The children looked around at each other, nodding their heads, the hands that they'd used to help hear the whispers lowering sombrely to their laps. It suddenly all made sense. No wonder they didn't want to tell us, this was a taxing thing to think about. Hmm. Well. I guess they were right. We shouldn't worry. Instead, we should be playing. Come on, I figured out a way to make a slingshot. And they all ran into the forest in groups of three.
I remember that after that day, it was as if the children had moved back a step. They stopped asking difficult questions, stopped listening against the doors, stopped wondering; I think they actually believed that, for the time being, they knew enough.
Whereas I was stuck thinking about the different Elders I'd watched without their knowing, standing beside tables, their fists tight, eyes closed, lips pursed. Those people weren't thinking about saving the world, and they weren't thinking about fern leaves, either. No. There was something else.
* * *
3
There was another important event that took place in my childhood. And I consider it important, not because Harek used it against me when I Came of Age, but because I've always solemnly wished that it had never happened at all.
There is a line that every one of us consciously draws, which, I think, is our fumbling attempt to differentiate between right and wrong. Of course, there is no such thing as right and wrong, and if there were ever to be a physical line between the two, it would be immensely jagged, its boundaries hazy, the colours of both sides endlessly bleeding into each other. 'But,' we stop and say to ourselves, 'we have to start somewhere'. So we pick up a stick, put a contemplative finger to our lips, and squint at the bare soil in front of our feet. And here is the interesting part: because what is natural for a human being to do is lean over, scratch their own individual quavering line in the dirt, straighten up, nod with satisfaction at themselves, pause, and then look over their shoulder to see if anyone is watching and step over it.
We'd killed hermit crabs before, raising stones above our heads and pummelling them into the stiff sand, and we'd also taken the heads off of beetles with the tips of our fingernails, watching their arms twitch frenetically in the air for a few seconds afterward; but a part of us knew that what we did with the lizard was going too far.
I don't remember where I was walking to, but I remember stopping in my tracks and listening to the sound of their giggles for a few moments, there being something inside of them that was undoubtedly mischievous, luring. I turned and went to investigate; whatever it was sounded like fun.
As soon as I broke through the trees and saw the backs of Mikkel and Peik, I felt incredibly lucky. The three of us were probably the most promising and intelligent children on the island, so the Elder's often put us into the same group to learn or to do problem-solving projects. But as we were discouraged in having exclusive friendships with one or two people, outside of our schooling we didn't really get to enjoy each other's company very often. Had it been allowed, I think we would have spent a lot of time together, as the three of us were similar in quite a few ways.
Everyone liked Mikkel, and I think this was because he was equally amiable with everyone on the island. He was taller than most of the boys, and had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, which was always a bit too long and constantly hung in front of his face. Peik was a bit shorter, had high cheekbones, brown eyes, and straight black hair. His skin was much darker than the rest of the children on the island (though it wasn't nearly as dark as one of the Elders, whose skin was almost black it was such a dark brown). I'm pretty sure that both of them were a little older than me.
They obviously weren't expecting anyone to come through the trees that day, and as soon as they heard my footsteps, they spun around and stood shoulder to shoulder, hiding what they were doing. They relaxed once they saw it was me, but I remember that there was something in their manner that was different than usual, that they remained a little tense, edgy, which only signified that the Elders would be genuinely infuriated if they found out what was going on.
"What do you guys have there?" I asked.
"A lizard," said Peik, trying to sound nonchalant, but I could tell that he was excited. He looked over at Mikkel, who held up a few pins that he'd quickly hidden in his hands when they'd turned around.
"And these," said Mikkel, almost proudly.
I smiled, not really understanding, and stepped forward while both of them parted and faced each other, their bodies opening up like a gate to reveal their prize. The two boys had stolen some pins, probably from one of our clothing classes, and had also managed to catch a lizard. They'd stuck one of the pins through the centre of its tail, fixing it to a stump. The lizard was bright green, its beady eyes black, and it seemed to be struggling half out of confusion and half out of pain.
"Cool," I muttered, as if to myself.
"We just caught it," said Peik. I nodded, and we all stood there looking down at it for a few seconds, silent, the lizard seeming to look back. Then, without taking his eyes off it, Peik reached over and found Mikkel's hand, took a pin from it, and crouched down to the stump. "Watch this," he said. He stuck the pin into one of the lizard's tiny feet, and it reacted by opening its mouth and, oddly enough, biting its own appendage above the pin. And to us, at that moment, absolutely nothing could be funnier in the world. We started giggling, hysterically, almost unable to control ourselves, leaning in on each other, pointing down at it, stamping our feet on the ground. Though I recall that we still had the presence of mind to keep our voices down, as not to be heard.
As soon as we'd recovered a bit, Mikkel and I each picked up a pin and crouched down to the lizard as well, smothering the stump in shadow, our heads almost touching in a circle. It was all so invigorating, intoxicating; it's hard to believe how formidable a tiny pin can make one feel, how powerful. This was because we could see, with the lizard's head jolting from side to side, that it was terrified, watching us all closing in around it. It had become desperate, trying to squirm free with every bit of energy that it had in its tiny body, wanting to find a nook to hide in, a branch to climb, even some open ground to scurry across or water to jump into - anything. But we weren't going to give it that chance.
I stuck my pin into one of its legs, Mikkel stuck his into the skin by its ribs, and Peik pinned another of its feet. Of course the lizard kept struggling, kept twisting in pain, biting at its own flesh; and we kept laughing, and then laughed harder, water coming to our eyes, our stomachs eventually becoming sore. It was great fun. At some point, we started competing to see who could be precise enough to pin the smallest appendage, and I remember that Peik won this game, managing to get one of its fingers just below the nail; and when he did so, the lizard held its head up to the canopy and opened its mouth wide, showing a tongue of dull pink. This led to shoving leaves and twigs into its mouth to see if it would bite down on them, and then giggling when it did. We brought our faces down to it as well, seeing how near its mouth we would dare to put our noses, jokingly nudging each other when we were almost close enough to touch it.
After a long while, the lizard became completely exhausted, its reactions subdued, sluggish; it had stopped squirming altogether, stopped responding. So we prodded it with our fingers, tried piercing parts of its body that we hadn't yet touched, but nothing happened, and it looked like our game was over. Peik, seeming bored, finally picked up a pin and drove it through its skull. It twitched a bit, and then stopped moving forever.
But the moments after he did this were by far the most poignant. The three of us stayed crouching around the stump, glancing at one another, the smiles that had adorned our faces the whole time slowly, slowly beginning to fade. We all looked down and watched Mikkel's hand reach out to run a slow finger along the lizard's back. When he was finished, he quickly put his arm back at his side and looked out at the trees. Peik, after seeing this, leaned in and began retrieving the pins from the dead creature's body, taking them out of its coarse skin almost gently.
/> There was no more laughing. We'd become quiet, sober. Because we knew - we knew that we'd gone too far, that we'd overstepped some kind of boundary, moved something that we couldn't put back in its rightful place. Yet that was all we knew. If we'd had the capacity to understand why we'd done it, what had driven us, I don't think we would have started in the first place.
As we stood to leave, Mikkel picked the lizard up by the tail and tossed it into a few bushes, out of sight, and we walked out from the forest and into the naked light of day. I don't remember what happened after that, if we ever talked about it again, or even mentioned it, but the details of what we did and how we did it, are still fresh in my mind. And they would need to be. Because what we did to the lizard that day was incredibly important in helping me understand The Goal later on in my life.
Years passed. I continued to try and find out what the 'real' secret was all about, and I made quite a few guesses at it, some of which I thought were fairly educated at the time, though now I know they weren't even close. I was even brave enough to openly confront Dana with a few of them, and he replied appropriately, never giving me anything more than what the whispers on the island had continuously repeated; they all knew what I was looking for, and were careful not to give it to me.
Then I had my Incision, which was just after puberty, and which was the same surgery that everyone had after they'd physically developed enough. And after that, it's all just a blur of learning and more learning. I think the only other really important event that happened before I Came of Age was discovering Kara.
We'd grown up together and I'd known her all of my life, but we were so strictly forbidden to spend time or develop any kind of deeper friendship with the opposite sex, that I never really had the opportunity to find out how her mind worked. Then, one day, I had to do some pair work with her, and we'd been asked to discuss something or other - I can't remember what - and suddenly, listening to the things that she was saying, I couldn't believe that I hadn't found a way to seek out her company before. She was fascinating, engaging, wise, and I couldn't seem to hear enough from her that afternoon - which, of course, was a mistake. I even knew it as it was happening: we were looking at each other too intently, were too engrossed in the conversation, too interested. And from the ever-watchful corners of the room, the Elders saw the threat brewing, and quickly intervened.
We were pulled aside and given a long talk about exclusive relationships on the island, and we were cautioned of the inherent dangers that existed in them. And though they didn't specify what those dangers were, we were repeatedly told that they were critical, and that if we didn't respect the guidelines that had already clearly been set out for us, we could potentially threaten our whole way of life, in fact, they added with grave voices, our very existence.
But it wasn't only a firm warning, after that afternoon we were banned from each other. They made sure that we didn't sit together, work together, do chores together, learn together, or even walk together from building to building. They would watch out of the corners of their eyes as we ate in the Community Hall, waiting to see if we would risk a glance at one another, always suspicious that there might be something between us that they weren't seeing - a secret. And there was.
We'd been raised on secrets, and the Elders had taught us everything that one needed to know about keeping them, about living around them, through them. We found ways to meet, usually feigning a walk with some random person of the same sex, and then, once out in the forest, separating and meeting at a specific spot. It would only be for fifteen minutes, or maybe a half hour at most, but this turned out to be a blessing in a way, because it shaped our conversations and the way we talked. We had to think about things carefully, weighing out what we were going to say well before it came out of our mouths, and as soon as we met each other, we would have to get right to the point, our words intense, hands flinging in the air to help describe our thoughts, beliefs, theories, our bodies always leaning in close; though very careful not to get too close.
We were always cautious not to touch each other, both of us being privately convinced of some unspeakable and extreme consequence looming overhead. But I like to think that it was on both our minds - because I know that it was on mine. All too often my eyes would sink to various parts of her body, and I would find my thoughts suddenly racing into a very different direction from our conversation, and I would almost have to physically stop myself, shake my head, snap out of it. Because, given the circumstances, not only were these ideas wrong, they were also impossible. No, instead, we would have to settle for words; and, happily, her words were unusually fierce.
She experienced the world in a way that I had a hard time even imagining, she seemed to see a vibrant life and colour in things, heard voices, felt tremors. When I was in front of my peers, or even in front of the Elders, I always felt intelligent, but sitting in front of Kara, I felt stupid, slow. There were times when I couldn't keep up with her chains of thought, my eyes growing glazed, wishing I had more time to think her words through before I'd have to respond. And, unfortunately, I would often be given that time. We were caught out in the forest once or twice, and for a few months afterwards, we would be watched far too carefully to risk meeting again. But we, in turn, would patiently watch the Elders out of the furthest corners of our eyes, waiting for them to lower their guard, waiting for another chance; and in the meantime, saving our words, processing the ones we'd exchanged, and memorizing our responses for later. Sometimes, frustrated at having to wait months before seeing her again, I would lie awake at night trying to imagine what the Elders could possibly see that was so dangerous and reckless in intimacy, wondering how anything terrible could come out of something that, already before it had developed into much, felt so natural, so satisfying. It's interesting to think now that, as much as it eluded me then - lying in the dark, shaking my head at how ridiculous I thought they all were - later, I would come to understand their reasoning perfectly.
* * *
4
It happened much later than I thought it would, and it was interesting that once it arrived, the aura of secrecy and mystery that had always surrounded Coming of Age didn't disappear. I'd expected there to be some kind of formal announcement, but that wasn't the case. Instead, a young man or woman would just suddenly be gone, and when we asked about them, we were told, albeit guardedly, coldly, that they were Coming of Age and would only return to the community once they were ready. We noted that this usually took anywhere from a few days to a week. Of course, we'd all expected to find out what it was all about through the whispers, but when people returned, they were different, and seemed to have forgotten the secret understanding between us all that secrets weren't really secrets in the first place. Yet this wasn't the only change. Once people returned, they were reticent, quiet, seemed older; and likewise, the Elders had instantly come to regard them differently, always looking at them with long, understanding glances, giving them a sorrowful smirk whenever they passed.
Though, thankfully, this change in their demeanour didn't really last. Usually within a few days after their education had moved into the Great Hall, the young men and women who had Come of Age started to seem a bit more contented again, confident, even buoyant, and in turn, the Elders stopped favouring them, or at least stopped being so gentle around them. However, things were a little different with Mikkel.
The time between his disappearing from the community and returning to it was longer than most of the others. And when he did return, he wasn't well - he didn't even look healthy. Mikkel, who was normally one of the most social people on the island, became completely withdrawn. He would sit alone at the table for long periods of time after we'd eaten, his arms crossed over his chest, posture sagging, staring at the empty plate in front of him; and the Elders never stopped paying intent and specific attention to him, the women rubbing his back for a few moments as they passed, the men smiling tenderly in his direction, whispering to themselves, nodding their heads. It was only a
fter a month or so that something seemed to click in him, and he began reverting to his likeable, social self, slowly getting back into conversations and seeming a bit happier.
At about this time, I thought I'd noticed him looking at me more often than usual, smiling with a warm grin whenever our eyes met, and generally watching me out of the corner of his eye. Which struck me as odd. And as a rule, Mikkel didn't do things that were odd. I hoped to myself that he was genuinely 'okay'. Then, after meeting him in the forest one afternoon, I realized he was as far from it as he could possibly get.
I thought at the time that it was quite accidental that we should happen across each other when and where we did, but looking back, he'd probably been waiting for the opportunity for quite a while. I was walking along one of the trails that linked two parts of the community together when he threw a rock into the bushes beside me. I turned to look at him. This was one of the things that we'd learned as children: if you wanted to do something secretly, the last thing to do was make suspicious noises to indicate it - as it was the hushed 'psst' sounds, or whispers of 'hey', that the Elders had trained their ears for. If you really wanted to keep something secret, you didn't make a sound at all; and apparently Mikkel really wanted to keep this secret. He nodded his head towards the trees and underbrush away from the trail, and we both looked over our shoulders before walking into them, watching where we were stepping, careful not to break any twigs. When we were far enough into the trees, he came closer and we crouched down, out of sight.
"What's up?" I whispered. I was surprised that he wanted to say something to me alone. I respected Mikkel, thought the world of him really; like everyone did.
"Listen - I think you're going to Come of Age soon," he muttered. He looked a little nervous.
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