What Can't Be Hidden

by Brandon Andress

  With her head still down, examining the stains on her hands, Thura hoped no one had noticed her subtle act of defiance in not joining the crowd in their unitive pledge. If I no longer share this community’s values, she thought, how can I give it my heart and allegiance. As much as Thura desired to keep peace with everyone around her, repeating words she no longer believed would be disingenuous. Trusting no one had noticed her silence, the young woman sat down with the crowd as her father stepped in front of Father Prodido and the center flag to give his address.

  “We gather here in this place, in Sanctuary,” Ochi began, “in the very spot that represents the freedom we enjoy as Patridians. As Father Prodido said, the freedom in which we gather and the freedom we celebrate each day is costly. And no freedom-loving community that desires peace can sit idly by while a mounting threat slowly begins to creep in among us. Nor can we turn a blind eye to this threat as it begins to surround us.”

  It was evident to everyone that their leader’s affect was flat and monotone, almost rote and memorized. He sounded off. Ochi was not delivering with the same rousing, emotional punch as Father Prodido. Of course, the leader was always to the point and a matter- of-fact man, but this presentation lacked his regular energy. It did not come close to capturing the hysteria of the last few hours. Father Prodido, now standing to Ochi’s left, glanced at Tyran under a quizzical brow and received a subtle nod in return. The pair seemed to be acknowledging Ochi’s detachment and that their earlier conversation needed to resume as soon as possible.

  “After a short deliberation this evening,” Ochi continued, “the council and I have decided unanimously that we’ll seek additional information from the prisoner about his intentions. We’ll also try to determine who his people are and what their intentions could be.”

  The leader’s pause at that exact moment did not serve him well. The crowd, which had been hanging on every word and riding the emotion of Father Prodido’s inspiring words, grew into a ferocious beast whose insatiable appetite wanted more than an interrogation. It was not long before they began to roar in dissatisfaction. Raising his hand in hopes of taming the beast, Ochi shouted out above their growling in one last attempt to satisfy their hunger.

  “But to make a statement on how we will deal with anyone outside of Patrida who poses a threat to our community and our way of life, we will execute the prisoner within the next few days, once we get the information we need from him.”

  The beast rumbled in delight as it jumped up in pandemonium. The macabre scene played out as if the entire performance had been perfectly choreographed. Ochi stared down the center aisle in a dream-like haze. His head throbbed, and a tunnel appeared before him, blocking out everything around him in darkness except what was directly in front of him. He could only see Pali and Machi marching down the center aisle, leading the prisoner with a rope around his neck to the people’s thunderous and echoing chants.

  “No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!” they cried as the prisoner stumbled past them.

  Like a father proudly observing his children’s great accomplishment, Father Prodido looked at the brothers and then to the crowd, nodding his head in approval. Both Ochi and Tyran left their positions and joined Velos and Thura in the front row. The elder leader took the spot next to his daughter, mustering a meager half-smile after looking down at her arms. Despite the cacophony and madness surrounding them, Ochi reached for Thura’s red wine-stained hand and squeezed it once before letting it go.

  Standing back at the center with the two brothers and prisoner, Father Prodido slowly raised both hands and looked to the heavens. His white-clothed arms began to shake violently. His gold medallion bounced from its chain up and down on his chest. The religious leader closed his eyes as if summoning power from above. He was in full performance mode, and everyone cheered with approval at what they were witnessing. Father Prodido stayed in this pose and played the part for almost a full minute as, one by one, the crowd began to raise their hands and close their eyes with him.

  That is, everyone but Thura, whose hands remained boldly by her side and her eyes rebelliously open. All she could do at that moment was stare at the bloodied and bruised face of a man she did not know. With the rope still tightly bound around his neck, in the most dehumanizing position possible, he stared helplessly at the ground. To Thura, it looked as if he had already given up and was resigned to his fate. She did not know exactly what to do, but her heart ached. All she could do was stare at him.

  This man is surrounded by people who hate him, she thought. They mocked him and do not even know his name. And now, he is being sentenced to death. Yet, here we sit in our religious pageantry, raising ourselves up as holy and righteous people before God. Unable to turn her eyes away from the cuts on his bloodied face, Thura’s thoughts turned to tears streaming down her cheeks. What in the world are we doing? Why am I a part of this?

  Thura placed her hands in front of her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. But as she removed her hands, she noticed the prisoner’s eyes staring back at her. Thura caught her breath in shock. But for some reason she could not look away. There was depth and kindness in his eyes. They seemed to be reassuring her that everything would be alright.

  But as quickly as the young man glanced at her, his eyes darted back to the ground before the prayer ended. With rain beginning to fall and rapidly intensifying, the prayerful lowered their arms and turned their faces from the dark, precipitating sky back toward Father Prodido. A subtle nod from the religious leader released Pali and Machi. The brothers stepped forward and marched down the center aisle victoriously toward the Monon, dragging the prisoner behind them. The crowd hastily ran through the pouring rain to crashes of thunder. Order devolved into scattered and frantic mayhem. Unmoved by the chaos around her, Thura stood alone in the front row transfixed by torches refusing to yield to the rain.

  CHAPTER 4

  The outer edges of Patrida were not the meticulously ordered cobblestone of the Monon. While the main thoroughfare would have been the most direct route to the jail from Thura’s house, located next to Sanctuary at the complete opposite end of town, Thura did not want anyone to see her. The gravelly route along the perimeter provided the necessary cover she needed to move discreetly from one side of town to the other, especially at night.

  Walking along the slightly muddy alleyways for a little less than a half-hour, Thura cautiously began to approach the jail on the final side street. The young woman peered around the corner to ensure the guards had already retreated for the night. She stood in a dimly lit area, but it provided enough adequate cover in the shadows for her not to be seen. But between where she stood and the jail door at the other end was a dozen or more oil lamps gently casting their light on the narrow street.

  For Thura, this final stretch would be precarious. It would involve her walking nearly the entire length of the alley to reach the jail door, which itself was only a couple dozen steps away from the Monon. At any moment, a person could turn onto the alleyway or walk out of their house and see her. To make the situation even more unnerving, she would be visible to anyone walking along the Monon near the gallows.

  But Patrida was as silent as Thura could ever remember it. Her father’s announcement of the prisoner’s impending interrogation and execution had temporarily allayed the townspeople’s passion. Combined with the sudden rain shower, it appeared as if everyone decided to make it a short night and turn in early. Fortunately for Thura, that meant little activity along the Monon. As she patiently waited and watched every window from her limited vantage point, the second-story lights gradually began to fade.

  Thura did not want to expose herself by walking straight down the middle of the alley or immediately crossing to the other side. Instead, she would hug the edges of the buildings on her side of the road and walk a delicate tightrope until she was directly across from the prison cell. Clenching her fists, the young woman took a determined yet wary first step around the corner of the building onto the all
eyway, eyeing the prison door.

  Thura placed her back against the wall, balancing a thin line as she opened her hands and ran her palms against the cool, smooth stones for balance. Despite her nervousness, the young woman scurried through the shadows until she stood with her back up against a wooden storage door. She stared at the prisoner’s darkened window across the street as she wiped the sweat from her shaking hands onto her dress. In an attempt to control her nervous breathing, which had been progressively intensifying, Thura closed her eyes, took one last deep breath, and then walked directly to the cell. As she stepped in front of the heavy, wooden door, between the gentle flicker of two oil lamps on each side, she peered into the darkened cell through the small, square opening.

  “Hello?” she whispered, not quite sure what she might hear in response if anything at all.

  No answer.

  There were no movements or even subtle sounds in the black of the cell but the prisoner had to be inside, as this was the only holding area in Patrida. Placing the tips of her fingers on the small, rectangular wooden shelf below the window, the young woman leaned closer to the window and tried once more.

  “Hello, friend,” Thura whispered.

  A bruised and dirty face appeared out of the darkness, almost as if the young woman’s kindness summoned him. His face gradually illuminated with the hazy shimmer of streetlights as he stepped forward toward the window.

  “My name is Odigo,” he whispered back.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Odigo,” Thura said. “But obviously not under these circumstances. I am so sorry for what they have done to you. My name is…”

  “Thura,” Odigo gently interrupted, his lips pressed together in a subtle smile. “I know who you are.”

  Thura stared at the young man in a disbelieving and somewhat stupefied silence. She should have been horrified that a stranger said her name. For only twelve hours earlier, the possibility of another person existing on the island outside of Patrida would have been inconceivable. But in her naïveté, or maybe it was the benevolent glance Odigo gave her during the prayer at Sanctuary, Thura was still more curious than scared.

  “How do you know me?” Thura demanded. “How do you know my name? Why are you here? Where did you come from? Are there others here on the island? Did you come to Patrida for me?”

  The young woman had nothing, if not a thousand questions, but too many questions for the limited amount of time and precariousness of their situation. Understanding the necessity of brevity at the moment, Odigo began.

  “I am from a small community on the other side of the island that once existed as a part of Patrida.”

  Thura stared at Odigo but then at the ground in confusion. As much as the young woman tried to understand what he was saying, she could not comprehend how that was possible. While it was true she was only a little girl when they first arrived on the island, Thura had never heard anyone say a single word about another community. Searching the ground as if waiting for it to give her the answer, she concluded that no one in Patrida knew of this other community, or that they had purposefully kept it a secret from her.

  But how has not one person in Patrida ever spoken about this? Thura thought. Someone has to know, right? Of all people, my father, the leader of Patrida, has to know about this other community, doesn’t he? If they were a part of Patrida, he has to know. What about my mother or my brother or Father Prodido? Surely they have to know something. How can they not? They absolutely have to know. What are they trying to hide? Thura’s heart began to beat faster as her nervous excitement began to fade into a feeling of betrayal.

  “Despite being driven out of Patrida so long ago,” Odigo continued, “We have continued to be present with your people over the years, although you have not been aware of it.”

  Thura did not acknowledge Odigo speaking to her. Every question running through her mind multiplied into more questions. Everything she thought she knew about life and how it worked began to crumble in front of the prison door. Thura began to wonder who the prisoner of Patrida actually was. Was it Odigo, or was it her? Could a person believe they are free, only to find out they have been the prisoner the entire time? Thura searched the ground desperately waiting for answers.

  “We have been among you in hopes of finding an opening for peace with Patrida,” Odigo said. “There are individuals, like me, who have constantly looked for an open door with your people. But it has become apparent that over the years, Patrida’s door has closed.”

  Thura knew precisely the feeling Odigo expressed, as this was the same feeling she had been experiencing lately as well. If Patrida’s door appeared to be closing before Odigo was apprehended, then it certainly had to be shut now. Everything Thura had been trying to hold together in tension throughout the day began to flow in tears streaming down her face. As she looked back at Odigo, Thura put her hands up to cover her face.

  “Thura,” Odigo whispered. “Do you suppose I got caught by the guards or that I purposefully gave myself up?”

  Thura’s quiet sobbing stopped, but her wine-stained hands remained in front of her face. Peering through a thin crack between her fingers, she could see the peaceful contentment on Odigo’s face, which sharply contrasted the bleak obscurity of his holding cell. The coincidental symbolism was not lost on the young woman. In Odigo, she caught a glimpse of a young man who, despite his uncertain circumstances, appeared liberated and at peace. Thura had only known one other person in her life with that kind of contentment.

  “Did you come here to rescue me then?” Thura asked. “If you know my name and know all about Patrida and came into this town on your own accord, then it must have been to save me from this place.”

  “I did not come here to rescue you, Thura,” Odigo said.

  “Then what are you doing here?” she asked in frustration. “Clearly, I am the only person you have spoken with. Everyone else in this town wants you dead. What do you want me to do? Just tell me.”

  “There was once a young woman named Dipsa,” Odigo whispered. “Every morning, since Dipsa was a small girl, she would walk outside the city gates along a straight path to an old man who had jugs of water for sale. Week after week, year after year, Dipsa made this journey with her empty containers and paid the old man for more water before traveling back home.”

  Thura patiently listened to the story but began to nervously glance over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone.

  “One particular morning,” Odigo continued. “Dipsa decided to take another path to reach the old man. Her new route was along a winding trail that climbed a few small hills and ultimately dropped into a gully leading down to a large, blue pond. As Dipsa approached the pond, she heard someone moving around in the water. Still hidden from sight, she cautiously looked around the corner of a large rock and saw the old man filling jugs of water. Nervous at first, but then gaining courage, Dipsa confronted the old man.”

  “What did she say to him?” Thura pleaded in a whisper as Odigo paused for suspense.

  “Dipsa said to the old man, ‘Why have I been paying you for water that has always been so abundant and freely accessible to me?’ The old man, still retrieving the water and never once looking up, replied to Dipsa, ‘You only ever find that for which you are truly searching.’”

  Thura thoughtfully considered Odigo’s words, pondering the parable and trying to find the deeper meaning within the story.

  Finally, she asked, “Am I Dipsa?”

  “That is your question to answer,” Odigo said.

  A shuffle around the corner on the Monon startled Thura. Frightened, she turned and dashed behind a storage room door on the opposite side of the alleyway. She was careful to not make a noise or attract any potential attention. As Thura listened intently, the cadence of deliberate footsteps grew louder. They sounded as if they were approaching either Odigo’s prison door or the door behind which she stood in fear.

  There was a prolonged silence.

  Thura held her breath behind
the nearly closed storage room door and waited. On the other side were muted sounds, but no longer any footsteps. A faint shadow on the ground filled the narrow opening. The presence of a person leaning against the wooden door, only a few inches away from where she stood, almost made Thura pass out from not breathing. The door creaked but did not open. Whoever was standing on the other side backed away. The footsteps began again. As they slowly faded away, Thura gasped to catch her breath.

  Discreetly peering out the prison door window, Odigo no longer saw Thura, nor the person who had visited them. After a few minutes of nothing but the lingering drips of water from the rooftops into the puddles below, the storage door across the alleyway slowly opened. Thura cautiously emerged from the darkness. Crossing with care to not make a noise, the young woman stepped between the delicate radiance of the oil lamps on each side of the prison entrance and gazed adamantly at Odigo.

  “I am Dipsa,” Thura whispered resolutely.

  “Yes, you are, my dear. You have always been Dipsa,” a voice called out from behind Odigo. The wrinkled and weathered face of an old woman became visible over the prisoner’s shoulder as she stepped forward.

  “Such great thirst, and always searching for a drinkable source,” she said.

  “I am sorry for waking you, Sophia. I was trying to be as quiet as possible,” Thura said. “I came here because I was cur…”

  “Curious who this prisoner is and who his people are?” Sophia interjected.

  “Um, yes.”

  “While you, dear Thura, have been visiting with me for many years,” Sophia said, “I have never fully revealed my story to you, for it was never the right time.”

  Thura tried to connect the dots between Sophia and Odigo but could not imagine any scenario in which the two knew each other. She briefly entertained the idea that Sophia was one of the people Odigo alluded to earlier. But for Thura’s entire life, Sophia had always been Patrida’s prisoner, locked away from the community.