“Why do we need sun hats?” Buna asked the following morning after the hatter had come and gone.
Ilika started drawing on paper. “The light and heat and other energy from the sun has different qualities depending on how fast it vibrates. The light we can see is just a tiny slice, out of this whole range of energy vibrations. Too much light can blind us, and when it hits our skin, it changes into heat. Also, the energy with vibrations a little slower than light, called infra-red, we can’t see but it also changes into heat when it hits something.
“The energy that vibrates faster than light is the most dangerous because it can cook us without ever making us hot. Ultra-violet will tan our skin.
X-radiation can go right through us, make us very sick, and if we get too much, we’ll die.”
All their faces were bleak.
“There are many unseen, but very real things out there, and the crew of my ship will have to understand them, and deal with them all the time.”
“Um . . . ten to the twenty-first power . . .” Sata said with wide eyes.
“That’s more than a million, isn’t it?”
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“A million is only ten to the sixth power, way down here near the bottom.”
“So . . . the faster they vibrate, the worse they are?” Boro proposed with a thoughtful look.
Ilika nearly did a double-take at Boro’s insight, then smiled. “Yes, although the danger also varies with their strength.”
“And the hats will protect us?” Mati asked with hopeful eyes.
“Hats and other clothes protect us from the visible light, infra-red, and ultra-violet,” Ilika explained, returning to his drawing. “The air protects us from most of the high frequency radiation, and the low frequency energy isn’t a problem.
“The important thing to remember is that you all have long, exciting lives ahead of you. You now have very good reasons to protect yourselves from all dangers, and too much solar radiation is just one small danger in a world of many dangers.
“You are no longer cheap labor. I have spent more than a year of my life preparing to come here and find you, I will spend half a year with all of you, and then years more training five of you to be my crew. You are important.
You are worth protecting.”
They could barely hold in huge grins of pride.
“I’m going to wear my hat!” Buna asserted with her squirrelly expression while putting it on.
Toli snatched it off her head. “It doesn’t help in here!”
She crossed her arms. “I’ll wear it if I want to. Put it back on my head, or no massage tonight.”
Everyone snickered as Toli carefully replaced the hat on Buna’s head, adjusting it just the way she had it.
The innkeeper’s knock rattled the door, and the bootmaker entered the room sideways, pole across his shoulders from which ten pairs of boots dangled. His profile, combined with his animated personality, made them all laugh.
“Hello again, hello! You all have socks, I hope?”
“Yep!” they cried and dashed to their beds to put them on.
“Let me see, who is Kibi?”
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She presented herself, and he directed her to a stool.
“See, I etched your name onto your boots right here. You have rather wide feet. Point your toes and pull up on the bootstrap . . . yes. That looks like a good fit. Mati?”
She hopped over from her bed.
“I made yours myself. One boot for your left foot, one moccasin to keep your right foot clean and dry. But you should take it off every night, right along with your boot, so your poor little footsie doesn’t rot.”
“I will,” she promised, laughing at his words.
“Who is Kodi?”
Complete silence filled the room.
“He’s no longer with us,” Ilika said with a hint of sadness. “I’ll pay for his boots, but you can keep them and give them to someone his size who needs them.”
“Okay. Who is Boro . . .”
Everyone had fun receiving their boots from the kind and humorous bootmaker. When he finished getting them all familiar with their new footwear, he told a few more jokes, bowed to them all, and said good-bye.
Ilika went to the table and opened the book. Nine pairs of booted feet scrambled to find places, some stumbling or getting tangled up with other booted feet. Ilika waited until all was quiet.
The second paragraph spoke of the birth and childhood of Godi in a village at the edge of the mountains. Ilika continued with each person working through a word they didn’t already know. At one point Sata was able to read four words in a row before coming to a new word that needed sounding out.
As before, each sentence was read by each student, then the entire paragraph was reread, this time by Kibi.
While they ate lunch, they plotted and schemed.
They had all been thrilled by the plan to take gifts to Pica in Cobble Town.
Some of them thought they should take tarts, one for each of them and several for the artist.
A few said candy would be better.
Rini suggested that Pica would like some real food, bread and cheese and
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such. He had heard that artists didn’t make enough money to buy food.
Ilika’s eyes gleamed as he saw an opportunity. “The majority is in favor of tarts.”
“Yeah! So we’re getting tarts!” Toli snapped.
Ilika continued. “But a majority ruling is just power politics, and that often makes people lose sight of the real goal. What is the important thing we’re trying to do today?”
“Say thank you to Pica for helping you find us,” Neti said confidently.
“Saying thank you is speaking from your heart. Groups sometimes try it, but they aren’t very good at it. Only individual people can really speak from the heart.”
“So . . .” Boro began thoughtfully, “we should each say thank you to Pica and give her a gift that we’ve chosen.”
“Yeah!” several others agreed.
Toli looked a bit dejected.
“But in any group celebration,” Ilika added, “there’s a place for something that everyone shares.”
Toli
brightened.
“So I’ll get tarts,” Ilika said, “and each of you may spend a few coppers on a personal gift of your choice.”
They quickly finished their lunches.
“Even though you are making individual purchases, I want you to stay in pairs. That way, if anything nasty happens, one of you can help the other, or run for me. Keep your money in your pouches until you’re paying for something. We meet at the bakery in half an hour.”
Ilika chatted with Tori while his charges fanned out into the wagons and carts of the marketplace. Rini and Boro soon returned with a small wheel of cheese and a bunch of flowers. Buna and Toli acquired candy and a leather pouch. Miko and Neti bore two different sizes of paint brushes. Last came Kibi, Mati, and Sata, who had pooled their coppers to get a big basket of fresh fruit.
Tori assembled a wooden platter of tarts as Ilika spoke to his students.
“Cobble Town is for middle and upper-class people who live there or have
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business there. You are students in training for highly skilled professions, and you are visiting a friend. You have every right to be there, so carry yourselves as such. Slaves hurry. Students take their time and learn from everything they see.”
They began their journey into streets once forbidden to all of them, except occasionally Sata. Ilika came last, keeping an eagle-eye out for problems. In good spirits, all the students laughed and talked about their gifts.
At each street corner, Kibi glanced back at Ilika, who gave her hand signals for direction. Mati and Sata came close behind Kibi. The rest proudly carried their gifts for the artist who witnessed their last day of slavery.
Kibi, at Ilika’s direction, rounded a corner.
A city guard came striding down the street directly toward them.
Somehow Kibi sensed the importance of what she said and did in the next second or two. “Good day, sir! A piece of fruit for you?”
“I’m in a hurry,” the guard said, “but thank you, I haven’t eaten lunch yet.”
Some of the students mirrored Kibi’s attitude, complimenting the guard on his handsome uniform as he made his selection from the basket. Others just stood proudly in their clean clothes and new boots.
Ilika’s heart filled his throat when he saw the situation, but he forced himself to stroll to the other side of the street to look at some herbs growing in a planter. A couple of students joined him there.
“Mmm. Nice and ripe,” the guard said. “Thank you, I must be going.”
“Bye!” Kibi and the others said cheerfully, waving.
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As soon as the guard’s back disappeared around a corner, Ilika went to Kibi. “Very good job, everyone.”
“I almost wet my pants,” Kibi mumbled under her breath.
Ilika nodded while others snickered.
They resumed their journey, and were soon at the bottom of a narrow wooden staircase that ascended the outside of a building, ending at a small door at the attic level.
“These stairs may not be strong enough for more than one or two at a time,” Ilika said, glancing at his students. He climbed, platter of tarts in hand, while the others waited.
Pica greeted him and saw the others below. “Come in, my friends! Come in!”
They started climbing, one at a time.
“Rini, will you help Mati go up?” Sata asked, looking at the wooden steps with a frown. “You both together weigh about what I do.”
Mati began the climb with the slender boy at her side. Rini warned her about a knot hole in one step, and she carefully placed her crutch to avoid it.
Soon they all gathered inside the artist’s attic room. A simple bed and a small table took up one wall, two easels stood with the only window behind them, and a big, round, tattered rug covered most of the floor. Pica found a stool for Mati, and the rest got comfortable on the rug.
“So these are the lucky ones,” the artist said with a big grin, looking them over. “I remember all of you, and I might have guessed Ilika would pick you.”
“There was one more,” Neti said, “but he tried to steal a gold piece from us, so we kicked him out.”
Ilika smiled at Neti’s choice of words. Others were soon talking about their new clothes and the lessons they were doing.
“I . . . I am happier than I have ever been before,” Mati announced, her voice full of joy, “and you helped to make that possible, so me and Sata and Kibi got you this basket of fruit!”
“Sorry there’s a piece missing,” Kibi said with a hint of guilt. “I bribed a guard on the way here.” She reached out to embrace the artist, but Pica grabbed her arms.
“It’s okay,” Ilika promised. “They’re all lice-free now.”
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“Oh, good!” Pica said and hugged Kibi.
Everyone
laughed.
The cheese came forth, followed by the flowers and the leather pouch, all of which were rewarded by kisses on the cheek. Then came the candy and the paint brushes.
Only Ilika was left. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pica. I couldn’t have found these excellent students. Thank you for all your help.” He let her choose the first tart, then the platter went around the circle.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, smiling eyes feasting on their bond of friendship.
Once the tarts disappeared, Pica invited them to gather around her easels to see what she was painting. She talked about the materials used to make her paints, including, she said with a glance at Ilika, the poisonous metal lead.
She explained how she could only paint a little at a time because the paints took so long to dry, which was why she always had at least two things on her easels, even if one was just for practice.
“Is it hard to learn to paint?” Buna asked.
“Yes . . . and no. You’re learning to read. Is it hard?”
“Not
really.”
“That’s because Ilika only picked people who could learn new things, and wanted to. Do you remember the boy named Tiko?”
“Sort of,” Buna said with a shrug. “I didn’t know him very well.”
“He hated the idea of learning new things, thought he already knew everything. For him, learning to read might have been impossible. Painting is like that. If you really want to, and you have a spark inside you for it, you can do it. It still takes lots and lots of hard work.”
“Reading’s like that for us too,” Boro explained. “We have to work at it, but we love it.”
“I’m glad,” Pica said, nodding. “Me, I can read and write my own name, and that’s about it.”
Most of the students looked surprised.
“You guys can stay and talk if you want, but I have some paint I have to blend before it dries.”
As evening was approaching, Ilika and his students said good-bye. The
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artist promised painting lessons to anyone interested on their next visit.
After descending the staircase, Ilika asked Miko and Neti to lead them back to the inn. The evening was warm and pleasant, Neti found the way back flawlessly, and Miko kept watch for any problems.
Deep Learning Notes
Until science began to understand the forces around us, starting in about the Enlightenment (18th century), most electromagnetic energy was assumed to be spiritual in nature. Those shamans or saints in the favor of deity could withstand the “burning radiance from Heaven,” but most mortals had to wear sun hats. Of course, little expense was ever “wasted” on slaves.
People are often surprised to learn that their favorite charity treats the recipients of the aid with no more warmth and understanding than the tax collector does. Although we are still in the process of learning how and why, it is a fact that human group psychology is quite different from individual psychology. Expressions of love and caring seem to be a clear-cut examples of this. Only individuals can make them in ways that don’t feel phony.
A small map shows Doko’s Inn and Pica’s attic, so the reader can imagine the route they took to visit her and return to the inn.
What temptations did Kibi avoid when she met the guard? What might have been the result if she had expressed her true feelings?
“There was one more,” Neti said, “but he tried to steal a gold piece from us, so we kicked him out.” What does Neti’s choice of words tell us?
Have you found something you “really want” to do, “have a spark inside you for it,” and look forward to “lots and lots of hard work” to get there? It probably has nothing to do with school, although you might be able to pursue
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it in college. It can’t be forced, and may not come to you until your 20s or 30s.
