What Can't Be Hidden
Page 11
“Father, there is a more pressing concern at the moment,” Ochi cried, attempting to redirect. “Velos and I believe Thura has been taken against her will by the prisoner. She may be in danger. For all we know, the guard’s key could have been picked by the hostile. We can’t even guarantee the guards locked the door after taking the prisoners out for the last time. We can investigate later but must absolutely focus on Thura and get her back safely.”
Father Prodido glanced at Velos. The religious leader was searching for any reason at all to immediately dismiss Ochi’s story. While he thought the leader was grasping for anything within reach to keep from falling, Velos appeared to be bothered enough by the story to at least make him pause for the moment.
“I am sorry to hear of this development with your dear daughter,” Father Prodido said, playing along with Ochi’s narrative. “We will investigate later. If this is true, how do you propose we proceed?”
“If the hostile believes the guards are hunting him down,” Ochi began, “it will only put Thura in more danger. That’s the last thing we need right now. They don’t need to feel threatened. I propose I go by myself to get her back. I’ll track them from a safe distance. When I determine it’s safe enough to move in, I’ll negotiate her release. It’s the least threatening option we have at this point, in my humble opinion.”
Father Prodido looked to the ground, stroked his chin contemplatively, and acted as if he was seriously considering Ochi’s plan. The truth was that he did not believe the story in the first place. He was not quite sure how it all happened, but the facts of an abduction did not appear to add up.
Father Prodido knew Thura spent way too much time at the jail over the last few years when taking food to Sophia. While he could not completely rule out the possibility the prisoner had somehow manipulated Thura and taken her as a hostage as potential leverage, he did not believe she was really in danger. The people they had driven out of Patrida would not even fight back when attacked. There was no way they would send someone into Patrida to abduct the leader’s daughter.
However, Ochi’s plan was intriguing to Father Prodido. Not only had the enemies fled, but Ochi would soon be leaving Patrida to join them. This evolving situation would give the religious leader unprecedented and unrestricted space to turn the town completely against him. Father Prodido would carefully paint Ochi as a colluder and sympathizer to the enemy. This very subtle move would ultimately give him the power to fulfill his religious vision for Patrida and eradicate the unrighteous from the island.
Nodding his head while still looking down and attempting to cloak his excitement in a somber seriousness, Father Prodido, still smelling of frankincense and myrrh, responded.
“I like your plan, your Excellency,” he said. “Go humbly and bring your daughter home safely. You have our blessing. Know our prayers will go before you on your journey.”
“Thank you, Father,” Ochi said, relieved that the religious leader bought his story. “As leaving now would only create undue fear if I approach them in the dark. I’ll gather my things and leave at first light. Pali, have the guards secure the Monon and ensure every townsperson is outside. I’ll let them know of Thura’s abduction and then inform them of my plans to bring her home.”
CHAPTER 9
Thura’s racing heart intensified with each stride perfectly timed to the sound of crunching gravel beneath her feet. Every sharp breath flirted with hyperventilation. The young woman could already feel the sweat on her palms while squeezing each hand tightly into a fist. She had never been so scared in her entire life.
Conformity in Patrida had a way of keeping people in line, especially the servants. Those in power constantly retold stories of the Great Liberation to remind them what happens to those who veer from the straight and narrow. They could very easily experience the weight of social isolation or death if they got too close to that line.
Thura and the other servants heard these harsh lines daily. The teenage girls and young women were frequently reminded by those they served that the consequences of pushing back against Patrida’s religious beliefs and community values could mean their lives. Living under constant threat dissuaded anyone from ever challenging the status quo. When Thura turned from the Monon to face the Patridian guard near the jail cell, it was not only the most pivotal and symbolic moment of her life. Thura was making a life or death decision.
Still attempting to catch her breath, Thura bent over and put her hands on her knees. But instead of breathing, she began to dry heave. Since she was little, any confrontation Thura ever experienced had always produced this kind of anxious response in her. But her anxiety had become more prominent since her atonement ceremony when she turned the unfortunate age of thirteen. It was at this so-called sacred event where Thura’s questioning of the ritual in front of the towns- people could have closed the metaphorical door of her life forever.
In Patrida, the atonement ceremony was the rite of passage for each new teenager. It was a special celebration in which the entire community would gather together in Sanctuary to participate. The ritual involved the teenager being covered in mud, repeating the atonement vow, and then standing in front of the sacrarium. At the same time, Father Prodido threw bowls of consecrated water on the child. They believed full inclusion into the community could never happen until one was cleansed of their unrighteousness and then fully immersed in the values of Patrida.
Thura walked alone down the center aisle wearing a white robe with her arms outstretched and her palms up. The onlookers began to throw mud at the teenager with every step she took. Despite this part of the ceremony appearing to be antagonistic and slightly aggressive, it was a normal practice within Patrida and never bothered any of the participants. It was understood to be the one thing a person had to do to enter the community. At least that was what Father Prodido told them, as he was the one who created the ritual. He said mud symbolized a person’s trespasses and served as a tangible reminder of their uncleanliness when thrown at them. From his perspective, only he could wash them away with the holy waters of the sacrarium. From that point forward, as each citizen remained in good standing and abided by the ideals of Patrida, they were accepted by God and the community.
When young Thura finally made it to the front of Sanctuary, covered from head to toe in mud, she faced Father Prodido, who greeted her in sober melancholy.
“Oh child, you are so dirty. Look at yourself,” the religious leader began. “There is nothing good here. I see only transgression.”
The religious leader turned and faced the crowd.
“Brothers and sisters, what do you see?” he asked.
“Transgression,” they responded in unison.
The religious leader turned back toward Thura and stared at her as if her sight repulsed him.
“Child, you enter Patrida only by word and water, for this is the only way,” he said. “Unless you make this declaration and receive this washing, you remain stained forever in transgression and isolated from the community of God. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” young Thura said.
“Then please, let these words I say become your own words by repeating them after me,” Father Prodido commanded. “I, Thura Kala.”
“I, Thura Kala,” she repeated slowly.
“In the presence of God and Patrida.”
“In the presence of God and Patrida.”
“Declare today.”
“Declare today.”
“There is nothing good in me.”
Thura paused and refused to immediately repeat Father Prodido’s words.
“Child, please, continue,” said the religious leader. “There is nothing good in me.”
The contrast between the night sky and the blazing flames of each torch surrounding Sanctuary never seemed more stark. The westerly wind began to blow in from across the waters and over the beach along the Monon. The flames of Sanctuary started to flicker, and many of them went dark. Thura stood calmly before Father P
rodido and continued her hesitation in repeating his words. The religious leader, irritated by the teenager’s seeming contempt and noncompliance, looked toward her parents as if summoning them to intervene. But before they could do anything, Thura responded.
“What is goodness, Father?” Thura asked.
“Excuse me?” Father Prodido responded in shock.
“What is goodness?” Thura asked again.
“Goodness only comes from God when you have been washed of your unrighteousness!” Father Prodido said, raising his voice with indignancy. “But this is not the time for questions! There is nothing good in me. Repeat it!”
“But if God is good and I came from God,” Thura pressed, “then how is there nothing good in me?”
Enraged, Father Prodido raised his voice.
“Repeat the words, girl!” the religious leader yelled.
Undaunted, Thura continued questioning as a naive teenager who acted as if she knew nothing of fear.
“But what happens when others repeat those words and nothing changes in their lives?” Thura continued. “Are they considered good only because they have repeated the words? What if I do not repeat them? Are you saying I will never be good?”
Father Prodido took a step forward, his countenance towered over Thura. The religious leader spoke in a deep, malevolent tone.
“Look at yourself. You are filthy,” he growled. “You … are … not … good. The goodness of God shall never reside in anyone unless they are washed and made clean.”
The crowd joined Prodido’s verdict by hissing in displeasure at Thura’s offensive and ill-timed questioning. From their perspective, the young girl’s questions cavalierly profaned both her ceremony and the position of Father Prodido, which were both held in high esteem in Patrida. Father Prodido, attempting to regain his composure and some sort of control over the ceremony, turned back toward Ochi and Velos. He stared at them in exasperated disbelief. Then, looking back toward the crowd, he made an announcement.
“Among us is one. One who remains unrepentantly unclean,” Father Prodido said. “One who remains purposefully isolated. By Patridian law, no one shall speak to her, nor shall she be washed clean. This punishment shall be a sign of her defiance. It shall also be a lesson for all who choose to walk in adamant unrighteousness. For the next forty days, let this mud she wears remind her of every transgression she has chosen to carry in isolation as she walks among us each day on the Monon.”
In silence, Father Prodido put out his hand, inviting Ochi, Velos, and young Tyran to join him in walking down the aisle to conclude the ceremony. The Patridian guards and then each row from the front to the back successively fell in line behind the leaders. Thura was left standing in the front by herself in the fading light of Sanctuary. Looking down at the dimly lit grass and then upward toward the brilliantly starred sky, Thura already knew goodness. She also knew her question about goodness had been answered, not in eloquent or convincing words from the religious leader, but by the fact that she stood alone covered in mud.
The fortieth day arrived with a spectrum of grays and overcast skies hanging over Sanctuary. With the ceremony being held first thing in the morning, rather than at sundown with the light of burning torches, the area was devoid of its typical ambiance and dramatic effect. It had the feeling of a necessary formality rather than a joyous celebration.
The townspeople lined each row with subdued eagerness, awaiting the commencement of Thura’s second atonement ceremony. The anticipation was not so much for the ceremony itself as it was for Thura and the attitude she might bring with her. The crowd stared at the young girl standing in the back as she began her sheepish and despondent walk down the center aisle toward Father Prodido. He stood solemnly in the front without any apparent emotion on his face. No mud was being thrown at the young girl this time because she still wore the faded, light brown flakes and dust of dried mud covering her clothes and exposed skin. Thura’s head remained pitifully bowed as she walked toward the religious leader. It wasn’t a prayerful disposition. She was broken.
For forty days, silence had followed Thura closely like a shadow haunting her. Not only had no one spoken to her, but she also was not acknowledged by anyone, not even with a simple glance. Thura was surrounded by so many people each day, but the profound isolation and loneliness she experienced taught her to never again ask a question publicly that challenged the system. She may have questions, even essential questions, but for fear of being completely cut off from her community, she would never ask one again.
For anyone, but especially a thirteen-year-old, this kind of social and emotional punishment was devastating. There had been too many sleepless and heartbroken nights on the hard, wooden floor of Thura’s room, which is where she slept to keep her bed clean, to ever convince Thura she ought to stand up for anything again. So as she walked down the center aisle of Sanctuary that disheartening morning, Thura committed to herself that she would no longer stand up for herself when faced with any conflict.
Approaching Father Prodido, Thura positioned herself directly in front of him while still staring at the ground. The religious leader looked down on her and attempted to make eye contact, but she would not look up at him. The crowd held their breath in suspense, waiting to see what Thura was planning to do.
Despite the young girl still looking at the ground, Father Prodido began.
“Repeat after me. I, Thura Kala.”
Thura hesitated but finally whispered, “I, Thura Kala.”
“In the presence of God and Patrida.”
“In the presence of God and Patrida,” she whispered again.
“Declare today.”
“Declare today,” she whispered, but this time in a barely audible tone.
“There is nothing good in me,” Father Prodido said, hovering above the girl like a vulture spreading its wings over a kill.
Thura’s gaze slowly moved from the sturdy and lush ground beneath her to her mud-caked feet and then continued gradually over the rest of her body. She examined every inch of the cracked and flaking mud hanging onto her legs, arms, and hands. She then closed her eyes. Beneath her dirty exterior, she saw a person who delighted in the sunset, freshly cut spring flowers, and the laughter of little children.
But even more, she saw a person who cared about people and always helped others. She saw a person who talked to those who lived on the edges of Patrida. She knew she wasn’t perfect, but there was good in her.
Thura’s soft eyes met the hard stare of Father Prodido. From the back, looking down the aisle, the two were perfectly centered and opposing one another in a strange paradox. Not a single person watching the ceremony could appreciate the ironic dichotomy. On one side was the outwardly clean, polished, and pristine religious leader in full regalia who insisted a person’s goodness only comes through strict adherence to Patrida’s ritual but who was bereft of goodness himself. On the other side was the outwardly bedraggled, unkempt, and filthy teenager in silted clothing who knew divine goodness had always been within her regardless of pretense or ritual.
As Father Prodido was about to call off the ceremony once again and summon Thura’s parents to the front for further disciplinary measures, she responded. While the teenager had learned her lesson to avoid conflict at all costs moving forward, she could not help but put forth one last rebellious jab. At that moment, Sanctuary’s complete silence threatened to expose the teenager’s nearly imperceptible whisper.
“There is something good in me,” Thura breathed.
Father Prodido looked to Ochi and Velos and nodded approvingly. Neither he nor anyone else in Sanctuary heard Thura’s subtle subversion. Realizing no one caught what she said, Thura looked back at the ground and smiled. The religious leader gave his final impartations and poured the holy water over her head and then the rest of her body.
“By the power vested in me, Thura Kala, you have been made clean,” he announced. “You have been received by God and Patrida. Go forth in peace.”
Thura’s breathing returned to its natural rhythm as she took her hands off of her knees and stood up. She still could not believe what she had done. Even more, she could not believe what she was about to do. While Father Prodido had almost extinguished the young woman’s fire nearly a decade prior, it now raged within her, burning away her fear and timidity.
Peering around the corner, she noticed the guard was no longer in the area and the cell door was closed. While Thura’s plan had always been to break them out under the cover of darkness, the situation was proving to be increasingly fluid, as the pieces seemed to be moving more quickly than she had anticipated.
Working her way along the perimeter of the town, Thura made her way toward a group loitering on the porch of a run-down house. On Patrida’s outskirts lived those excluded from the elite social order. Since Thura had taken meals to Sophia over the years along this particular route, she knew many of the people who lived there quite well.
“Have any of you seen Kaleo?” Thura asked.
“Yeah, he’s inside,” one of the ladies responded.
“Do you think I could go in and talk to him?” Thura asked.
The lady looked at a man sitting beside the door, who gave a barely noticeable shake of his head, indicating it was not okay for Thura to go in the house.
“Kaleo! The girl’s here,” the lady shouted out instead of getting up. Thura was taken aback by her volume but was not necessarily concerned with being seen by anyone she knew. She had never once seen a familiar face from the Monon on these roads, not even a guard.