Axiom ~ 5!

~ Five ~

Of course, the oldest was muscling his way through life! Everyone in his previous peer group was already off on the flats, and he had nobody his own age to talk to. Only the noisy children and the oldest girl counted as company, the latter of which most certainly bossed him around. 

“I want this cup because it means the Elder comes to tell us stories. It means I laugh. Nobody else ever tells me why I shouldn’t do something; only that I can’t.” 

The youth’s discomfort only seemed to grow. “I have to listen. I have to do what I’m told. But nobody tells me why, and I have this feeling that turns in my stomach when I think about asking… so then I don’t. I remember...” 

Feeling small, his head kept down as unthinking fingers went up to a scar on the nape of his neck, which looked like it had been made by a thin and flexible striking tool. The Elder could deduce the source of the injury and that his boy wasn’t quite done speaking. Given the turn of the conversation, he didn’t want the budding boy to stop either. The youngest was about to interrupt but was halted by a single glance of the immobile Elder. The oldest lad had been trapped in a shell, and the old man wasn’t about to allow for a circumstance that would hamper his son’s progress in opening up.

“I’m not smart like…” The oldest boy’s head raised, and he looked at the oldest girl. “…You.”

To everyone’s surprise, he then picked up handed over the best cup, and the oldest girl took it with some apprehension. This kind of sensitivity was not normal for the burly lad. A stolen glance at the Elder had her holding her tongue. The Elder was calmly seated, waiting with a monk's poise to let this boy develop. His fingers were laced, and the children had picked up that little gesture was something the Elder did when he was waiting for more. 

“I want the cup because it means we’re together, and I have memories of us as a group. I love the memories… they’re my dream stories. They keep me warm when the sun goes down and the rest of the family comes home.” His tone turned morose. “Nobody in my family wants to spend time with me. They’re all always so tired. I get told off more often than not.” 

The Elder nodded and found the right moment to give the boy strength. “My dear boy, you have something far more powerful than your arms.”

Uncertain of himself, the oldest boy sat up more, his embarrassment continuing to stifle him as his eyes fell on the Elder. The others were horribly curious and kept stealing glances, and their Elder didn’t leave them in suspense for long. “You have an amazing willingness and adaptability to learn, young one, even when the topic seems against you. You gave up an item that had great value to you. You have acted upon the lesson without fully grasping it, perhaps even without realizing that you had done so. Perhaps your greatest strength isn’t coming up with something, but you have an amazing ability to follow a plan to its end.”

A hand motion for a nearby leaf caused a train of tiny hands to deliver it into the old man’s grip. The broad green foliage was then ceremoniously placed on the youngster’s head. “By sharing what you care about, you have shown that might isn’t always what’s right, but also what the full meaning of the cup entails. Being around others fills you with meaning.” 

He moved his hands around to motion at the other children. “They are the water in your cup.” 

The oldest boy was confused. The oldest girl, however, went red in the face and tried to hide it behind the best quality cup. Their Elder let them think on it, as the remaining children were already developing terrible little ways to tease the oldest boy about this for moons upon moons to come. Picking up on their mischief, the Elder popped the nearest of them on the top of the head with a cup in quick succession. *Thunk, thunk, thunk*! 

It didn’t hurt, but it got their attention. “There will be no discouraging someone to share freely. Do not punish the behavior you wish to see. You always want your friends able to express themselves.” He felt he lost the thread of conversation and softly sighed, wrapping it up. 

“Understanding and caring for another allows you the insight of seeing where they’re hurting. That is what’s right. If might help you accomplish that for everyone: good. If might prevents everyone from accomplishing that: bad. If might is used to hurt everyone at the cost of only one person having the benefit… then Elder will be very upset and will cover you in mill powder.” 

The children blanched at the mention. The Elder never hurt them, but if they came home covered in anything relating to the mill, their behinds would be red and bruised from the beating they were going to get. Never were they allowed near the mill. There was only one, and it was far too important a structure for the village. It was never good to even be playing around there. The punishment was severe, and being the talk of the town afterward was worse. A fury of nods quickly followed as the original topic was completely lost at the sudden thoughts of avoiding mill powder. 

“Help me up.” The Elder raised his arms, the small gathering of children did what they could. For being such a frail old man, it still took all of them to help him stand up. “Ahh, well done. Well done.” 

He softly stretched his arms above his head while the sproutlings groaned about how heavy he was. The Elder dismissed this and gave the oldest boy a hug. While horribly embarrassed, the draw of an adult father figure giving him attention was too big a need to deny. 

“They’re going to rely on you, my child.” The Elder whispered in his ear. “Take good care of them.” 

The oldest boy nodded as the light in his eyes brightened. He got it now. It hadn’t been about a cup; it had been about him. He was the strong one, and how he used that strength was what mattered. The Elder let him go and brushed a hand over his head. “Good. Now. I’ll take questions.” 

He stated it firmly; needing to turn around the somber feeling he had. Nobody expected the oldest to suddenly be vulnerable, and the footing was uncertain. Still, he felt pride. They made leaps each time they had a good chance to talk, develop, and express freely. They were clever kids; given the opportunity to be. Their minds desperately craved the information they were being so adamantly denied in the village.

Salt was a place of work, not one of inner growth. At least, it would have been, had the Elder not been here to make a royal mess of it all. A hand rose from the youngest girl. “Yes?” 

The Elder quickly addressed it, attention fully turning to her. “Why can’t we have names?” 

She asked it so simply, but that was a question he had hoped wouldn’t come to pass. However, trying to play that one down while already feeling so out of place with the group was going to be dismal. A thought occurred… had she waited for this exact kind of opportunity to ask that question? A situation where it would be poor for him not to answer it? He studied her face, squinting in inspection as he leaned forward. Sure enough, her face remained as flat and emotionless as a practiced thief trying to swindle you. Clever girl. 

Seeing as the Elder very much did appear reluctant, the sproutlings were all silent and attentive. They loved making him pause and being told things he wasn’t supposed to spill. The oddness faded and attention was instead spent on his answer. More than one set of eyes were curious about why they had to be called ‘sproutling’, instead of an easy name like Elder. Or why Elder Switch had two whole names. The old man, of course, caved. “Oh, very well.” 

The youngest girl quietly hissed ‘Yesss’ in a dramatic victory pose and the Elder surrendered his explanation. “This is a complicated one. There are some adults that don’t fully understand this, so, until you have a proper understanding… don’t spread what I’m about to tell you around. If you explain it poorly, you’re likely going to hurt people.” 

The kids caught on and listened with rapt focus, trying to stay ahead of the Elder as he stuck a finger up and began walking. Pacing, rather, but they all smiled as he was clearly about to devolve into a full speech and completely fail to pay attention to where he was walking. The last time he did this, he’d walked off a rock on the split hill and dropped straight down into the salt-stream mid-sentence. They had laughed for weeks.

“I’ll start with the obvious. ‘Hibi’ is short for hibiscus. It is the main type of flower she gathers. This is part of her profession, thus why she is named as such. ‘For’ is responsible for the Forge, on the rare occasion he actually gets to use it for something, poor fellow. He’s got such a gift with copper and bronze, but they need him on the flats.”

He sighed, looked up, and realized that while the children were still hovering, and the Orchard was already a good distance behind him. His hands moved even if his mouth didn’t. It was normal for him to talk with his hands, an old philosopher trait. The children often whispered behind his back on how animated he could get. He knew this and didn’t mind. “A name is an identity, and identities are dangerous and powerful. Once something has an identity, it is difficult to think of it as something else.”

“Chair.” He paused to observe their expressions. “You all thought of what you consider a chair, and for all of you it was likely roughly the same image. When you’re given a name, that name comes with such an identity. An identity that is both liberating and confining. While it may become easy to refer to you, it has also taken away possibility.”

“Frankly, that bothers me. Most people are simply not flexible enough with their minds to see things any other way; not once they’ve been told something is ‘just the way it is’. A wall is always a wall. The possibility that it could be otherwise does not elude them, so much as the thought cannot occur. Or at least, that’s my view. In this village, when you receive a name, you also receive the task that you’re going to be doing.”

“Essentially, for the rest of your life.” He paused and heaved a great sigh. “It won’t change, even if you’re called to the salt flats, unless people start calling you Elder. What you get is what you’re stuck with. So, it takes until almost adulthood for names to be chosen for someone. To my great dislike, it has nothing to do with what you’re good at, nor what you love to do in life. It’s a designation. A limit. A calling you can’t escape.”