.
So, should I do something that would get me Expelled as a way of getting out?
No, no-one comes back after that!
And I don’t want to be punished, it might involve sterilisation as well and I certainly don’t want that horrific operation. And if I was sterilised it would take away my right to birth; that was the intent of the punishment.
Do I want my right to birth? Do I want to have children?
No. I know I would like to be in a partnership where there were children, but I don’t want to have them myself.
Then it wouldn’t matter if I was sterilised?
But the operation itself is horrific! I’d never survive it.
But wait a minute, this is a distraction, a sideline.
Is it? Isn’t this whole train of thought about how my life might turn out?
I put my head in my hands, confused by the enormous conflicting and divergent questions I was suddenly considering. Where had I started from?
If I was expelled, there certainly wasn’t any way to come back again. Actually, I couldn’t think of any way to live outside the Wall and then be able to come back again. Surely I would be missed if I went over the Wall, and then if I reappeared, I faced certain punishment.
Then, was it possible to think about living outside the Wall? What about a whole life outside the Wall? Could I even think about leaving everything here that I knew, and living where I knew nothing? What about Tomma and Rosie and Lenna? And Ellina? And my desire to be a trader? Could I be a trader outside the Female Enclave?
Could I—the idea so vast and far-reaching I was trembling—live in the Male Enclave and become a trader there?
&nb
sp; Could I live as a male?
I put my head in my hands, my stomach quivering and jumping. My chest was heaving as I gasped for air. This was going too far, wasn’t it? I was beginning to think about how I could live and work outside the Female Enclave when I hadn’t even decided if I actually wanted, or could ever bear, to leave.
I shook my head again in confusion. But that other side of my mind, the cool questioning part, went on speculating about what my life might be like if I left the Enclave.
I couldn’t bear to think any more. I got up and ran up the road, pounded up the stairs with my head down, and lurched into our room in the Hall. It was empty, thank the Goddess, and I dived into my bed and pulled the covers over my head.
I was still there, trying to think and trying not to think, an hour later when I heard someone approaching along the corridor. I rolled my back to the room and pretended to be asleep as whoever it was came in. I heard her softly approach my bed and pause. I lay very still. She sat down on the edge of my bed. I still felt too ragged and turbulent to be able to talk to anyone. I thought I must look different to everyone around me.
Whoever it was waited without sound or movement, so I knew it was safe, and rolled over. Lenna raised her eyebrows slowly and reached out to stroke my face. Her tenderness gave me nothing to resist, and I burst into tears. She gathered me up, and rocked me, crooning soft noises. After I stopped sobbing, she let me back down on the pillows and sat, looking at me in untroubled waiting. I heaved a great breath and pushed myself up to sit with my arms around my knees.
‘Oh, Lenna. This is so hard. I don’t know what to do.’
Her expression rose into a question.
I wanted to tell her, I wanted to say out loud all the things I had thought, to hear what they sounded like when made into something tangible. I wanted to share them with someone. Telling always made ideas seem more real.