Diversity Is Coming

by Nicolas Wilson

  ***

  Three weeks after the preparation ceremony, Izkeh’s friends had already visited his coffin. Most reminisced about their days with him, while others simply mourned his passing. I supposed I had gotten used to the unwelcome hugs from strangers who thought invading my personal space would comfort me. I still had the urge to pull away, but at least now I knew how to pretend that I appreciated the physical contact.

  Today was a rarity. I could actually sleep late in my hole without Mama Oojeen rattling the bead curtains, insisting I mingle.

  “Ah!” I exclaimed in pain. A sliver of sharp Isle-stone pierced my calloused foot. I pulled it out, opening the wound. With a sigh, I used my blanket to stop the bleeding.

  I couldn't complain. It was my fault there were sharp slivers on the floor.

  “I should have cleaned this up,” I muttered. Last night, I once again thought of how Izkeh’s bad choices led to his death, the worst being his choice of Obligation. I got so angry I broke an Isle-stone sculpture I made of Izkeh and me in two, then tossed the halves without checking where they landed.

  Well, now I knew. If Izkeh had been alive, he would have told me off for leaving the broken statue scattered about.

  After applying medicinal herbs and covering my mound with a leaf bandage, I cleaned up the bloody mess. “Are you happy now, Izkeh?” I asked out loud. I imagined my brother nodding in approval, urging me to continue. “Very well. I’ll clean the rest of the cave.”

  And so I did. I scrubbed the eight walls of our cave until the dark stone surface gleamed. I dusted the crystalware, and even folded the pants and tops Mama Oojeen left hanging to dry. When I ran out of chores to do, I headed outside to fulfill my Obligation to Colony by carving pots and pans out of Isle-stone blocks.

  When Mama Oojeen returned, I was already cooking lunch. “What happened to your foot?” she demanded.

  “Broken Isle-stone. I’m fine, auntie.”

  Mama Oojeen stuck out her thin, forked tongue. “Smells good. Mountain fern and beetle stew?”

  “It’s Izkeh’s favorite.” I removed the pot cover and stirred the soup. The beetles were starting to soften. “Should be done in a few minutes. Just rest. I got this.”

  Mama Oojeen raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She walked to her hole to change, then I heard her gasp. “Did you clean the entire cave, Doolei?”

  “Yes, auntie.” I continued to stir the stew, then gave it a taste. Delicious, I thought. Your stew is waiting, Izkeh.

  We used to be a happy family, the five of us together. Father was a Forager, Mother was a Healer. But after Father’s fatal accident while hunting in the area just beyond the mountain ridge, Mother was never the same. She blamed herself for not being able to heal him, her guilt driving her mind to the darkest of places. Mother thought the only way to escape her pain was to be with my father, so she clipped her wings and jumped off the Isle onto the rocky surface below.

  I hid in my hole for weeks, until Izkeh told me our parents wouldn’t have wanted me to turn into a useless Man Ang’Gal. I should work, he said. Do my duty to the Colony. I asked him if being good would bring Mother and Father back. “Maybe,” Izkeh had said, shrugging. Soon after, he became a Watcher.

  And now he was dead.

  I sculpted five more pots above my Obligation quota. I cleaned the house. I cooked lunch. I was being a good Man Ang’Gal.

  Will you return to me now, Izkeh?

  I didn’t notice Mama Oojeen was back in the kitchen with me until she cleared her throat. “Doolei,” she began.

  “Yes?”

  Mama Oojeen was at the dining table, her hands clasped in front her. Before she had forsaken her gender to become a Diviner, Mama Oojeen was my mother’s older brother. After her Transition, Mama Oojeen looked so much like Mother that I could have mistaken them for twins. It was as if my mother never left.

  “Izkeh is not coming back. He will be in Teeqoh’s kingdom soon,” said my aunt, her eyes staring into mine. “He’s gone, Doolei. You need to start accepting it. Even your parents — they’re all gone.”

  No, they could not be.

  I turned away from her and busied myself with cooking. “The stew is done, auntie. We should eat.”

  Mama Oojeen seemed as though she wanted to say something, but changed her mind. She sighed, then finally nodded. “Very well. Let me have a taste.”