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Self-Injury in the Garden

Share-All suffered alone, sitting on the floor of the painting room. Her breakfast lost, her mouth felt nasty, her stomach still queasy, she was unsure what to do. She forced herself to stand up. "I guess I'll go outside. Maybe I just need to be outside."

She kept her eyes on the wall as she made her way through the long room, afraid of the windows now because the memory of her dream had been triggered by looking out the window. In the cooking room, too, she made sure she did not look through a window by keeping her eyes on the floor as she walked. Once out the door, she felt relieved. No windows here!

She made her way to the path she had carved through the brambles. She noticed the pile of canes which she had cut was gone. She walked towards the fence, pushing away branches from young trees. When she arrived at the very back, she stood a while looking over the fence. In the distance she could see another house and a ways beyone it, another house, each enclosed by a fence. "I wonder if they have bramble patches," she mused. Turning back to the path, she realized that even after all the work she had done, she had really accomplished very little. "Will it last?" she thought. "What's the point of all this effort? The brambles will reappear. New volunteer trees will replace the ones I cut down. It just seems so pointless." Head down, she picked her way back to the tidy lawn.

She canvassed the yard for signs of the little slaves but no one was to be seen. "On my own, I guess." She crossed to the tool box, put on her gloves and picked up the pruning shears. Starting on the left of the path, she attacked the canes with a bitterness that gave her strength she didn't know she had. She cut and threw the canes into a pile. Cut and throw! Cut and throw! "'Pleasure'", she thought as she cut them down. "This is 'pleasure', you stupid cat! Take that! And that!" Cut and throw, cut and throw. The deeper she went, the harder she had to throw.

When she finally got to the fence again, she was breathing hard. She unbent herself and stood. A breeze came up and she was grateful. She looked at what she'd done, thinking how different today was. She wasn't at all dizzy in spite of having been sick earlier. The path was wide enough for two now and she hadn't really been working that long. At least that's how it felt.

She made several trips after that, starting at the edge of the lawn and working her way back to the fence, each time clearing away the brambles. Her back was beginning to ache, her arms hurt, and she was hungry. Still she kept at it. She worked until she had blisters on both hands in spite of the gloves. She worked until she could barely straighten up. Bent over, she practically crawled from the fence to the lawn. There she rolled on the ground and moaned.

She watched the clouds in the sky. She listened to the birds. She decided she would never move from that spot.

From the corner of her eye she saw JeSuis approaching. Her jaw tensed and eyes narrowed. "I've been working, so don't yell at me, cat!" she said to herself. She propped herself up on one elbow and glared at the cat.

"You're making great progress," said JeSuis. "I can almost picture the garden already."

"Bad choice of words, cat," said Share-All. "If I remember correctly, you know nothing about pictures."

"Point taken," responded JeSuis. "Can you tell me, since you are the picture-maker, what you think the garden will look like?"

"I could but I won't." The words were barely out of her mouth when Share-All caught herself. Disrespect was punishable. Refusal to comply was also punishable. Slaves were not allowed private thoughts. She opened her mouth, to tell JeSuis what she had seen the first time she saw the patch, then closed it. Was this a trick? The picture of the garden had been a private thought. By telling JeSuis, she would admitting to having had one. Her confession would bring punishment. On the other hand, if she kept it to herself, she was also being disobedient and would be punished. Her mind flashed back to the pictures she had painted. Were those also private things that were forbidden? A turmoil began from which Share-All felt no escape.

Just then JeSuis spoke, "You've worked so very hard. I bet you're hungry. Are you ready for a break?" Share-All was relieved to acquiesce. They made their way through the cooking room where Hopeful and Bright were already laying places on the table. Share-All and JeSuis walked down the hall and then waited outside the room with the white door for the others to finish.

They made their way into the room and JeSuis jumped up on the white stool. "You can use the smaller basin today for your hands and face. The left handle is for hot water." Share-All saw a small chunk of pink on the edge of the basin as she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. She moved to stand in front of the basin and caught a movement in the window above it. She turned her head quickly to see what it was. She saw a face looking back at her. "But that can't be! JeSuis and I are alone in here." She examined the face quite closely, noting that this person wore the same shirt that she had on. Reluctantly, she turned to JeSuis and said, "Who is this?"

The cat spoke gently, "Yourself."

"Myself! No more mocking me, cat. I asked you 'who this is'."

"And I told you, Share-All. Can you see if this person has legs?"

Share-All leaned toward the window over the basin and as she did so the other person also leaned forward. Share-All jumped back.

"It is a reflection of yourself that you see. You are looking into a mirror, not through a window. A mirror helps us to see ourselves as others see us."

Share-All didn't like this at all. She didn't want to know any more about it and she really didn't want to have the cat explain it to her. She forced her eyes down, picked up the pink chunk, and turned the left handle to run water. She washed her hands, then dried them on the towel behind her. She winced in pain because the blisters had broken.

JeSuis said, "Let me see your hands."
Surely the cat was not going to check how clean she was, was she?

Share-All held out her hands, backside up.

"Turn them over, please," asked the cat.

Share-All turned them over. Large raw places where the covers of the blisters had been worn off burned all over her palms. The cat reached out a paw. Share-All thought JeSuis was going to touch them and pulled her hands away. "I won't hurt you," said the cat.

Share-All held out her arms again. JeSuis reached with her paw, past the slave's left hand, past her wrist, and pointed with her paw to numerous narrow scars covering Share-All's forearm. "What are these from?" the cat asked. "Are they from being punished?" Share-All pulled her arms back and rolled down the sleeves of the shirt. She muttered, "No. No, they are not from being punished."

The cat didn't ask again. Nor did she ask about the blisters. "Evidently no gauze or magic gloves this time," Share-All whined to herself.

Distinctly different from breakfast which was relaxed and filled with conversation, lunch was quiet. The meal itself was simple. As each finished, she got up and placed her plate on the purple counter. When only Merciful and Share-All remained, JeSuis spoke. "Merciful, will you get the bandages, please?" Merciful left and returned with the gauze. She looked at Share-All who held out her hands. Tenderly, Merciful lifted one. "I think we should put something on these or the bandages will stick. Let me go see if we have something to use."

"I didn't think you even noticed," said Share-All to the cat. "You were so interested in my scars." JeSuis did not answer. Merciful returned with an ointment which she put on Share-All's palms before wrapping them with gauze. When she had finished, JeSuis jumped down from the table by the back door. Merciful opened the door and the cat left. Merciful began to run water to wash the dishes.

Share-All was left standing in the middle of the room. She wanted to say something to the little slave but words refused to form themselves. Share-All stood there helplessly. "I know that you would like help and it's okay. With your hands they way they are, it would be very painful to dry the dishes," spoke Merciful. "I just don't understand how that happened. You were wearing the gloves we gave you."

The slave herself was unsure how it had happened. She only knew that she had been very angry. She was angry for having remembered the dream; she was angry at her ignorance and having to ask the meaning of words; she was angry with JeSuis for all that talk about not being slaves. She was very, very angry. "I was angry," she said to Merciful. "JeSuis made me very angry by saying that you were not slaves in this place. Everyone is a slave. Even the smallest child knows this."

Merciful kept her back turned to Share-All and continued to wash the dishes. "I suppose if you were angry with JeSuis for saying it, you will become angry with me too." She turned and looked earnestly into Share-All's face. "I am no slave."

That was all she said. Share-All returned her gaze searching for signs of lying, for any indication that the little slave was mocking her. She saw none. "How is this possible?" she asked her.

"Tell me first how being angry with JeSuis caused such horrible wounds on your hands. Then I will tell you how it is possible that I am no slave."

Breakfast & The Meaning of Slavery

Breakfast
Sharing her paintings with JeSuis; argument about whether they are slaves
Share-All woke to the sound of children's voices. When she opened her eyes she the little slaves filing out the door. The candles were gone, the taper, the table, JeSuis's pillow and JeSuis. Not knowing what else to do, she tailed the others.

Down the hall past the same rooms they had passed the night before. When they came to the painting room, she paused. She had permission from Gifted to paint whenever she wanted. Was that what she wanted right now? She thought to herself, "I'd like to paint but I'm so hungry. Maybe that's where the little slaves are going. I can always paint later." She continued down the hall into the long room with the large window. "There are so many windows in this house," she mumbled.

Turning left into the cooking room, she found the slaves already pulling things from shelves in the cupboards. Pans clattered, utensils clanged. The room was crowded and everything, it seemed, was in motion, although this time it was the movement of six young girls. One set the table, one mixed something in a bowl, one poured juice. Chattering like birds over grain, they wiggled around each other, occasionally bumping. The smell of something sweet and yeasty filled the room. Bright said in a loud voice, "Let's eat!" Platters of round, flat cakes were placed on the table. Small jugs appeared and bowls of berries.

The children sat down and loaded their plates. Watching them carefully, Share-All placed flat cakes on her plate and poured over them a warm brown liquid from the jug nearest her. She cut them into small pieces with her fork, then placed a bite into her mouth. "They're awfully good with berries, too," said Gifted, handing her a bowl. Share-All took her time eating, savoring the warmth, the sweetness. She saw the shining faces around her. So innocent! So different from last night when she felt them accusing her. Who were these little people really? She looked at each one in turn.

Merciful was the quiet one; Gifted was the animated one. Bright was, well, Bright. Just then Bright lifted her eyes and met Share-All's gaze. Her eyes seemed to say to the slave, "I am the one who knows. I know all about you and I know you." Somehow Share-All did not feel threatened by this. When BitterTears had said these words, "I know you," she spoke them as a warning. The names of the other three slaves, she did not know.
"Would you mind handing me that jug, please? My name is Hopeful," said the slave on her left. "What will you do today?"

"My name is HasNothing, Hopeful, but you can call me by my family name which is Share-All." Share-All was sure that telling her this was unnecessary. After all, she had heard them talking about her from the window after she became sick in the garden. "I thought I'd like to try painting again, unless there's something else I should do."

"Oh! I was hoping that you would paint some more! I picked up all the paintings after they dried and placed them on the chest for you. I couldn't help but look at them. They look similar to the ones that Desire painted. The one of JeSuis is especially good."

Share-All felt her face turn warm and dark. She hadn't thought about anyone else seeing what she had done.

"What's this about a painting of me?" asked the cat as she jumped on the counter.

Hopeful answered, "Oh, Share-All! Will you show it JeSuis? I liked it so much."

The others quickly joined in asking if they could see it also. "All this fuss", the slave said to herself. "You'd think I'd done something special."

JeSuis said, "Why don't we clean up in here and give Share-All time to decide if she wants to show the picture or not?" Chairs scraped, plates clinked and the table was soon cleared. Water was run for the dishes and a line formed for washing, drying and putting things away. JeSuis spoke to the slave, "Why don't you and I go to the painting room?"

"Fine," the slave said to herself. "Some decision I get to make."
When they got to the room, JeSuis waited in the hall. Share-All, however, made straight for the chest where the paintings were. She turned and asked the cat, "Aren't you coming in? Don't you want to see yourself?"
"I know what I look like. Do you?" asked the cat.

Disconcerted by the response, Share-All didn't answer right away. Then, instead of answering JeSuis's question, she asked again, "Don't you want to see the painting?"

"Of course, I want to see the painting. It's one of the first you've ever done and we cats are curious creatures. However, the painting is yours. You do not need to show it to me if you don't want to. Do you want to?"

"Want to," Share-All said to herself. "Do I want to?" She was aware of a desire to see if JeSuis would like it as well as Hopeful had. She was equally aware of a desire to keep it for herself, like a secret. Then again, maybe JeSuis would not like it and then what? "I do want you to see it," she finally said.

She moved several paintings off the stack until she found the one of the cat. She felt taller as she looked at it. It was the best one she had done yesterday. It had fewer mistakes than the others. "It does almost look like the cat", she thought. She picked it up and held it in front of her, facing the cat.

JeSuis moved closer. She tried in vain to decipher what she saw. There were purple swirls and orange dots. Bright green stripes alternating with red ones filled the background. The cat looked and looked but saw nothing that remotely resembled any animal. "Share-All, I don not know how to tell you this. Please do not be offended but I cannot find myself nor any other creature in this painting." She continued to stare at the squiggles and dribbles, the swashes and stripes.

Share-All turned the painting around. "It's so obvious," she said to herself. "It must be, if Hopeful saw it, too." To the cat she said, "Maybe you're too close. Why don't you back up and look again." JeSuis went to the doorway and turned. She still couldn't see what Hopeful had seen and thought was so wonderful. She truly didn't want to disappoint the slave but try as hard as she could, she saw nothing animal-like. "I'm sorry. I just can't see myself."

Instead of the disappointment that JeSuis was worried about creating, Share-All felt a twinge of excitement. Her back straightened a bit, her chin lifted. She asked the cat, "But you do like it, don't you? Even if you don't see yourself?"

"Oh yes!" came the quick response. "There's so much energy, such aliveness in the painting. Did you enjoy doing it? It appears as if you had a great deal of fun."

The slave was embarassed. She said to JeSuis, "I am not always familiar with the words you use here. Forgive me for being so stupid … but I don't know what "enjoy" and "fun" mean."

JeSuis thought that over. It was true that Share-All held her face rigid against expression. The cat wanted to convey something about that as well as the concept of pleasure. "Here, where we live, it is not forbidden to feel. When we feel an emotion, we let the feeling take its course. We also let the feeling show itself in our faces and in our bodies." She held her breath to see how the slave would handle this.

Share-All said, "That's impossible! You are slaves as I am and everyone knows that slaves are forbidden feelings, dreams, and expression of these."

JeSuis let out her breath. The cat walked back and forth in the doorway. Then she jumped to the table where Share-All had painted the pictures. The slave turned to face her. The cat said quietly, "We are not slaves here."

"Not slaves! Not slaves! There is no such thing as not slaves! I am not the ignorant one here. You are the one who couldn't see yourself!"

Carefully the cat tried again, "It is true. We are not slaves here. We have no master or mistress. No one tells us what must be done or when to do it. We make choices. We are not punished for the choices we make, although sometimes we don't make very good ones."

"Not punished? Never? Does no one care for you? No master or mistress?"

The cat realized that the conversation was quickly getting away from her. "I said these things because I wanted to explain about 'fun' and 'enjoy'. Try for just a moment to believe that what I said might be true. If we are not slaves, and will not be punished for showing emotion, then it is not so strange that we would have words for emotions and activities that cause them. Can you understand this much?"

Share-All was nearly beside herself with anger. Her hands were clenched to fists, her stomach in knots. She wanted to hurt the cat for speaking these lies and mocking her. But some part of her heard the words and was trying to do what the cat asked, believe. "Go on," she said, spitting out the words.

"'Fun' is something you do for pleasure, a good feeling, that makes your body feel relaxed. It can also make you happy and make you smile, like this." JeSuis made a grotesque movement of her lips and showed teeth. It was so grotesque an approximation of the creasing of the little slaves' faces, that she found her own mouth crinkling at the corners.

"Yes! Like that! That is a smile, and a sign of happiness or pleasure," said the cat. Share-All immediately stopped smiling.

"'Enjoy' is another word for giving yourself pleasure. When you were painting, didn't you feel 'something' when you discovered you could choose the different colors? That no one was telling you which ones you had to use, and in which order? Even though you may not have noticed it at the time, I think you remember it. All I'm telling you is that it's okay. This is not the land you come from. And now, I need a nap." JeSuis didn't wait for Share-All to respond; she simply left the room.

"What big speeches the cat makes! No wonder she's tired," thought Share-All. "And what nonsense! Pleasure, fun, enjoy, smiles. No punishment, no masters. Ridiculous." She turned to the table but no longer felt like painting. Through the window she saw nothing but green grass and the fence. As she looked, she was reminded of her dream last night about taking the cookie from the stranger. Shocked that she remembered the dream at all, she instantly associated the cat and the stranger who she thought meant kindness by offering the cookie. Was her dream trying to warn her that she would pay for the time she spent here? Then just like in the dream, she stomach began to twist from the poison and she had just enough time to vomit her breakfast into the bucket of used water.

The Circle of Knowing

Share-All wandered out into the yard. So much time had passed while she was painting that the sun hung tentatively to the sky, just about to let go. She searched the quasi-darkness for someone, anyone to tell her what to do next.

She heard murmurs coming from near the tree. The little slaves were holding hands and slowly walking around the tree. Unable to hear their words, she came closer. They were singing a plainsong chant made up of sounds, perhaps, words, although she didn't recognize them. They circled first one way, then paused with their heads bowed, then back the other way. Their movements were slow and reverential. They didn't look at each, nor did she feel that they were looking at the tree. Eyes open, they seemed to see nothing. They moved with deliberate, almost ponderous solemnity.

The sun set while the children moved and Share-All watched. In the greasy grey that was left, the children broke their ring and moved towards her. Merciful spoke, "It is time now for dreaming. Do you want to dream alone or with others?"

Share-All saw their expectant faces and responded, "With others, I think."

"Then walk with us to the place of dreaming."

Share-All waited until the slaves had passed her. For a moment she watched them walking somberly in the dusk. So small! So young! So earnest! She tagged along behind them to the back door of the house. Silently they entered. Candles lit the way through the cooking room and the long room. A candle stood outside the white door of the room where she had had her bath, another outside the room where they had carried when she fell ill in the garden. She looked to her right into the room where she had painted. In the twilight she saw that her paintings had all been picked up.

When at last the children came to the end of the hall, they entered a very large circular room with windows everywhere. In the middle of the room on a very low table were seven candles also in a circle. In the center of them, was a very tall taper, three times the size of the others. Next to the table was a plump burgundy pillow trimmed with gold cord with gold tassels at the corners. JeSuis was sitting upright on the pillow.

Around the walls were pallets, one beneath every window. As they lay down, it became apparent that there was only one pallet left which Share-All assumed was for her. How did they know that she would choose to be with them rather than alone?

JeSuis spoke into the stillness. "Share-All we are pleased to have you with us. As you can see, there is a pallet for each. You may use the one which belongs to Desire." The slave moved to the empty spot. "Then they think she's coming back!" she thought, "They have kept her place here, like the painting room."

JeSuis began the humming sound that she had made while Share-All stroked her. The little slaves lay down and one by one, each of the seven candles went out. Soon Share-All and JeSuis were the only two awake. The humming stopped and JeSuis spoke softly to her, "Dream safely in the Circle of Knowing." The cat circled on the pillow, laid down and went to sleep.
Share-All, too, lay down but did not sleep. By now the moon was shining brightly into the room, illuminating the outlines of small bodies. The taper's flame danced, reflected in the seven windows. She watched the cat's chest rise and fall. Turning on her back, she watched the shadows produced by candle on the ceiling. So much had happened today, so many strange things. But before she could remember any of them in detail, she fell into a very deep sleep.

In her sleep, she dreamed of Somewhereland. She saw her mother BitterTears and father MustFail sitting with her brother MustStay at the table where they ate their meals. There was empty setting beside her mother for her first brother, MustGo, the baby who had died shortly after he was born. But that was very long ago, she thought, very long ago. Why would they set a place for him? She didn't know how she knew but she did know that the empty place was not for her.

Then she dreamed of a strange woman who gave her a cookie. She took the cookie from the woman's hand and the dream began to twist. The woman became a wicked witch and the cookie poisoned. Share-All tried to drop the cookie but it wouldn't fall. She tried to spit out the piece she had bitten off and couldn't. Her body began to writhe. The witch's body grew taller and taller, thinning and twisting into the shape of a snake. Her head transformed to the head of a snake and began to spit curses on her. If only she could get away, get home! She fell off the steps to the witch's house and began crawling toward her mother and safety. The closer she got to her mother, the louder the curses became.

She awoke with a start. The seven candles were once again lit and the little slaves were each sitting up on their pallets staring at her. JeSuis, too, sat very straight on the burgundy pillow facing at her. The slave avoided looking directly at the cat, sliding her eyes around the circle. She noticed that Merciful had wetness streaming down her face. The longer they watched her and were silent, the more uncomfortable she became. "It's not my fault!" she thought. She was sure she had not cried out while dreaming. She learned that early in her life. In fact, she had taught herself not to remember her dreams, in case she would cry out involuntarily upon remembering. "So why are they staring at me? I know I've done nothing wrong."

Time passed slowly like the clouds lit by the moon outside the windows. The taper flickered. They waited. The little slaves intent on vigil and Share-All determined to resist them. At last JeSuis spoke. "It's not yet time." There were murmurs from the little ones. Gifted spoke in low tones to Merciful alone, "It is time. We gain nothing by waiting." Merciful replied just as quietly, "Knowing is a circle. We don't have agreement. We will have to wait as JeSuis said."

The cat stretched itself making bizarre shadows behind it on the wall and across the faces of two little slaves Share-All did not know the names of. "Let's lie down again and dream. May we all be safe this time in the Circle of Knowing," spoke the cat and she began to hum.

Share-All was the first to lie down, glad that the ordeal was over. One by one each of the seven candles was extinguished. Finally, the slave, too, slept but this time without dreams.

Roots, Retch, and Rhythm

Now that Share-All smelled like the cat, she discovered other smells as well.

A particularly intriguing smell that made juice come to her lips was coming from the cooking room in the house. She walked slowly to the back door taking deep breaths with her mouth open, taking in as much of the smell as she could.

Standing at the bottom of the steps, hand on the railing, she said to herself, "How wonderful. I want to know what that wonderful smell is." She found herself in the cooking room next to a pot which was hot and bubbling. The smell was much stronger this close. She looked into the pot and saw long stalks of green, long orange cones, and pale white slivers with brown edges. She was so enthralled with the sight, sound and smell that she didn't hear one of the little slaves enter the room. "I'm making dinner. Would you like to help?"

Share-All spun around to face her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't be here. Please do not cause me to be punished. I will leave very quickly and no one will know. Please!" she implored. The child, who looked so much like NotEnough from Share-All's home, said, "No one will punish you for being here."

"Oh please, please! Are you sure? I was not told that I must come in here; I wasn't even told that I might come in here. It just smelled so good to me that I wanted to know…" she broke off. To herself she said, "'Wanted to know', that's how it is that I came to be here." She didn't remember climbing the steps. In fact, she did remember thinking that she shouldn't go into the house again. Then suddenly she was in the cooking room.

"It does smell good, doesn't it?" asked the one who looked like NotEnough. "I've just started but the combination of celery and carrot and onion smells are irresistible. Are you hungry?"

"I've never smelled anything like it before. It surely smells good enough to eat but I'm sure I won't like it."

The one who looked like NotEnough said, "Why wouldn't you like it? How will you know until you try?"

"Because I don't like anything I have to chew."

"So you don't eat apples or oranges? No nuts, breads, meat? What do you eat?"

Share-All thought about it a bit. She did eat apples. She also ate oranges. Both involved chewing. She ate nuts and they certainly involved chewing. She ate some kinds of meat but had been told that she didn't like others. That's what it was. She had simply given the wrong answer. No, that wasn't true either. She had been told, emphatically, that she didn't like chewing. Is that she could chew but didn't like it? That was probably it. To the little slave she said, "I eat lots of things, well, maybe not lots of things. But I do eat the things you mentioned. I just don't like lots of chewing." She was pleased with this lie because it sort of straightened things out.

The young slave ladled the vegetables into a bowl. Into another bowl she placed some cooked meat and broth. "Would you like to try some? I'm sure that none of them will take a lot of chewing."

"No, I don't think I better. I really don't think I will like it."

"But you said that it smelled good, and... ."

"No! really, I think that it would be better if I didn't. I don't like to try new things," said Share-All.

"That's not true. I think that it would be better if you did not lie while you are here," said the young one.

Share-All was shocked. This young slave, the one who looked like a friend from home, had just called her a liar. Who is she to call me a liar? The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Lying was punishable. Lying meant your tongue would be twisted in your throat. For days it would be impossible to speak, let alone lie.

"I don't know what you're talking about and I don't think it's very funny to accuse me of something so serious. What if someone hears you say that? That will take your word for truth because I am a stranger and I will be punished. Is that what you're trying to do?"

The little slave looked thoughtful. She hesitated, then replied, "JeSuis told us that it would be hard for you to understand. But you look so much like us that it is hard to remember. I mean you no harm. I spoke the truth. You are lying when you say that you do not like to try new things." Share-All began to sputter in protest but the child went on.

"When we were in the yard and you rolled, did you like it?"

"Well, I, I guess so."

The child slave made her mouth twist up at the corners. She hummed a bit to herself. "I saw you. The second time you made a noise with your mouth. And your face which never moves, moved. I think you liked trying a new thing."

Share-All thought to herself, the child is right. There was a something which moved within just at remembering the rolling. And though the child was kind enough not to mention the bath which was also new, Share-All remembered the water dribbling on her stomach and the noise escaped her mouth. "Oh!" she said, startled by her own sound. The child watched her, saying nothing. "Yes, yes, you are right. I told you a lie. I did like trying new things." Share-All's body slumped and she hung her head saying, "And now I must be punished."

"Now, I think that you should eat. Will you try some of what is here? I will get the plates."

When the table was set, she gestured for Share-All to sit. Her plate was filled with carrots, celery, onions, and meat. She speared the long pieces of celery with her fork and ate first from one end and then the other. She did the same with the carrots. Both were tender and soft in her mouth. The one filled with just a bit of "bite", the other with incredible sweetness. "I don't know what these are but I like them. I like them a lot," she said.

"The long orange ones are carrots. They grow deep into the ground like the roots of a tree. They have just one very big root and tiny little hairs that feed the big root. Above the ground they are green and fernlike. The other grows in tall stalks but not alone. They grow in a clump, clustered tight and tall. At the very top there are leaves which are very fragrant and tasty. The roots of this plant are very shallow."

Share-All attempted to pierce the slivers of onions with her fork but couldn't. They were too soft. She gave up ans scooped them with her spoon. Ends dangled off the sides but she sucked at each one until they were gone. They were sweet but sharp, more like the celery.

"The onions," said the child, "also grow from very shallow roots. Unlike the celery, they send up a single stalk. At the base of the stalk is a swelling. The swelling or bulb grows until it is the size of a small ball. Then the stalk bends over and dies. We are eating the bulb which it produced."

Although enjoying the new tastes, and the colors, and the smells, Share-All was sure the child was talking about more than just the vegetables. This made her uncomfortable. She also noticed that the child did not eat the way she did. Instead of eating the ends of the long stalks from the fork held in the air, the child used a knife and cut them into small pieces. It was the small pieces that were carried by the fork to her mouth.

Before she had time to do more than think the thought, she became aware of her surroundings. Oblivious to the room during the whole time meal, she felt suddenly that she was being assaulted by the colors of the room. The turquoise trim at the windows danced menacingly; the purple counter rippled and thumped. Cupboards opened and shut by themselves, waving their salmon-colored arms and banging insistently. Share-All gripped the edges of the table. She looked at the little slave who appeared to notice nothing. Couldn't she hear? Didn't she see? The lime green ceiling lowered itself as if to press her under its weight, to smother her. She opened her mouth to speak, to cry out but found she could not make a sound. Her throat was closing. She was having difficulty breathing. She tried to stand, to get away, to get outside. She was unable to move. Terror rolled over her in waves. She feared if the blackness came again that this time she would not awaken.

The slave stood and moved beside Share-All's chair. She was humming something. Through the roar of the room, the slave could hear it. The little one came closer, put her arm around Share-All and hummed. She leaned her small head against the head of the slave. "Listen to the music! Listen carefully." Share-All could barely breathe, the meal she had eaten was in her throat, muscles rigid with fear. "Listen to the music!" All she heard was a low hum. It became rhythmic, although never changing pitch. She anticipated the rhythm, her breathing began to match the rhythm. She let herself feel the arm about her, the small body next to her. She felt the little slave's breath on her face. "Too close!" she thought. "Too close!" The humming continued. Hum. Hum. Pause. Hum. Hum. Pause.

"I want to get out of here! Now!" Outside, she vomited. Her face flushed, chills running all over. She was gasping for air and still she retched. The little slave stood beside her waiting.

The initial agony had passed. Her hands and knees hurt, her stomach ached, her throat burned. She laid down exhausted. The one who looked like NotEnough spoke, "I will find JeSuis and return." She padded away.

Share-All lay as still as she could, panting and wishing the cramping in her stomach would stop. A bird came and sat near her. It seemed curious, hopping a little closer, then backing away. Its head swiveled to see first from one eye and then the other. Finally, it came close to Share-All's head. It began to sing, quietly, not at all like most birds. It was a sort of cooing. Coo. Coo. Pause. Coo. Coo. Pause. It was sweet and lovely. It was soothing. Coo. Coo. Pause. Coo. Coo. Pause. Share-All's breathing evened out. Her face no longer felt hot and the rest of her body was no longer chilled. Coo. Coo. Her stomach stopped cramping. She sat up.

When she moved, the bird jumped back with a flutter. She cooed one more time and flew away. "I see you've made a new friend!" called JeSuis.

Painting

Share-All rubbed her eyes and looked around her. A light breeze and sunshine were coming in the window. She could hear also hear the voices of the little slaves talking to each other. They must be quite close.

Share-All slid from beneath the covers. She found the pants, shirt and hat and put them on. She tucked the gloves into a pocket. Stepping to the window, she took care that no one from the outside see her. She heard mention of "the stranger" and other words like "bizarre" and "queer". Then the voices grew indistinct. She watched them move off.

So they thought that she was bizarre and queer! No less did she of them. Or this place. She began to think about returning to Somewhereland.

She looked toward the door of the room. It opened on a hall and there was a room directly across. There was no bed, no comfortable chairs. Instead there was a high table pushed under the windows. On the walls she saw colorful pictures. She stepped into the hall, looked both ways and listened. No one. She crossed into the other room.

Once inside she realized that there were pictures on all three walls that didn't have windows. One was mostly bright reds like the inside of flowers with dark centers. Another had a dark night-time sky with the willow tree lit up in moonlight and tiny people dancing, it seemed, around it. The others were pictures of NotMuch (oh, she thought, that's wrong! Her name is Gifted) feeding the birds, NotEnough, Merciful and several others. Some of the pictures were just colorful shapes.

She went over to the table. On it was a large sheet of heavy paper. Beside it was an orange jug, a small blue dish, a metal plate of some sort with indentations, and a white box with little squares of color. There was also a wooden box with a lid. Glancing behind her to make sure no one was there, she leaned forward and picked up the box. As she did so, it rattled. "How curious", she thought, "what could be in here?" She lifted the lid. An assortment of brushes with different colored handles and shapes met her eyes. Some were large and round, some very thin with the tiniest of bristles. Others were medium size and came to a point, some were very wide and flat on the end. "I wonder what you do with these? Surely, they're too small for cleaning with."

She heard the soft pad of barefeet coming down the hall. She closed the lid and replaced the box. Stepping quickly to the door, she met the little slave who had taught her how cut the brambles. The slave spoke first, "JeSuis thought that you might be awake by now. I've come to see if there is anything you want."

To herself Share-All said, "Anything I want? I want so many things I can't begin to tell you. You've no idea what you're asking!" But instead of saying this, Share-All gestured toward the room behind her. "Could tell me what this room is? And what the table is for? And who uses this room? And where did these pictures come from?"

The little slave came into the room and stood before the wall with the pictures of herself and the others. She appeared to be lost in remembering something. Then she turned to Share-All and said, "Desire painted these a long time ago. I had forgotten them." She sighed loudly. Moving to the table, she reached for the box which Share-All had been examining. She took out several brushes and laid them next to the paper. "Desire would sit on this chair and look out the window. As you can see there's not much to see except grass and the fence. But she would look out the window and see all sorts of things that we couldn't see. Then she would fill the jug with water and begin to paint the pictures that are now hanging on the walls. She painted every day. JeSuis kept all her pictures but these were the favorites."

There was something in the way the slave was speaking that made Share-All hesitate to ask where Desire was now and why it was that she was no longer painting. "Do you know how to paint?" she asked.

"Me, no! Gifted may know how; I've never seen her do it but my guess is that she probably could. Why?"

"I don't know. I was thinking that it might be, well, I don't know. I'm a little afraid to go back into the garden after what happened and... ."

The slave said softly, "It wasn't your fault. We make mistakes, that's why none of us is named Perfect." She made that strange happy noise as if pleased with herself. "Why don't I go get Gifted and bring her back? Stay here and wait for us." Off she went, leaving Share-All to herself.

Alone again, she picked up the brushes that the little one had said were for painting. Somehow then, the brushes were used to make pictures. Holding the brushes by the handles she let her fingers rub over the bristles. Some were as soft as JeSuis's coat!

She lifted her eyes to the window. As the little slave had said, there was nothing but grass and the fence to see. How is then that Desire had been able to make these other pictures? Especially the one of the red flowers? There was nothing at all red out there, not anywhere.

Voices floated to her down the hall. Gifted followed the other young one into the room. "Bright tells me that you want to try painting. Good for you! It will be nice to have new pictures to look at.'

Share-All protested, "Oh I'm sure that I won't be able to do anything like these! I just thought that it might be, well, interesting, I guess."

Gifted said to Bright, "Bright, will you fill the jug with water while I explain these other things? Thank you." Bright took the jug from Gifted and went to fill it. Gifted then said to Share-All, "There really isn't much to tell you. So much of what Desire knew came from doing. Here are the brushes. They are used to make the marks on the paper. When Bright comes back with the water, we'll pour some into the small blue bowl. You dip the tip of the brush in the water to get it wet. You rub the wet brush on the square of the color you want to use this white box. Then you make your mark or marks on the paper. When you want to change colors, you simple rinse out the brush, and rub it on a different square. Sometimes the color you want isn't in the box or the color in the box is too red or too bright or something that you feel isn't quite what you want. Then you can make a new color by combining them."

Gifted moved the large piece of paper to the top of a chest against the wall. In its place she put a smaller sheet of paper. "We'll use this just to show you how to begin." Bright placed the jug on the table and Gifted poured out some water. She picked up a brush and got it wet. After rubbing it on the green square, she drew a line across the paper. "You can use different brushes to do different things. This one made a very narrow line." She picked up one of the large round brushes, got it wet, rubbed it on the green. This time when she drew the brush across the paper, she left a wide green line just below the narrow one. When the paint is still wet, you can connect the wet areas. She made another mark with the large brush and the narrow line disappeared.

Next she got the large brush very full of water and green paint. She began to fill one of the indentations on the metal dish. "This is for mixing. I'll mix the green and some yellow to make this green look more like the grass." She rinsed the brush and added yellow to the puddle in the indentation. She stirred the puddle and it became a lighter and brighter green.

She sighed. "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. But it should be enough to get you started." She went to a large chest and opened a drawer. "There's all the paper you could ever want in here so paint as much as you want, for as long as you want." She took the small paper with the green lines on it and threw it in a basket next to the table. She brought back the large piece of paper that had been there when Share-All first came into the room. She also emptied the blue bowl into a pail below the table. "Be sure to change your water often!" Both Gifted and Bright wished the slave well and left the room.

For the longest time it seemed that Share-All just sat there, not painting at all. She looked at the colors in the squares. She picked up each of the brushes and moved them around on the paper to see what they felt like. She wasn't sure that she could even make the simple green lines that Gifted had made!

She poured fresh water from the jug into the blue bowl. Then picking up the large brush that Gifted had used last, she rubbed it on the purple square. She moved it to the paper and made a large irregular shape. She was surprised at the intensity of the color. She dipped her brush into the water and forgot to rub it on the square. She made another odd shape lower down to the right of the first one. It was much lighter in color than the first. "I've made a mistake already!" she whined to herself. She threw the brush down in disgust. It bounced on the paper leaving a trail of color behind. The slave was not so disgusted that she didn't notice. No, she did notice. And what she saw pleased her. The two different colors of purple with the small line of spots intrigued her. Maybe she hadn't done it wrong after all. Gifted had said that Share-All could make new colors. And she had; she just hadn't meant to do it.

She picked up the brush from the paper trying not to make any new marks. She rinsed the brush and rubbed it on the brown next. Instead of marking on the paper, she began to make a puddle next to the yellow-green one that Gifted had made. She kept it up until she had a fairly large amount, then she added just water. She began to draw on the paper with the light brown of the puddle. She worked over and around the two purple shapes. Next she made a red blotch, and two smaller yellow ones. Then accidentally she put her brush down on a spot that already had color. She watched in horror, then fascination as the yellow she thought she was putting down, mixed with the red that was already there. It created a strange orange swirl. "I really like this," Share-All said. "I really, really like this."

When she had no more white space of paper to cover, she picked up the paper carefully by the edges and laid it on top of the chest to finish drying. It didn't look like too much of anything but it had been fun. She had made many mistakes, more than just forgetting to pick up color on her brush or placing the color on top of another one! But each had taught her something. "I want to learn how to paint like Desire did," she let herself say. She took another piece of paper from the chest, emptied the dirty water into the bucket and began a new painting.

Much later the top of the chest and every inch of floor was covered with her "work". "And it was work," she told herself. Balancing colors and shapes, experimenting with the different brushes, making new colors, and trying to keep all the new information in her head had been both exhausting and exhilarating. She stepped carefully away from the chair, checking to see which paintings were dry enough to stack. Eventually she cleared a path to the door.

The Willow Tree & Learning To Work

In the front corner of the yard nearest the stream that the slave had crossed stood a mammoth willow tree. The trunk was so large that three adults with arms stretched around would be unable to touch hands. Over 100 feet high, the tree dominated the house beside which it stood as well as all the other houses nearby. The gnarls looked like frozen gasps for air or painful spasms that had petrified. Upper limbs curled toward the sky with long swishing fronds weeping, sweeping the ground below.
It was obvious that the tree took nourishment from the stream. Bumps of gnarled roots broke ground near the fence and down the bank. On the opposite shore, miniature trees stretched their roots towards the massive parent. Between them sluiced the stream.

At the very base of the large tree was a pile of white crystals. Share-All asked, “Is this food for the tree?”

“No,” came the answer. “The crystals are a product of the tree. Its roots reach deep into the heart of the stream, where the water is the densest, and begins to draw it up into itself. As it enters the tree, the water is transformed into leaves and bark, as well as these crystals. It cannot use them itself so it pushes them out for others.”

“What are they used for?” she asked.

“Have you never used salt before?”

“Salt! You mean that the stream has saltwater in it? But that is impossible!” she cried.

“For an ordinary stream, yes. But this stream carries the wetness from many eyes of many slaves, many days’ and nights’ worth, many lives’ worth of wetness flow here.”
Share-All understood that it was possible that if the slaves were allowed have their wetness that it could easily fill a stream. But showing such weakness was not allowed. Incredible humiliating punishment would scar a slave’s eyes forever if she was found showing wetness. How could it be, then, that water such as this existed?
“It is forbidden to show wetness. Where does this come from?”

“I told you, the eyes and hearts of slaves. There are those who weep freely as does the tree. Their masters, perhaps, are less severe with them than yours.”

“Why does the tree do this?”

“The tree is true to its nature. It seeks water for life and growth. When it found the water salty, it wept with the realization of what it had touched. Out of compassion, and its own need, the tree sought a way to transform what was. In doing so, it has given several gifts to others: it acknowledges the plight of the slaves; it provides clean water to those farther downstream; and it delivers salt for those who can use it. Because it gave of itself, it in turn flourishes.”
A tree that weeps for slaves!

Work

The slave awoke to find the cat sitting near her face. JeSuis leaned forward until her whiskers tickled Share-All’s nose. She sat back. “Did you sleep well? I did, but then I always do. Will you please open the door?”

Share-All got up and opened the door. She barely had time to look down for the cat and JeSuis was gone. She looked down the hall but didn’t see her. She called, “JeSuis! JeSuis!” There was no answer and nobody came in response. “JeSuis!” she called more quietly, wistfully. “JeSuis,” she whispered.

Stepping into the hall, the slave was afraid to go anywhere that she had not already been for fear of trespassing. For all she knew, she was forbidden to be in the house at all. She looked around fearfully and listened carefully. The house appeared to be empty. She retraced her steps and entered the long room with the large window. She walked over to it.

To her right was the willow tree, directly ahead the fence with its arbor, beyond the fence like a thin line of silver was the stream. She brought her arm to her nose and sniffed. The smell of cat was still there. For a moment she wondered if she had somehow dreamed the bath, the little slaves and the tree. Thinking of the little ones, she turned to see if they were in the yard. The smallest, the one she thought of as NotMuch, the slave girl who lived next to them, was sitting near a bowl of some sort balanced on a stick. NotMuch had a bag between her legs and was opening it.

Her curiosity pushed Share-All past the colors in the cooking room, out the back door, and into the yard. As she came around the edge of the house, NotMuch was getting to her feet. “Hey! What are you doing?” Share-All called. The child looked at her, reached her hand into the bag and flung a handful of something golden into the air. Soon the sound of wings and twitters filled the air. The slave came closer, dodging birds that were trying to land near the feet of NotMuch. As she approached she realized that the bowl she had seen was filled with water. Several birds had landed on its rim and were drinking.

“It’s my work each day to feed the birds,” NotMuch replied. She took out another handful of grain and spread it on the ground. “What work do you do?” she asked.

Share-All was unsure how to respond. It was true that she worked, and very hard. But it wasn’t a single task like feeding birds. “It was… it was… it’s so hard,” she thought. What she did with her day was what she was told to do. But “do” wasn’t the right word either. Most of her day was spent “not doing” as in “don’t do that” and in waiting to be told what she must do. Demands to “do” often didn’t come and so she would spend her day listening for the words, waiting and listening. Could she explain to NotMuch that her work each day was to wait and listen? When Share-All grew impatient and attempted something, no matter how insignificant, she was yelled at and punished.

“I wait and listen,” she said to the little slave.

“For what?” NotMuch replied seriously.

“For instructions on what to do.”

“You mean someone helps you choose?”

“No.” What did she mean? She tried to remember the last instruction she got. The only thing that came to mind was when her mother said to her, “Stand there. Your brother will do that.” So she had stood there while MustStay, her brother did whatever she was had been about to do. It was often like that.

“I often stand,” she said helplessly. “MustStay, my brother, is the one who really has work.”

“What do you know how to do? I’m sure that now you’re here that you will want to work,” said NotMuch.

“Want to? Oh yes, I want to work.” At those words, NotMuch extended the bag of grain towards Share-All. “Would you like to help feed the birds? They’re almost done and then they must do their work.”

“Yes, I’ll help.” She took the bag, put her hand in and drew out a handful of kernels. She scattered them with a short motion. The birds at her feet pecked away, then drank from the bowl. At some signal missed by Share-All, they took off and landed in the tree. There they began to sing.

“What kind of work would you like to do?” NotMuch asked.

“Well, you asked before what I know how to do and I’m afraid that I don’t know how to do anything.”

As Share-All and the one who looked like NotMuch talked of work, Share-All, unable to meet the eyes of the little one for shame, let her eyes wander around the yard. The back was covered with small trees, brambles and all sorts of weedy-looking things. The fence was barely visible. In was in sharp contrast to where they stood.
NotMuch kept speaking but her speech faded when she realized she had lost the slave’s attention. She turned her head to look where Share-All was looking. “JeSuis said that someone really needs to do something with that area but we’ve all been so busy.”

They walked towards the patch. “Do you know anything about gardens?” “No,” Share-All said quickly, although it was a lie. “I mean, well, I know some but not much. Oh, how strange! I just said ‘not much’ and you know, when I look at you, you seem so familiar to me. There is a slave who lives next door to us whose name is NotMuch. You look so like her that in my mind I’ve been calling you NotMuch. It occurs to me now that I should have asked you your name.”

Struck by this revelation, the young slave seemed at a loss for words. Then she spoke carefully so as not to offend the stranger, “I’m glad that I remind you of someone. My name is Gifted.”

Share-All in her turn was surprised. “What an unusual name! You have only one name? Where I come from everyone has two names put together. Like my own, HasNothing, or my brother’s, MustStay, or my father, MustFail. Even the name that only my family uses for me is two words: share and all.”

“Here we have only one name we use with each other,” replied Gifted.

“Ah! So you do have another name!” exclaimed Share-All. “Tell me what it is.”

“I cannot. JeSuis says that when we have your naming party will be soon enough for such things.”

“A party? What is a party?” inquired the slave.

Gifted’s face creased, her teeth showed, and she made the noise of happiness. “In time,” she said, “in time. Meanwhile we were talking about a garden.”

Share-All looked at the brambles which had woven themselves into a tangle. “You would have to clear all of these before you could even see what you had.”

“Would you be willing to do that?” asked Gifted.

“I would need tools, and someone to... .” Share-All paused. She was being offered work. Real work. Not standing, not waiting. A curious emotion passed through her. In her mind, she saw a garden, a real garden. The small trees had been removed, the brambles cleared, the ground turned and planted purposefully. The picture of what could be seemed so clear that when she re-focused on the actual scene before her, she had to shake her head. [does she really know what could be planted or is she simply imagining?]

“You need someone else to what?” asked Gifted.

“I need someone to... .” Again, she didn’t finish the sentence. She was going to say that she needed someone to tell her what to do but even a slave could see, it was obvious what needed doing, at least as far as clearing a space went. After that, maybe then, she would need someone to help. “I, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think that I do need someone. I do want to do it, though.”

Tools appeared on a box near the fence: gloves for her hands, a shirt to cover her arms, pants to cover her legs, a hat for her head. There were pruning shears, a trowel, a saw, and a shovel. Gifted did not wait to see if Share-All knew what these things were for, she simply turned to her and said, “You can start whenever you choose, stop when you want to. Work as little or as hard as you wish. If you need anything, let one of us know” and walked off.

The slave stood a while trying to decide where to start. If she began at the edge that bordered the lawn and worked her way to the fence, she would at least have a path. With that in mind, she bent down to where a berry bramble was anchored at her feet. Barehanded, she grabbed the cane and tugged. The thorns broke her skin when she put her hands around the cane, then tore more flesh when she pulled. She screamed in pain. Her hands held out before her were ripped and bloody. Wetness sprang to her eyes and her face twisted with the pain. She bit her lip to keep from screaming again. She shuddered with anticipation of the masters descending on her to beat the noise out of her. She stood shaking and listened. No, no one was coming. She pressed her hands to her body to try and stop the burning sensation.

“Here now! Let me see what you’ve done to yourself,” JeSuis spoke as she approached the slave. Share-All’s hearing had not picked up the sound of the cat coming. She held out her hands to the cat.

“We need to get those washed and put something on them to protect them.” JeSuis called out, “Merciful! Bring something for the wounds, please!” A young slave Share-All did not recognize disappeared into the house. “Why didn’t you use the gloves?” asked JeSuis. “Gloves?” came the answer.

JeSuis walked over to the box with the tools on top and jumped up. She pointed with a paw to the gloves. “These are gloves. You slip them over your hands so the thorns cannot hurt you.”

“I didn’t know there were thorns,” said Share-All. “We only ate the berries that MustStay, my brother, picked. MustStay told me that when the brambles grew too thick in the middle, berries were picked on the edges only. He never said anything about thorns.”

Merciful arrived with a rag and water to wash the wounds. When they were clean, she wrapped Share-All’s hands with gauze. Her hands hurt so very much that when JeSuis suggested she try on the gloves, she hesitated. Hard as it was to get them on, her hands felt much better once they were inside. She stretched her fingers. It was almost as if the pain was gone already!

From her position on the box, JeSuis asked, “Do you still want to work?” “Yes, I want to,” came the answer. JeSuis said, “Then you must also put on the pants. They will cover your legs and protect them from the brambles and anything else that is low to the ground. Put on the shirt and it will keep your upper body from harm as well.” Merciful helped her into the shirt, getting her hands with the gloves on through the sleeves was the hardest part. Merciful buttoned the shirt for her. Share-All pulled on the pants and Merciful buttoned those as well.

She gestured with her hand, a sort of wave, first to JeSuis, and then to Merciful, which they took to mean ‘thank you’. JeSuis bounded off the box and was gone. Merciful turned and walked toward the house.

Alone again, Share-All flexed her fingers. She pressed her hands together but there was no more pain. Encouraged, she bent down, grasped the cane which had inflicted the injuries and pulled. It budges ever so slightly. She pulled harder but it still did not come free of the ground. A voice spoke behind her, “If I were you, I think that I would cut them down, then come back and dig up the roots.”

She turned to face another of the little slaves. The young one’s face crinkled and showed teeth. She stood with her hands on her hips. Then they dropped to her sides and she asked, “Would you like me to show you how?” When Share-All didn’t answer, the little one walked over to the box and picked up the pruning shears. “If you do this,” she said as she grasped the cane several inches above the ground and cut it off at ground level, “I think it will be easier.” She took the cane and tossed on the grass beside them.

“Show me again,” said Share-All.

The little one did and said, “You try,” handing Share-All the shears.

Although it was tricky at first, she learned quickly. After she had cut several canes, she picked them up and threw them on top of the first. She straightened up and made the gesture she had made to JeSuis and Merciful. The young slave nodded and walked away.

Now she began working in earnest. Sweat ran down her face and front, her back, her arms, and her legs. [the hat?] She worked until she came to the fence. The path she’d made was just the width of her body, but the stack of canes she’d cut was as high as her head. She staggered out from the fenceline with the last of them.
The world began to spin and her head suddenly felt as if someone was hammering on it. She tried to speak but the words would not come out. She collapsed and lost consciousness.

Someone, or maybe many someones carried her to the house and placed her on a bed in one of the many rooms. Someone placed a cool cloth on her forehead. When it would became warm from her body, they would rinse it in cool water and replace the cloth. How many times this was done! She moaned from wherever she was, “Stop!” and “Don’t!” but they didn’t listen as if she were speaking to them. They simply kept trying to cool her down.

She finally came to some level of consciousness and began to accuse them of all sorts of filthy and violent crimes. They restrained her when she attempted to get out of bed and reassured her that they would never have done such things. In the hall, outside the room in which she lay, though, there was little reassurance for any of them. She was rocking their world with the images she was giving voice to. How could such things be imagined? Why would someone imagine such things? What if these things were real and not imagined? They paced the length of the hall, every now and then poking their heads into the room. What they heard was more of what they already did not understand. They shook their heads and wrapped their arms around each other for comfort.

The whole while Share-All lay there moaning and accusing, cursing and groaning, JeSuis was noticeably absent. At last her voice became softer, the words full of pleading and whimpering. Then finally they stopped.

When she woke, the cat was curled beside her. As the covers rustled, JeSuis stretched her long body first with her rear-end in the air, then forward. She shook her back left leg and turned to face Share-All. “You’ve been quite ill. I think it’s because you were not wearing the hat you were given. How do you feel?”

“My stomach feels very strange and my head still hurts but not like it did,” Share-All replied.

“Do you think you could sit up?”

“Yes, I think I can.” A little slave entered the room at these words and placed a large pillow behind Share-All’s back. “How’s that?” she asked. Share-All gave the hand gesture and the slave left.

For the longest time Share-All and the cat just looked at each other. JeSuis’s eyes seemed even larger and more intensely green than before. She moved slowly on to Share-All’s lap. This time she gave no warning; she simply moved. She curled on the slave’s lap and laid down with her back to Share-All. She began to make a humming noise. The slave could hear it as well as feel it on her legs. The cat’s body was vibrating with the hum. Share-All carefully reached out a hand to touch the cat. As she stretched, she noticed that the gauze had been removed from her hand. She looked quickly at the other. Yes, that one was unwrapped as well. She brought the hand to her face and so no sign of the injury. She laid it on the cat’s back. The humming increased in volume. She felt the cat’s fur soft under her fingers. Felt the warmth of its body. She began to stroke the cat. Tiny movements at first, then a bit longer strokes. JeSuis never moved, never turned and never spoke. How long this lasted, Share-All had no idea. At some point she fell asleep again. When she woke, the cat was gone.

JeSuis & The Bath

A tortoise-shell tabby with white chin, cheeks and chest, two white front legs and back paws. Her tail had a wide black stripe with with narrow black rings across it. Her wide eyes were moss green, her nose pink with a faint tan moustache below it. The cat leapt easily to the ground. She walked to where Share-All was standing. With whiskers twitching she sniffed then snorted.

She looked up at the slave. “Who are you? You are one of us but you don’t smell like us.”

“A talking cat! What next?,” thought Share-All. “What do you mean ‘one of us’? Who are to be asking me?”

The cat sat down and swished her tail. She licked a paw then looked up again. “My name is JeSuis. It means ‘I am’. I am asking you what is that smell?”

“Smell? What is a smell? I’m sure I don’t have one. As you can see, I have nothing.”

“One of us and she doesn’t know what smell is!” The cat’s tail flicked impatiently. “Do you have a name?”

“My name is HasNothing but my parents call me Share-All. It is a joke about my name. I share all so I have nothing.”

“I will call you Share-All until I learn your real name. Tell me now, how is it that you do not know what smell is?”

“How can I tell you how I don’t know what I don’t know?” Queer cat, she said to herself. My real name! Smell! A cat that talks and speaks in riddles.

“Pick me up, please,” said JeSuis.

Share-All bent down, grabbed the cat in the middle with both hands and dangled her in front of her.

“Put me down! Put me down! Eeoow! Put me down!”

The little slaves came running to see the cause of the cat’s anguished cry. “Have you never touched a cat before?! Fool! Eeoow! That hurt!” The children rushed to JeSuis to comfort the cat. They stroked it gently, inquiring how it felt, was she all right now? “I’m fine,” she said. To the slave she said, “I am sorry for calling you a ‘fool’. I was injured and lost my temper. I see now that you have no experience in tenderness or compassion. You must learn.” The children’s mouths came slightly open and their eyebrows lifted. They had been sure that she was one of them and now they had cause to doubt.

JeSuis began to walk toward the house. Calling over her shoulder to the slave, she said, “Follow me. You must learn these things in time. The smell we will deal with right now.”

Share-All looked at the concern and disappointment on the faces of the children. The cat had said that she must be punished for this ‘smell’ thing. Well, all right, she understood punishment. Obviously she had done something very wrong when she picked up the cat. She followed JeSuis with head hanging.

At the back door of the house JeSuis said, “Open the door.” Share-All did and they both walked in. The room was a bright cream-colored cooking room with festive salmon-colored cupboards, a purple counter, turquoise trim at the windows, a lime green-colored ceiling, honey-colored wood on the floor, rust-colored chairs at the table. Share-All felt weak, her knees wobbled and her head grew light. The room seemed to be moving, colors coming close as if to hug her, then retreating and stretching. It was if they were swimming towards each other or bobbing near each other but definitely in motion. She reached for a chair to steady herself but it was too late. Suddenly the colors swirled into blackness and she collapsed on the floor.

When the slave came to, JeSuis moved from in front of one of the cabinets and stared at her face. “Yes,” she said. “It’s as I thought. Are you feeling better now? If so, why don’t you try standing?” Share-All used the back of the chair to lift her body, clutching it in case she became dizzy again. No, she was okay now. Nothing in the room was moving. The colors were very bright but stayed on the ceiling, windows, cupboards and floor.

JeSuis walked to a doorway and once again said, “Follow me.” The slave was most reluctant to enter another room where the same thing might happen. She was surprised, too, to find that she felt some affinity for the colors, some sense of belonging in this room. This room! The room that overpowered her! “How queer this place is, and how queer the effects it’s having on me,” she thought. Still, she crossed the kitchen and followed the cat.

They moved rather quickly through a livingroom with a large, floor-to-ceiling bowed window. In a nook of the room was a large, deep red, heavily-cushioned recliner. Next to it was a small table covered with books, brushes and a glass of water. A small cat’s bed was on the other side of it.

She stayed just a step or two behind JeSuis going down a hall. There were rooms straight ahead and rooms off to either side. They finally stopped in front of a white door. “I want you to come in here with me and I will show you something,” said JeSuis.

“This is the place of punishment, then,” thought the slave. In the dance and sway of the colors, and with the fainting, she had almost forgotten why they had come. She stood before the door which gleamed. “What a curious door to the basement! Imagine painting the basement door white,” thinking of where she came from.

They entered a room rather than descending stairs. Light came from a window directly opposite and to her right was a large white porcelain trough. JeSuis moved under the window and hopped on a white stool. Near her was a smaller trough with a wood base. Share-All saw what appeared to be a large window above it. “Come all the way and shut the door behind you, please,” said JeSuis. Share-All did.

“I want to talk with you about smell. I’m sorry you must remain standing but I won’t take long I promise. Do you see the metal handles above the tub? The one on the left is for hot water. Bend down and close the drain. Do you see the small lever? Push it up. That’s right. Now turn the left handle.” Share-All turned the shiny chrome handle to the left and water came rushing from the spout. She jumped back in alarm.

“Stop it!” she said. “Oh please, make it stop!” The noise of the pouring water seemed so loud in this small room. Her ears hurt from it. “Make it stop!” she implored the cat. But JeSuis simply sat watching her. No, not watching, but staring, intently, that’s it. The cat was staring at her intently as if she was speaking into the slave’s mind. “It’s okay. Relax, it’s okay.” The noise seemed quieter now.

JeSuis jumped down from the stool and came to Share-All’s feet. She turned and put her front paws up on the edge of the trough. “It’s time. Turn the left handle back to where it was.” The slave moved around the cat, leaned over and turned the handle. She could feel heat rising from the water. Was this her punishment? To be scalded?

“Place your hand in the water to check the temperature,” said the cat. The slave tentatively put her hand in. It wasn’t scalding, it wasn’t even too hot, it was ... it was... She turned and looked at the cat, wondering if this was a trap.

JeSuis said, “Sit here on the edge and I will show you something.” Share-All sat down. The cat jumped up beside her. “Stretch out your arm and look at it.” The slave stuck out her arm and looked. “What do you see?”

“Nothing,” the slave replied.

“Put your nose next to your skin. Breathe in. What do you smell?”

The slave brought her arm under her nose, took a deep breath and said, “Nothing.”

JeSuis told the slave, “Share-All, I am going to move from where I am beside you on to your lap. Do not touch me. Once I am settled, I want you to lean down and smell the top of my head.” The cat placed her paws on the slave’s thigh. The slave winced but didn’t try to stop her. JeSuis continued moving forward, standing with feet on both Share-All’s thighs then turned and sat. She sat very still facing away from the slave. She felt the slave lean forward, felt her breath on the back of her neck, heard her take a deep breath.

“Oh my! Oh what a wonderful smell!” she exclaimed. The slave leaned forward again, took another breath. In her enthusiasm she gripped the cat with both hands and attempted to bring the cat up to her nose rather than leaning down. The cat yowled, “Eeoow!” JeSuis bolted to the floor.

Startled, the slave quickly dropped her head and waited. Eyes closed, she waited. Nothing. She opened them slightly. With her head bent she looked straight into the eyes of the cat between her feet. “It’s okay. I understand. It’s all right.”

JeSuis moved back a bit which forced Share-All to lift her head to see the cat clearly. “Can you tell the difference between you and me? Our smells, I mean,” asked the cat. “There is about you a putrid, dead, disgusting smell. You are unable to smell it because you have lived with it for a very long time. Underneath that smell, you smell just like me.”

Share-All tried to take this in. The cat smelled simply wonderful. The slave had no words to describe it. The cat continued, “First we need to get rid of that awful smell. Climb into the water and use this rag and that pink chunk to rub all over your body. Everywhere you see this brown color,” she pointed to Share-All’s arm, “you need to rub and rinse until it is gone.”

The slave turned on the edge and the cat got down. Share-All placed both feet in the water. It felt friendly, gentle. She then lowered her body into the tub. She picked up the pink chunk and the rag, got them both wet and began rubbing her body. The cat climbed back up on the edge and watched. The water began to turn brown. “We may need to do this a couple of times. You’re very brown in spots, you know.”

Share-All wasn’t listening. She watched as the place where she rubbed changed color. “It’s magic!” Caught up in the ‘magic’, she began rubbing harder. Her skin was turning red from the abrasive movements. The cat cried out, "Stop! Stop it!” Share-All still wasn’t listening. The roughness of the rag being shoved across her skin was everything. “Eeoow! Stop it!” JeSuis cried again. The slave jumped. “Stop rubbing so hard,” the cat said. “The water and the pink chunk will do the work. You must not hurt yourself, do you hear me? The bath is for pleasure. The bath gives the pleasure of getting clean and taking away the ugliness. It lets you give pleasure to yourself if you will let it. Fill the rag with water.”

Share-All held the rag under water. At the cat’s instruction, she held it over her belly and let the water dribble down. It tickled and she made that noise with her mouth. “Do it again,” spoke the cat. Again the slave held the rag under the water then held it over her belly. The noise came again, and again. “For pleasure, not for pain,” said the cat. “Touch yourself gently, like the water. Feel the slip of the pink chunk against your skin. Rinse yourself by scooping water and letting it run across you. This is what a bath is!”

When the water was filthy, Share-All flipped the lever and ran the water out. She rinsed the tub and ran more water. She sat back down and took another bath. Satisfied that the slave was finally clean, the cat spoke, “Let out the water and rinse the tub. Then take this towel and dry your body.” The slave did so. When she had finished drying, the cat walked over to her leg and sniffed her. She sniffed again and did not snort as she did the first time she smelled the slave. Looking up, she said, “Lift your arm and smell it.” Share-All lifted her arm but she knew already that she smelled like the cat. She took a deep breath and said, “I smell like you, JeSuis,” using the cat’s name for the first time. “I smell like JeSuis,” she said.

The cat then excused herself, walked to the small rug below the white stool, circled twice and laid down and went promptly to sleep. She looked so contented that Share-All laid down on the wet rug in front of the door, placed the soles of her feet against the door, and she, too, fell asleep.