Rolling over Camus

From the extended files of Dr. Thelonious Chung, an existential story for your enjoyment:

The people of the river called this child Embotae, for this means “sun” in their language. Embotae grew up along the river, playing games, watching her mother make the ceremonial chivas and baskets, watching her father come home each night with freshly killed game. She was a happy child, and made the people of the river happier by her presence.

One day, Embotae stood by the river. Her brother, Kchamu, was pretending to be a fierce warrior. He was holding a mandrake root and pretending to kill a savanna lion. Embotae was amused by this, because she knew that her brother was no match for a fierce lion. Of course, no one was a match for a lion in the village. Kchamu said “Embotae, I am the head warrior of our village now because I have killed this fierce lion. You must now get me a fruit from the jasa plant because I am thirsty. It has always been the rule for women to obey men, so you must do so, immediately.” Embotae thought this was funny, because her brother talked in the voice of an elder, and if someone saw them pretending thus, they would be beaten most viciously. Embotae just laughed.

Kchamu now pretended to be a bird. He flew high over the forest, and talked with the rain clouds, danced in the air and mocked the foolish humans down below. Embotae was laughing even harder at this; her brother was quite clumsy and she thought he would fall. Kchamu swooped and yelled and played delightedly. He was running around in circles. Embotae watched as Kchamu tripped and landed and made no noise.

Concerned with her brother, she went over to see if he was alright. Kchamu moved a little then turned over. What Embotae saw shocked her. The madrake root has pierced his side, and great swells of red blood, red as the juice of the jasa plant, were flooding out. Embotae had never seen this before in her life. She was shocked. She started screaming.

Mother came running from their hut and saw what had happened. She began screaming also. Soon, other villagers came to see what was going on, and carried Kchamu to the middle of the village. He had tuned a silent color, like the eels at the bottom of the river, the color of death. Everyone was greatly worried, for Kchamu was dying.

When something happens like this in the village of the people of the river, they usually could do nothing but watch. Death was a common thing, and made little sense to the people, who thought the gods had been angered, or the forest spirits were wreaking revenge for improper sacrifices. Kchamu would be dead soon, and the other villagers went back to business as usual, each secretly hoping they could partake of his supply of food when he was gone. Embotae, however, was concerned.

She reached out to hold her brother’s hand. It felt cold. She could barely see Kchamu’s chest moving; his air was escaping slowly. Embotae desperately wished she could do something for her brother, for she would sorely miss the times they had played by the river. She wished with all her heart that somehow he would be healed. Miraculously, upon her touch, the blood began to stop flowing, and the wound slowly began to close. Color retuned to Kchamu’s face, and he came back to life. Embotae hugged her brother and cried. Mother rejoiced and began praising the spirits of the forest, for her child was now whole once more.

Another villager, named Kamiwho was watching for the sole purpose of attaining Kchamu’s food, saw the miracle and felt odd. This girl had the power to heal… surely there could be someway to exploit this for his gain. Kami snuck away quietly, went ot the center of the village, and said “It is a miracle! Kchamu is healed! Embotae is a healer!” The entire village heard this and no one made a noise.

While the family was still hugging, rejoicing in the fact that Kchamu was alive, Mother made a special prayer to the forest spirits thanking them that Embotae was given a special power. Surely it was the spirits who had given her this power, she thought. Mother began to wonder if Embotae could heal others. All pain and suffering would end in the village, and all would be much happier. She pondered this for a moment.

Embotae screamed suddenly. A spear had pierced her chest. The next moment, a hatchet split her skull and oozing brains came spilling out. It was the chief who had killed her. He paused for a moment, wiping the blood off his weapons. Mother screamed.

He stood up and walked out of the hut. The village was happy.