The Vase Read online

woman smiled and held out her hand toward Miranda.

  "Welcome. You stayed so long over the hill, we wondered if you were ever coming."

  Miranda noticed two things at once, the chanting had stopped and all the buildings were opening, issuing out women in varying shades of brown, all with exquisitely braided hair. It was difficult to look at anyone or anything in particular. It was all so new and strange. The women approached and sat yogi fashion in a circle around her.

  The woman who had first entered the circle spoke. "You are from the land of gadgets and technology, so in order for you to understand the matters before us, we created substance. Please find peace."

  Miranda found her tongue. "Who are you? Where am I, what is this place?"

  "So many questions. You will understand all that you must know. First we eat, this is a time of rejoicing."

  From somewhere behind Miranda a voice started singing. She listened intently. The sound filled the valley. The others took up the refrain in a chanting singsong ‘call and response’ mode. They sang of creation, not the way she had known it, but different. Of destruction also they sang. The song described a new, exciting, peaceful place to live. A longing stirred deep in her for this place. The soloist ended her story and the chanters continued for a while longer.

  A building to her right opened and more women forming a procession came out bearing trays full of fruit, nuts and pitchers. These were set in the space in front of Miranda and the women in the circle. The bearers then took places behind the first circle, sitting in the same fashion as the first group.

  "Please eat, you are our guest," said the woman who had first spoken.

  Miranda took a fruit that looked like a peach and bit into it. Surprise lit up her face. It did not taste like a peach. The texture was much finer. In the center was a large pit which prevented Miranda from biting all the way through the fruit. The juice streamed from the puncture made by her teeth, down through her fingers and unto her hand. The women laughed. For the first time since her arrival Miranda relaxed. She laughed. The combined laughter swelled up, roared off the surfaces of the buildings, bounced off the hills and returned to the group, who picked it up and laughed all the more. A link formed. They eat and drank from the pitchers a clear liquid that tasted like peppermint tea, spiced with cinnamon. The cinnamon being perceived rather that tasted.

  After the repast ended the soloist took up her song again. She sang of construction and growth, of abundance and joy. Miranda joined in the chanting. It occurred to her that she was happy. The thought floated in her mind, she savored it and relished it for a while, then let it go for the sake of living this happiness. The singing turned to dancing, which turned back to singing. The woman who had first entered the circle clapped her hands and the singing faded away. She spoke as if from far away.

  "I am Philema; we are the monitors of your stay here."

  "How long am I to stay?" Miranda had no doubt she was not on a casual visit to this unique place.

  "Until you are finished what you came here to do.

  Alurmida had said the same thing only hours ago. So much had happened. She wondered if her aunt would miss her, and report her as missing. What would Mr. Braddock say when she did not show up for work on Monday? Would they call the police? She shook her head.

  "It is only natural," Philema said. A phrase Alurmida had used often.

  "You will remain here for a while as there is much you must learn."

  "I'll stay as long as you let me. I like it here."

  "How long you stay depends on you. Come, you must wash and rest."

  Philema rose and led Miranda to the structure from which she had emerged earlier. As they approached the building opened, they entered a round room bare of objects, and carpeted with soft living grass.

  "This is where you will bathe and sleep," she told her.

  "Where is the bathroom?” she asked, not seeing any door leading out of the room.

  "It is where you can find it."

  Then Miranda heard it. Softly at first, then louder as if from behind the wall she was facing. The room then closed behind her shutting out the welcoming circle.

  "That’s a waterfall. Where is it?"

  "There." Philema pointed to the empty wall facing Miranda.

  "I don't..." her voice trailed to silence as before her stoop a rock wall with sparkling water flowing down its face. The sound and sight of it astonished and delighted Miranda, causing her to smile broadly.

  "You may now bathe."

  Miranda stripped, vowing to herself not to ask any more questions.

  "How then will you know?" Again the woman spoke to her thoughts.

  She handed a bar of soap to Miranda. It smelled of roses and violets. She stepped into the pool of water at the base of the waterfall and was pleased to find it warm, just above room temperature. She washed her hair and scrubbed her body with the cloth Philema had handed her. She played in the gurgling water feeling like a child, then stepped out onto the grass rug and into a large towel Philema held for her. It was hooded; covering her from head to toe.  She patted her body and looked around determined to see where everything was and where all this came from. The waterfall faded sound first and was replaced by a low bench with a stool behind it.

  "Sit and I'll dress your hair." She had no comb in her hand. Miranda pushed back the hood from her head and found her hair dry, and with her childhood texture, all the processing had gone. She sat on the bench still wrapped in the towel. Philema sat on the stool and started to braid her hair. She used only her fingers. Soon Miranda's hair was as intricately styled as all the other women she had seen in the circle.

  "You may rest now." Philema rose and sat yogi fashion by the wall that always acted as a portal. Miranda was about to curl up on the grass rug, when the other woman pointed. Beside the wall was a bed, turned down and inviting. Miranda lay down planning to think on all that she had seen and done, but fell into a deep sleep without dreams immediately. How long she slept she was not quite sure, but upon awaking, she felt as if she had slept for eight hours. She was rested.

  Philema was in the same place watching her when she opened her eyes. "You are rested?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Good, we will repast, and your lessons can begin."

  The food was there, as was water to wash, a toothbrush with toothpaste on it. The mint in the toothpaste was very familiar, although Miranda did not see a tube. They ate the fruits and nuts and left the round room.

  Outside the women of the festival were waiting. The group walked into the fields. This established the pattern they would follow. As the days flowed by she learned from the woman of the festival, and the evenings were spent in storytelling, singing and dancing. They taught Miranda as Alurmida had done, by showing her. She learned to grow food, weave intricate patterns in fabric, harvest crops, and that all she would ever need to survive and thrive was available to her. Her big lesson was the making of delicate ceramic pots. She mixed the paint to paint the beautiful patterns on the outside. She learned to code lessons in the patterns, and to turn every material at hand into useful objects.

  Upon leaving her chamber after one of her sleeping times, she found no one in the circle. "Where are the others?" she asked Philema who had followed her out.

  "They are at work. Come with me." Philema took her hand, and they walked in silence for some distance. Miranda breathed deeply and sighed.

  "You are happy here?"

  "Yes, very."

  "Your returning time is near."

  "I know."

  "That is a measure of your progress."

  They sat at the base of a large tree.

  "No one will believe me."

  "True."

  "How will explain my absence?"

  "Some things should never be explained."

  "I have been gone a long time... months."

  "Have you?"

  "So much has happened, it seems like months."

  "Don't worry; you’ll know what to do wh
en the time comes."

  "I really don't want to go back."

  "Your work is there."

  While they spoke Miranda absently began molding the soil at their fingertips. Soon she had a mound of moist clay in her hands. They arose without speaking and walked to the potters shed; Miranda still holding the clay. The wheel was near, she pulled it toward her. Idly, almost, she sat at the wheel and placed her mound of clay on it. Very soon she had spun a vase. She carved the women planting, reaping, weaving, sewing, singing, and dancing with her finger tips. At the neck she showed the circular buildings, using the mouth of the vase as the circle where they all met.

  "I may as well fire and paint this." For the first time since she started working with the clay, she acknowledged the work in her hand. She summoned the kiln and fired the vase, cooled it quickly and painted it. Using the unique drying system she had learned, she aged the vase, it now appeared to be centuries old.

  While Miranda was working on her vase, Philema had taken her hair out of its braids and redone it. They left the potter's shed and walked, Miranda carrying her newly made vase cradled in the left arm. They had circled the buildings and were headed for the knoll Miranda had first scaled to find Philema and the women of the festival. The others came from all directions. They were chanting the same music Miranda had first heard them chant.

  They gathered at the foot of the knoll, chanting and rocking in time to their chant. Philema reached into her garment and extracted Miranda's watch. She gave it to her. Miranda took it, her eyes tearing, and placed it on her wrist. She did not