What Can't Be Hidden

by Brandon Andress

  But the first difference Ochi noticed, as he and Thura walked into the village, was their magnificent spring. It was identical to the fresh- water source in Sanctuary, except for one thing. Salome’s spring was perfectly centered in the heart of their village, unlike Patrida’s, which was on the town’s edge.

  Around the spring, twelve huts stood together in a perfect circle, each a couple of hundred feet from the source. The huts had stuccoed walls made of sun-dried mud and a roof adorned with wooden shingles. While modest in construction, they were hardly shacks. Sunflowers towered in crisp vibrancy, reaching to the heavens on the backside of each home. Lavender accented their foundations in calm and peaceful tranquility. It only took a few minutes for Salome’s simple beauty and allure to fully capture Patrida’s former leader.

  Ochi and Thura transitioned from the dirt path they had been traveling to the lush, green grass between the first two houses entering the circle. Thura, out of the corner of her eye, glanced at her father to see what his reaction would be. Raising his arms and locking fingers behind his head, Ochi stopped and stared in disbelief at what he saw surrounding the spring.

  The calm, bubbling crystal-clear water poured into a labyrinth carved into the ground around the spring. The elaborate maze appeared as if one could walk above the water on a grassy path and navigate through the winding puzzle toward the water source at its center. Ochi examined the artistry and grinned at the small children who splashed in its flow.

  “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I know,” said Thura. “Look around the outer edge of the labyrinth. See the stones set into the ground?”

  “Magnificent. I have never seen anything like it,” Ochi said, surveying the perimeter.

  From the circular labyrinth’s margins, inset stones patterned into ten rays extending outward between each house, not as straight lines, but more like waves. On the opposite side, flowing from the labyrinth, a small creek left the village and continued toward a small vineyard. If it had been possible to view the artistry from above, it would have appeared as a fantastically radiating sun, pulsating with energy and life throughout the village.

  “What does all of this mean?” Ochi asked.

  “This is how we center our community,” a man said, approaching from behind.

  Ochi and Thura turned to find a man and woman walking toward them with Odigo.

  “Ochi, it’s been a long time, brother,” the man said, extending his hand outward. Thura had not initially noticed how much the man resembled her father when she first arrived in Salome. The similarities, however, were undeniable.

  Reciprocating the gesture, Ochi shook the man’s hand. Thura continued to study the man intently as he pulled Ochi in for a hug.

  “I’m so happy you’re here with us, Ochi,” the man whispered as he released the hug and grasped Ochi’s upper arms and stared at him.

  “It’s good to be here, Edo,” Ochi responded. “Difficult, but good.”

  “Not to interrupt or anything,” Thura said. “But are you two brothers?”

  Putting his arm around Ochi and turning toward Thura, Edo smiled.

  “How did you figure that one out, Thura?” he said laughing. “Ochi, you remember my wife, Tora.”

  Ochi stepped forward hesitantly, not sure if he should hug her or shake her hand. But Tora ran up and embraced him.

  “I’m glad you’re here too,” she said. “Really glad, Ochi.”

  “And of course you’ve met my son Odigo,” Edo smiled again.

  Embarrassed to look at the young man, Ochi looked down at the ground and noticed he was the only one wearing sandals. Without drawing attention to himself, he casually slid his feet out of them. He stood barefoot on the grass while attempting to make eye contact with Tora as she began to speak.

  “There’s no way you could have known he was our son,” Tora said. “But he did say you guys roughed him up a bit.”

  “So you are my cousin,” Thura said, turning toward Odigo to break up the awkwardness.

  The young man smiled at her.

  “It is good to see you smile,” Thura said, noticing the dimple on his right cheek behind his lingering bruises.

  Edo put his right arm around Ochi once more and turned him toward the labyrinth. With his other hand, he gestured toward the structure.

  “Like I was saying, this is the center of our community, Ochi. This is symbolic of everything we do and how we do it. Doesn’t look anything like the spring in Patrida, does it?”

  “Certainly a different interpretation for sure,” Ochi laughed.

  “Tell him what you told me about it,” Thura said to Edo with excitement. “The thought you all put into it is unbelievable.”

  “Well, as soon as we saw the spring, we knew we wanted it to be in the middle of the village, not set aside on the edge of town,” Edo said.

  “We didn’t want it to be something separate from our lives,” Tora added.

  “Yes, but tell him about the path to the center of it,” Thura said with excitement.

  Laughing at Thura’s enthusiasm, Edo continued.

  “Well, this path isn’t a straight line, is it?” Edo asked rhetorically. “It’s not a one-way road between judgment and freedom like Patrida. It’s a path that meanders and proceeds toward the center, where a person can travel at their own pace and then freely drink. But it also symbolizes a journey that never ends. Day after day, we walk the path and drink from the center.”

  “You’re making me thirsty, brother,” Ochi said, laughing.

  “Well, it quenches our thirst for sure,” Edo said. “But it continually reminds us that our journey never ends. It’s not a one-time transaction, Ochi. Our thirst is not satisfied from taking only one drink. We drink from this source our entire lives. It’s a humble process, but it keeps us centered and grounded. Continually walking toward the center teaches us our great dependence upon that which gives us life.”

  “You must have gotten the wisdom gene from mom,” Ochi said, trying to keep the conversation light.

  “The center of the spring represents the flow of divine love,” Thura said, smiling at her father. “That is what gives each of us life. It is what holds us together. And what holds this little community together. That is why it is at the center of everything. I made the journey to the center for the first time last night.”

  Gazing at his daughter, Ochi saw a serenity in her deep, brown eyes he had never previously seen. Maybe it was the way the sun illuminated her face or that he had not looked into her eyes in a long time. Something had changed in his daughter. He thought about how she used to wear her hair in tightly constrained braids and how it had not changed since she was thirteen years old. But now, Thura’s beautiful auburn hair had been released and blew freely in the breeze. Her outward appearance seemed to express what she had discovered internally.

  “With divine love at the center of our lives,” Thura continued.

  “We can find peace, right?” Ochi said, finishing her sentence as he squatted and watched the spring bubble over.

  “And freedom,” Thura said under her breath as she squatted next to him.

  “That’s where I’ve had it wrong all along,” Ochi said. “I thought we could only achieve peace through strength. So I chose strength but never found peace.”

  “I know, father,” Thura said. “I believed we lived in freedom, but I never felt free.”

  The father and daughter continued to stare at the center, one having already made the journey, the other desiring to make it as well.

  “It’s beautiful on so many levels,” Ochi replied, still taking it all in. “It’s a far cry from what we’ve done in Patrida. It’s night and day, honestly. There’s something about what you’ve done here that speaks to me at the depths of my soul. Not just in how you’ve constructed this community, but in how you live your lives. And how you have received me.”

  “Alright. Everyone out of the way,” said Sophia, as she approached from behind. “We are
about twenty minutes from starting the celebration, and we need to get everything set up.”

  “What’s the celebration?” Ochi asked as he stood up and faced Edo.

  “We are having a celebration for you, brother,” Edo replied, placing his hand on Ochi’s shoulder and smiling.

  “You didn’t even know I was coming,” Ochi said.

  “We have a celebration every evening,” said Tora. “This one is in your honor, Ochi. Edo, enough with the deep conversations for the moment. Get your brother some of your wine and show him your pride and joy while we make the final preparations.”

  Ochi had been in such deep reflection he had failed to notice the movement around him. The men had been moving tables into place around the labyrinth facing each other like their homes. The women began setting chairs and tablecloths at each table. The children, also oblivious to the activity, continued to laugh and play in the water.

  “Brother, here’s a cup of wine for you,” said Edo. “Now follow me. I need to show you what I’ve been working on.”

  The brothers walked to the left of the labyrinth and exited between two of the houses. After only a few steps beyond the village where the pines eventually came to an end, but where the creek continued to flow, Ochi stopped to take in the expansive view of the ocean.

  “I bet the sunrise here is something else,” Ochi said.

  “Isn’t this a fantastic view? I don’t think I’ve ever seen two sunrises that look the same here. It’s like a new work of art painted across the sky each morning. Don’t get too close to the edge, though, Ochi. That’s a sheer drop straight down to the ocean, and there’s no easy way to get you back up here if you fall,” Edo laughed. “You wouldn’t want to miss your celebration, would you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll stay well enough away from it,” Ochi said as he turned and walked toward his brother, taking a sip from his cup. “So this is your pride and joy, huh?”

  “Ochi, I have worked on this vineyard as a labor of love for almost a decade,” Edo said. “The wine you’re drinking came from these vines. These hands picked every grape. These feet crushed them in the wooden vats I constructed.”

  Ochi attempted to hand the cup of wine back to Edo.

  “Your feet what?” Ochi laughed. “Here. I’ve had too much already.”

  “Alright funny guy,” Edo laughed. “But seriously, that’s how I crush the grapes before I leave them to ferment. It’s a small vineyard but the right size for me to maintain on my own. And it yields enough for our tiny community.”

  Ochi took another drink without responding to Edo and, once again, turned his attention toward the ocean.

  “I know,” Edo said. “It never gets old, does it? Sometimes when I’m tending the vines, I stop and stare myself.”

  Ochi remained silent and took another drink.

  “How have you really been, Ochi?” Edo asked, sensing something was weighing on his brother.

  “I don’t know,” Ochi replied. “Where I’m standing is not where I thought I was going.”

  “You probably mean that in a couple of different ways, huh?” Edo asked.

  “Yeah. I really wasn’t going to Salome as much as I was leaving Patrida,” Ochi said, taking another drink. “This is an outstanding wine, by the way. But yeah, I didn’t know where I was going or what my plan was. I said I was following Thura and left. That’s when mom came to me.”

  “And she traveled with you the rest of the way,” said Edo. “How much had you spoken with her over the last twenty years, Ochi, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all,” Ochi replied. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I had not even seen her once during that time. I didn’t want to see her. I couldn’t face her after all I had done.”

  Edo had more questions he wanted to ask but believed his silence was more important for Ochi than his words.

  “When she came to me,” Ochi said. “I broke down and apologized for everything I had done. I was so sorry. She told me she had forgiven me long ago and loves me as I am.”

  The two men stood quietly with the warm ocean wind blowing over them.

  “She’s something else, though,” Ochi said, breaking their silence. “At times, I thought she had lost it. She had me drawing circles in the ground and sitting in the middle of them.”

  Edo started to laugh.

  “I’m serious,” Ochi said. “But the entire way here, she kept pouring her wisdom out on me, and it made me open my eyes.”

  “Open your eyes to what?” Edo asked.

  “To the fact that I’ll only find peace when I tear down the wall I’ve built around my heart. That’s my last circle,” Ochi responded.

  “And what is it that’s keeping you from going there, Ochi?” Edo asked.

  “It’s a strange thing. Everyone has been so quick to forgive me for everything I’ve done. Mom, Thura, and everyone in Salome. But I can’t forgive myself. It’s like there’s no room in that last circle for peace. Everything I’ve been carrying all these years resides there and won’t leave.”

  “I understand, brother,” Edo said. “Sometimes it’s easier to receive the forgiveness of others than it is to give it to ourselves.”

  “I’m not saying I prefer to hold onto those feelings,” Ochi said. “It’s just that I don’t know how to quit feeling them or how to get rid of them.”

  “Would you mind if your older brother offered a few words of perspective?” Edo asked.

  Ochi took one last drink from his cup and turned toward his brother.

  “Honestly,” Ochi said. “I welcome it, Edo. You’ve had two decades to think about me and everything I did and all the ways I’ve hurt people. You see a desperate man standing in front of you whose heart is crying out for peace but who can’t receive it. What would you say to him?”

  “I would say I no longer see the man who did those things,” Edo began. “I no longer see the man who drove out those he disagreed with. I no longer see the man who imprisoned his mother and killed his father. That man existed a long time ago, but he’s no longer here.”

  Ochi turned his gaze from the horizon to the ground and rubbed his eyes.

  “I see a man being transformed by the forgiveness of those he hurt,” said Edo. “Ochi, you need to give yourself the same forgiveness everyone else has given you. If you have been searching for peace, that’s the only way you will find it.”

  “Everyone you’ve mentioned I’ve been able to look in the eyes and receive their forgiveness,” Ochi said. “But I will never be able to look in the eyes of our father and receive his forgiveness.”

  Edo paused.

  “I understand, brother,” he said. “But come over here for a second. See this wooden vat? I fill it up with grapes when they’re ready to be taken from the vine. I step into it with my bare feet and slowly begin to crush them, releasing their dark, red juice with each step. It’s a violent process, Ochi, if we’re being honest about it. But as the cup in your hand can attest, it can also be a transformative experience.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ochi said.

  “From death, there is always the possibility of transformation and blessing,” Edo said. “From the outside looking in, a vat of broken and bruised grapes may appear to be wasted. Hundreds of grapes crushed in vain for no apparent reason. But in their death, something transformative begins to happen that can ultimately bless people.”

  “I’m not sure I completely understand the parallel,” Ochi said.

  “I know this isn’t a perfect analogy,” Edo replied. “You didn’t kill our father so others could somehow be blessed by it. That’s not what I’m saying at all. The man was a blessing simply by being with us. But there is always an opportunity to look at ourselves in light of those who die. To evaluate and take inventory of our own lives. You have the opportunity to look at yourself in light of our father, in light of who he was, and who you want to be.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand what you’re saying,” Ochi said.
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br />   “That’s what I had to do, Ochi,” Edo said. “There was a lot of bitterness and anger toward you in the aftermath of his death. But I had to look at myself in light of who he was, in light of who our mother was, and who I wanted to be in the end. I chose to be like them. I decided to be like them in how they loved you and how they forgave you, despite what you did.

  “What I’m telling you is don’t let his death be in vain, Ochi. Let his life transform you. You can honor him through your life. Love as he would love people. Bless as he would bless people. Go back to Patrida and help them find peace and freedom like he would have done.”

  With faint waves crashing below and an air of peace surrounding the two men, Ochi grabbed his brother and hugged him tightly.

  “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done,” Ochi said. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and the pain I’ve caused everyone else in Salome.”

  “Brother, you know what I’m going to say,” Edo replied, “and they’re not empty words. I mean this from the bottom of my heart. I forgave you long ago and have constantly prayed for us to be reunited. No matter where you are right now, you are here. And I’m honored to be standing with you.”

  A long wooden table overflowed with an abundance of food. Still, one spot remained for the bowl of marinated green olives Sophia carried. As she placed the bowl on the table and centered it perfectly, someone came up from behind and put their arms around her in a gentle hug. Sophia closed her eyes and, with her aged hands, delicately gripped Thura’s arms.

  “I have wanted to tell you for so long,” Sophia whispered. “But I wanted to protect you, Thura. There was so much you did not need to know. And you being able to call me grandmother was never as important to me as the relationship we have had.”

  Thura turned Sophia around so she could look into the old woman’s patient and loving eyes.

  “I love you,” Thura said.

  “I love you, too, Thura. I have ever since I first caught a glimpse of you passing by as a young girl on the Monon. When I saw your long, red hair and dark eyes, I saw myself when I was younger. Even though you can’t tell now, my hair used to be as red as yours. But as I look at you, I see so much more we share.”