Of Age

The summer sunlight filtered through the trees and warmed the straw roofs of the huts. As soon as the first rays shone through the skylight windows, the children leapt from their sleeping places and came running out to meet the day, laughing and tumbling their way to the village water trough. There they splashed, teased, shared scraps of dreams, watched fondly by mothers and fathers already about their own morning tasks.

Arunj laughed along with the rest, tying up long, glossy black hair before putting face to refreshingly cool water: laughed, but with a new wariness in the keen brown eyes.

For Arunj was thirteen, and today was Deciding Day. Come nightfall, life would be different.

Breakfast for the children was the usual meal: yoghurt from sheep's milk, fresh red berries, fire-baked bread, kaff, a hot drink made from a bean that grew nearby, that made young children alert and ready to learn. Arunj savoured every bite, every swallow, thinking: Today is the day. After today, I will not be a child. I will not eat with them, nor sleep with them. I will have a different life.

Breakfast was particularly sweet, as Arunj secretly studied the faces of companions who would soon be companions no more, still children...and the face of contemporaries who would be going along on the journey, the thirteen-year-olds who shared their Deciding Day.

In particular, Arunj caught the eye of Cics, a dear friend and constant companion. The two smiled at one another, and then looked quickly away. Perhaps Cics, too, was wondering, as Arunj was wondering? Each hoping that the other had decided...?

It was forbidden to tell before the Deciding. It would displease the gods, Grandmother Olana said. It would make a child Decide wrongly, snorted Grandfather Brunjo, that was all.

No matter. Forbidden it was, although Arunj could see it in the faces of the other Deciders - the hope, the fear. And in the faces of the adults. Perhaps a mother secretly wished...? Perhaps a father had always wanted...? No matter. The Decision was made on Deciding Day. The child must decide.

After breakfast, Arunj ran across the square, child's bare feet pounding on the hard-stamped ground, to the house of Arisha, the weaving instructress. This was a class Arunj enjoyed very much. All the children loved Arisha, the patient way in which she taught her skills. They loved, too, her jokes, the stories and songs she shared while they practised the weaving that all the tribe learned as children, that clothed them and gave them goods to trade. Arisha looked up from her loom and smiled as she saw Arunj.

'Come here, little one, ' she said. 'Are you ready for tonight? Do you have your clothing ready?'

Arunj nodded, eyes solemn. 'May I show you now, Arisha?' Arisha nodded, smiling.

Arunj went to the wicker chest in the corner - each pupil had one assigned - and took out the two sets of garments made, carefully, over the last year - the garments for the Deciding - one to wear, and one to give away, one yellow, one green. Arunj carried them carefully to Arisha, who touched them gravely, examining the patterns of the duol woven in lines of shining thread, the pattern that celebrated the passage from childhood to adulthood. She looked at her pupil, eyes shining.

'They are beautiful,' she murmured. 'And you are beautiful, my child.' She held out her arms. 'Come, let me embrace you. After today, you will no longer be a child. After today, perhaps, who knows, I may not...' She left the sentence unfinished, but both knew what she meant. A last embrace between pupil and teacher, and Arunj took the new clothes home to store, taking the back stairs to the children's loft, not wanting to see Mother, because Mother was not easy to talk to lately, Mother was preoccupied...

So Arunj went to see Eralto, the gruff trainer, who sat polishing copper breastplates on the steps of the armoury. Feared by the fiercest warrior in the village, Eralto was beloved of all the children. Arunj somersaulted across the practice yard and landed, laughing, beside the grey-haired old fighter, who pretended to be angry at the disruption in his day's routine, but only for a moment. Then he invited Arunj to sit beside him and help with the work. They did not speak much, but the companionship itself was more eloquent than words. Arunj loved this teacher, and knew that Eralto would never speak of what was in his mind - what he, perhaps, hoped for from a star pupil, the best runner, the most agile...but Deciding was not for discussion. They finished the work and shared a lunch of bread and goat's cheese, almost in silence. Then Arunj impulsively embraced the old man before turning and running...

...away, out of the village, toward the river, away from the village landing and its fishing boats, downstream a bit, around the bend, where no one could see...past the gate to the fenced garden, the garden whose trees produced a special fruit....above all, Arunj did not want to think about that garden and that fruit, not just now...

Arunj lay down on the bank and cried, just a little.

Deciding. How to Decide? What to become, what to choose? Would the choice make one friend happy, one unhappy? Would the choice make the village stronger, weaker? What talents were best?

Which garment to wear to the council fire tonight - the yellow or the green? Which to wear, which to give away to a beloved friend?

With eyes closed, Arunj could see the two sets of duol patterns - the intricate patterns, weaving in and out, that spoke of choosing and of destiny. But how to know? With eyes opened, Arunj looked up and saw two butterflies dancing above the tall grass, dancing as butterflies dance in summer. Arunj smiled.

The butterflies seemed almost identical, large, with white wings...but one had a green spot on each wing, the other a golden one. Together they danced, their fluttering wings kissing the air as they skimmed the top of the grass. Arunj gazed at them, at the spots which appeared and disappeared as they flew, until they flew away up the ridge behind the river.

Eyes closed again, Arunj saw the two sets of spots...green, yellow, yellow, green...one brighter than the other.

Arunj smiled. The Deciding had come. And with it, the need to jump up and run, run fast, back home to bathe and dress and prepare for the ritual of Deciding.

The elders were solemn as they led the singing at the council fire. The songs told of choice, of joy, of responsibility. The parents waited nervously, holding hands tightly, as their children, soon to be children no more, approached and announced their decisions.

Arunj waited in the shadows as, one by one, the others stepped before the Elders, showed themselves to the tribe, and received their First Fruit. Arunj was sometimes surprised at the choice, sometimes not...but one choice in particular brought a surge of joy to the heart.

Finally, the master of ceremonies called Arunj's name.

Stepping out of the shadows, Arunj could hear Father gasp as the firelight caught the shine of the golden threads in the green shirt and trousers. Arunj addressed the assembled group in prescribed, formal speech:

'My fathers and mothers, I have decided. My name is Arunj-o.'

Tears were shining in Mother's eyes, whether of joy, pride, disappointment, there was no time to learn.

'I bring a gift for my friend, and I ask for the birthright I have chosen. I ask for the green fruit of manhood.'

A smiling elder handed Arunjo the fruit - the green fruit from the special garden - that would trigger the physical process that would make him what he had chosen to become.

And great was Arunjo's joy as he solemnly offered the other garment - a bright yellow dress, lovingly made - to his dearest friend, the beautiful woman-to-be, his own Cics-a.