At Arbell’s

A meeting down at the Bazaar

“Hello sir,” said the saleswoman to an old black-skin who was walking down the bazaar at noontime, “What may I offer you?”

“Please bag me a kilo of dried dates.”

He was an elderly guy whose exact age you couldn’t really tell. Kind of “70-ish of a younger version” if you know what I mean. Very upright, alert, healthy looking, wrinkles of laughter by his eyes.

“You like dried dates? I thought only children eat them,” giggled a bright colored girl standing beside him. Her laughter had the sound of chiming bells.

They became pals right away. The old man bought her a bag of dried dates, they walked along the bazaar and conversed friendly. When they reached his shop in the Warehouses Level of the pyramid, he invited her to come inside. They continued and flowed with their conversation.

He explained to her that this was his tannery shop, a place where animal skins are being processed. He sat down and with his feet turned a wheel; its rim was a flat metal ring that was very smooth. On this flat ring he was flattening and smoothing leather belts of various colors: black, brown and white.

“Goat skin is the strongest and most useful,” he said to the girl, “But you haven’t yet told me your name.”

“Matilda. What is your name?”

“I don’t really have a name.”

“Serious? How come?”

“When I was a child not everyone had names, maybe just an improvised nickname that could change the next day. It wasn’t that important. Today they call me Arbell-Cuero-Joul. In the old language it simply means ‘the old leather maker’ but you can call me Arbell.”

Arbell started to roll out before Ma-Tilda an uncommon story, rare and obscure. He’s one of the few men who have survived the olden times, he told. From before the Psychographs have arrived (they weren’t always here, the girl was surprised to hear); most people of his age have already died of one of three reasons:

1.   During a failed attempt to implant the gland in their neck.
2.   Shortly after, of complications.
3.   Whoever were found unworthy of the experiment; or fiercely refused and bravely fought their captors (rusty swords, hunting spears and wooden sticks against modern electro-guns: what chance did they stand?)
   
   Those were not even attempted the implants and were taken to the Black Dungeons at the very bottom of the Zone, for brutal experiments. One guy who returned from there a vegetable, one day muttered something about sexual abuse and death torture. Nobody really believed him. The next day they found him in his bed, without a head.

Arbell was surprised to see Ma-Tilda looking at him with a serious expression but listening to every word. Not flinching. Not asking to change the subject.

But in fact, she seemed doubtful if she could ask him questions. That kind of questions that at home would get her the Shut-up & Think Punishment. From question to question, and as he was answering gladly, she understood that there’s someone here she could openly talk to. As if a dam has just been removed, a river of questions started bursting out of her little lips.

Arbell encouraged her to ask, to get interested, to open books. He explained to her that as far as he knew, a vicious attempt was being conducted to turn all tribes of the desert into slaves, for financial and political reasons at Sector level or even Galaxy level. Explained that this was the stink, that’s the reason for all the trouble and oddities.

Her questions about galactic conspiracy he would not be able to answer, explained the old leather maker, but encouraged her to keep her eyes open and find out for herself. Maybe she, in his evaluation, possibly with a small bunch of youngsters, could break the vicious circle of horror made by fake scientists – and discover what was really going on:
“You and your friends, you’re the only ones with any chance of creating change in the desert, and maybe save it from total decay. When they see you daring and winning, by then you will have many supporters.”

“But what do you mean my friends? What friends?” wondered Ma-Tilda and told Arbell about the attitude she had received from her schoolmates.

“Don’t you worry honey, true friends will get attached to you. Just you be true to your goals and persist in your way – until you fulfill your big dream.”

“Big dream???”

The old man just watched her and smiled an empathic smile.

“How do you know that I have… a big dream?” asked Ma-Tilda, not sure if she may and should tell…

“Sweetheart, I just know. I see it in your eyes.
I know you.”

“Wow…”

“You have a dream to be free, is that so?” continued the old man, “To live in a world where one is allowed to ask and to know, in which it is allowed to freely create, to love and help. To break all shackles, to fly far and high. To reach the truth about life. And you do not care how many years and how much sweat it would take.”

His answer only raised her astonishment: “But how do you know all this? I never dared tell a living soul, not even Mom. Do you see my thoughts?”

“No. I just know.” Arbell continued and turned the wheel, letting her digest the idea.

“Arbell, can I correct you on a word you said, if you’re not offended…”

“No, go ahead, I’m not offended by anything.”

“Good. Well you said ‘years’ and you must have meant ‘light-years’ like we say nowadays.”

It’s at this point that the old man explained to her the differences in definitions. He also clarified what are “existential riddles” and demonstrates from her experience:

a) These illogical words and other strange terms she has encountered at school.
   
b) The strange naming system in the family.

c) The broken pyramid – that has never been seen unbroken, including the old people who remember the times it wasn’t even here!

*Big Sun: as mentioned, this planet has TWO suns. The one called the Small Sun is the hot and bright sun, giving light and warmth as usual. The BIG SUN is much closer and larger, but it is so old now that its light is very dim. You can say that it’s more of a hot piece of soil than a sun. At night it “rises” once every eighth night. And then, it is “weekend night” when they rest and celebrate by the bonfires. During daytime, when the hot Small Sun is shining, the light of the Big Sun can hardly be seen, and the most it can do is turn a hot summer day somewhat hotter. (~Ozzie)

The old man explained to Ma-Tilda that, to the best of his understanding, all these riddles were IMPLANTED, as well as very deliberate. They were part of the plot: their function was to attract attention and fixate it on nonsense, redundant mystery.

“I don’t think in this lifetime I can unveil the entire scene. You have a chance to expose the lies, even if at much sweat, and discover a different truth. A bright shining, happy truth, such that supports life and happiness rather than attacks it. Truth of freedom.”

“In THIS lifetime you said? What do you mean?”

What happens in this Universe

“Yes, I said this lifetime.”

He started explaining to her the spirit thing, and it was hard to comprehend. It didn’t fit anything she had previously learned at home, school, the street or the Bazaar.

The girl asked if it was about a spirit passing from one body to another. It was a virtual thing, a faith, belief, because the spirit is in the brain as the teacher said; so how can the brain pass along?

The old man scratched little sketches on a piece of leather.

“Look, Matilda, it is necessary to examine what YOU are in all of this.
 
     There is no external ‘spirit’ and it doesn’t need to pass along or fly through hoops. YOU are the spirit and YOU HAVE a body to communicate with others. It’s exactly like when you have a dress or a bicycle. The bicycle is not you, right, just because it’s yours? Your dress is not you and so is your body, it’s not you but yours. See? Therefore the brain, which is only an organ in the body, is not you; see, it’s like you grab the handlebar of your bicycle and THROUGH it you control the bicycle, see?
 
     The chemical and electrical phenomena that the Psychographs show us are like turning the handlebar or pressing the brakes – they are phenomena of controlling the body, but not WHO IS the controller. YOU, Matilda, are the controller and YOU are the existing thing; and when you understand this you will see that no sword or financial suppression can really threaten you. We’re being told time and time again that we are bodies, so they can threaten and control us.
 
     Once upon a time, before the Psychographs, this was the most obvious thing in the world. And this must become obvious and well known once again – or we’re doomed to permanent suffering and slavery. When enough people will understand this once more, true personal freedom will also return to our desert.”

“Aha,” said Ma-Tilda, “So you’re talking about reincarnation. I read about it once.”

“Sweetie, if you understood all this as ‘reincarnation’ then I must explain to you something very principal and essential: that reincarnation describes you as a body, you’re like the body, and the soul is like something external, you see. Something that belongs to YOU the body.”

“Matilda, this concept is more materialistic than you have ever imagined!” he added.

As the child was listening closely, he continued: “This concept insists that YOU are body, and the soul ‘reincarnates’ or ‘rolls over’ from one YOU to ANOTHER YOU. The soul is not you, because they say it is supposedly YOUR soul. They always talk about your soul this and your soul that. Have you heard that? YOUR soul, as if the belongings of…the body. So according to this concept YOU are just a common meat bag. This is an absolutely materialistic attempt to describe the so-called ‘mysterious’ connection between one lifetime and another.”

“I understand. But if so, then what IS true?”

“The truth is that YOU are the spirit. YOU, MATILDA. No other thing and nothing else. You are the spirit. And since a spirit is not exposed to the harms of time, you are eternal. No sweat. You don’t have to toil over it to exist. You are you, all the time, and forever.”

“So how many times do we actually live?” asked the girl gravely.

“One time…”

“But you said that…”

“One time…” repeated the old man, watched her with laughing eyes and added, while stretching his hands more and more sideways: “…but it's looooooooooooooooooooooooooong long long.”

Ma-Tilda burst out laughing, great laughter of releasing distress. She continued to laugh lengthily, with all her body.

“Amazing!!!” she said when she was done laughing. A giant smile was still shining on her face, and her eyes sparkled in azure of spring day’s sky.

“Absolutely,” said Arbell.

Got Medicine?

They continued to talk. All along that conversation Ma-Tilda felt various aches that went on and worsened. She said nothing, aware that rebellious notions have always caused such aches.

Only when she became pale and almost fainted, the old man got up, sat her gently on a pile of furs and asked: “I can see, Matilda. Why didn’t you complain about the aches?”

The girl gazed at him silently, not knowing what to say.

The old man locked the shop door. Then he returned to the girl, touched her shoulder lightly and asked: “You alright?”

She nodded weakly, still very pale.

The old man walked over to his tool closet and opened it in such a way that THE ENTIRE CLOSET came out of the wall. Behind it, many long and narrow niches were now visible. In those niches the girl could see (with faint interest) tiny glass bottles and small clay jars, densely organized. To Ma-Tilda it reminded the pharmacy in Level A of the pyramid, but she has never seen this type of bottles or jars. Their labels were simple and handwritten.

The old man chose three vessels and brought them along. He proceeded to give Ma-Tilda two spoonfuls of each bottle. He first offered her a spoon and said: “Here, take this, it will make you stronger.”

She started to take them and Arbell continued to pour more while explaining in his soft voice: “These are herbal medicines. Unlike the chemical medicines you have seen, prepared by machines, these are made simply and cleanly from desert plants and cave plants. Does it do anything for you?”

Ma-Tilda felt an immediate relief. The taste was strange but you don’t argue with success. Yet, she was very curious to know: “Where did you get all these? And why do you hide them behind the closet?”

The old leather maker told of his exchange deals with the leather makers of the Cave Tribe.

“You must have seen them. Those with the long brown gowns that arrive sometimes on weekend nights to our bonfires. And they never enter the pyramid if you noticed. They live in caves down south and they have no glands. Nevertheless, the medicines they have discovered many years ago are also good for relieving the phenomena caused by the glands. Why do I hide them?”

He paused for a moment, then continued: “Why do I hide them… Because the Psychographs made them illegal. They use their communication channels to condemn these medicines as fraud and they claim that these cause brain damage. They forbid their entry into the pyramid, not to mention selling them here.”

“You risk so much for me,” said Ma-Tilda with grateful eyes.

“I’m only doing myself a favor, honey. I invest in my future. In my chances and my grandchildren’s chances to go free. And that’s worth the risk, don’t you think?” the old man winked.

Ma-Tilda smiled widely. The color came back to her face. After the old man closed the medicine back in the hidden closet, she hugged him farewell: “You are my best-best friend, Arbell.”

He escorted her to his shop door and waved her goodbye. After she went away he closed the door. He stood by the door, inside, standing and wondering: “Is it possible that this little girl will change the wretched future of the entire desert? Did this conversation even made it home to h---“

A knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts – to reality. He turned back and opened the door.

“Matilda! You’re back. Come in sweetheart.”

“I just wanted…” Ma-Tilda stepped in and closed the door behind her, “One more light-year… sorry, I mean one more year I’ll be twelve and a half. Do you think I should ask and change my name at my coming-of-age ceremony?”

“It is definitely within your rights to ask for a…” started the old man, and then stopped. He looked the girl in the eye, lifted his eyebrows, took a deep breath and then said: “I got your question. I did. You mean you want to choose a name that would not be approved by the Wise Man Council.”

She nodded slightly.

“Choose your own decisions and persist till you win. My sweet friend, freedom has a price that one needs to pay. But when you win, it is great fun.”

A mischievous spark instantly glowed in her eyes. And stayed there. The old man watched, enchanted. Where young and old men shrink – she expands, he thought.

She wanted to ask “What do you think?” but his words were still hanging in the air, echoing in her ears:

The girl glanced at him once more and said: “Thanks Arbell – nobody like you in the whole world.!”

Then, she waved her little hand and off she went, merrily skipping along.

The old man went back to work. His doubts vanished into thin air. He went through the rest of the day working and humming cheerful songs from the good old days. They will return, he thought to himself and continued to turn the wheel.

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Ozzie Freedom
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