“What is all this stuff, Cimmy?” Rahima asked, looking around at the piles of sketches carefully hand drawn on thin sheets of parchment that covered the table and the walls. The descriptions of the sketches were elaborate and brightly illuminated, appearing more like art than scientific documentation. “Oh, nothing. Just some notes I took, on plants and their properties.” She remembered something and turned around. “How are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” “The teacher sent me for a potion, one of the girls is running a fever.” “What kind of fever? Does she have a rash?” “Does it matter?” “Very much. Can I come with you and see her?” Rahima nodded in approval and, upon leaving Cimmy’s cabin, they bumped into Josepha, who generously shared her wisdom. “Oh, go ahead and visit the feverish. Bring some friends along too and talk to as many people as possible. How wise is our resident layer of hands not to worry about all of us catching this thing? It’s indeed a miracle from God we’re all still alive in your capable care!” Much as Cimmy resented the tongue lashing, she had to agree Josepha was right and felt embarrassed for not thinking about it herself. Experience is the most valuable teacher, especially when other sources of knowledge are scarce, and the grouch’s experience was far more extensive than her own. Josepha had seen her share of outbreaks and instinctively knew how to protect herself. For a moment, the girl thought bringing the elder along would be useful in identifying what kind of illness she was facing, but one look at Josepha conveyed without doubt the latter wouldn’t be caught dead within a thousand paces of the patient. Many of the afflictions that visited upon their village came unannounced, always met with helpless hand wringing, and Cimmy had made it her life’s mission to figure out how to heal as many of them as possible, and since she couldn’t do that from a safe distance, she prayed for luck and went in. While she tended to the sick girl her mind raced with worries and what ifs, peeved at Josepha for not offering her invaluable input into the matter and mad at herself for needing her help, and was appalled that in all this time, through everything that happened, nobody ever thought of describing the various plagues for safekeeping, so the next generations didn’t have to start from scratch again and again. Since then, she began sketching rashes and noting symptoms in a large and ominous book that took up half her workspace, a book that no one else would open for fear it might be cursed. Nobody knew who had spread the rumor, and maybe it wasn’t just one person at all, but a compilation of the collective fears and assumptions of the village people, most of whom were firm believers in the law of correspondence, and for whom a detailed description of disease was a disease recipe, pure and simple. “You are going to doom us all with that evil tome of yours! Banish the day that brought us together, for it seems there is no harm visited upon us in which you didn’t have a hand. Bertha,” she turned to the latter for support, “let’s have a show of hands to find out how many people think this abomination should be burned to cinders and spread into the four winds before somebody touches it and gets cursed.” Cimmy had known Josepha long enough to understand she meant to destroy her research, and took the first opportunity to sneak past the village boundary with the book and find a place to hide it. The disappearance of the tome unleashed whispers that Cimmy was consorting with the forces of evil, and her all too frequent visits to the wilderness instantly became suspect, for what could one possibly seek in the wild, if not malevolent non-human creatures? “Cimmy…” Rahima started her timid inquiry. “Yes?” “We always shared everything, right?” “Always.” “So, if you did something, you would tell me.” “Something?” “Well, you know… things.” “Please tell me you didn’t give in to this nonsense! Rahima, you’re my best friend!” “People talk,” Rahima looked down, embarrassed. “And that’s new?” “No, it’s just, you never talk to me about what you do out in the wild, and as you said, we used to share everything.” “I didn’t know you were interested. Come with me next time and I’ll show you what I learned so far.” To a group that is accustomed to expressing common opinions and beliefs, the only thing that induces more panic than a secretive life is a conspiracy. As soon as Rahima joined the effort to fill in gaps in diseases’ etiology, Bertha became concerned. “I told you to forbid the girls to learn how to read and write. What need do they have for those worthless scribbles? They’re busy enough with the field work and their household duties. You know what writing is good for? Preserving evil knowledge and hiding it away from the people of good will, like a shameful disease only the unworthy delight in.” “In all your born days, Josepha, did you have any question, any concern that couldn’t be solved by respectfully asking your elders? Who knew everything worth knowing and kept us and our sacred values safe? This writing business, those terrible drawings, I’m telling you, the girl is evil, as I’ve been saying all along, and now she corrupted that hare-brained friend of hers. Poor girl wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but at least she was obedient and respectful. How long before all of our youth gets corrupted, you think? Is it worth putting up with damnation just because an evil doer got lucky enough to cure a few diseases? Who says it was her effort and not God’s grace that did the healing, and she’s not taking us all for fools to advance her unholy plans?” “So, what do you want me to do, banish her?” “Them. And why not? Better two get lost than the entire village, two who are as good as lost already. Let them figure out how to live in the wilderness if they like it so much.” The council of elders was assembled, and it was decided and announced, in dignified fashion, that Cimmy and Rahima were to depart the village and seek their fortunes in the wild. The two left at sunrise, with nothing but the shirts on their backs, and walked quietly through the wild meadows, not looking at each other. After a few hours, Cimmy gave into her guilt. “I’m so sorry, Rahima. Maybe Bertha is right. I seem to get myself, and now you, in trouble no matter what I do.” Rahima refused to answer. She was furious, scared, and never felt more alone. Rahima had built her life inside the soul of the village, and the absence of society hurt her like a wound. What were they going to do now, how were they going to live, who would take care of them when they were in need, what of all the terrible creatures of the wild, from which they had no protection now? These thoughts reminded her she hadn’t seen Fay in days, and, upset as she was, she still had to ask Cimmy about his whereabouts. As if prompted by the question, Fay poked his snout through the high grasses by the side of the path and clambered Cimmy’s leg and arm to reach her shoulder, where he made himself comfortable in her hair. “Great. You have rat in your hair. What on earth was I thinking?” “Rahima, please don’t hate me! We’re in this together. We need each other.” “And what exactly can we do to survive? Have you thought of that? What of your precious sketches? Good luck drawing them now, with no charcoal and no parchment. What about food, Cimmy? Or shelter? How are we not going to starve or freeze to death? Or get eaten?” Her voice went dry with dread. “Fay managed to survive here, and he’s a rat! Have some faith, will you? We’ll think of something.” “It would have been better to think this through ahead of need.” “The thistle cakes are edible, and there are plenty of those. We can make some beds out of the stems, too.” “Are you mad? Who eats thistle cakes?” ‘She really doesn’t remember anything,’ Cimmy thought, amazed that the skip jumping through history and time she seemed to experience was completely foreign to her friend. “Rahima, it’s not that hard. You’ve been sowing and reaping and making clothes and cooking food and starting bonfires your entire life. There is no difference between doing it for the village and doing it for yourself, except for your own fear. Let’s set camp somewhere, it’s close to sunset. We’ll find some thistles and berries to eat and tomorrow, before dawn, we’ll sneak out into the fields and gather some seeds and grains to plant out here.” “What, steal?!” Rahima started shaking. “No. We’ll just starve to death.” “You and your cursed book! Bertha was right. It’s a slippery slope and before I know it, I will be damned, I know I will,” Rahima started sobbing uncontrollably, refusing to allow Cimmy to comfort her. “I am doomed, and it’s all your fault!” “Be that as it may, can we ensure our survival first? You can blame me later, on a full stomach.” Through all the drama, Fay snuggled comfortably in Cimmy’s hair, watching the two with intense curiosity, trying to figure out if their bizarre behavior was meant to accomplish something. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit francisrosenfeld.substack.com
