Chapter 6 -
08/27/2017
I slid further down, crossing my arms behind my head now. Legs spread I let my stomach hang out like Mr. Lethan to maximize space.
After the fifth dispatch of tea, I was so full that I could harbor the Spirit of Boston in my belly. Still, I allowed myself to indulge once more. I just loved the feeling of pores opening up and immersing in the sense of relaxation.
When I caught Bulkee studying me from across the table, my body tensed up.
He stood upright and pinned his eyes on me. His expression was unreadable. But I could see the judgment in his disparaging glare. I had a keen sense of distrust from him, like I was an impostor and he was trying to figure me out.
I jolted to my feet and broke eye contact from him. I shifted my gaze to the window. A strange sight snatched my attention.
The bread loaves were floating away from the mansion. They glided in neat lines like integral parts of a moving train. I watched with confusion as they spread all over the streets and even traveled along roofs of the villas.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Oh. You will see,” Mr. Lethan flew to the window and popped open a panel. “Let’s take a stroll and get some fresh air,” he said, as he wiggled through the frame.
I was still climbing down the table like Jack in the Beanstalk, when Bulkee and Mrs. Lethan followed Mr. Lethan to the streets. I rushed over in a hurry trying to catch up to them. But the window was set so high above the floor that my fingertips could barely reach its lower beam. Did they forget that I couldn’t fly?
I turned for the door immediately. A knot tightened in my throat when I pushed and the panel didn’t swing open. A bolt was on the doorframe locking the panel in place. It, too, was out of my reach.
I dashed back into the kitchen. My breath quickened, as I paced back and forth. What should I do? I was trapped. But I didn’t want to call for help. What I wanted was the magical tea to relax me.
I was about to jump back onto the table to snag the drink, when a burning sensation on the back of my neck brought me to a halt. I forced off the craving and continued trotting around the house, looking for something else.
My heart thumped fast, when I caught sight of a few logs by the fireplace. The logs hadn’t been chopped into firewood yet. My instinct told me that I got a viable option. I was going to build a bridge.
I picked out a piece and dragged it across the room. I leaned it against the window and lifted up one end before bringing it to the counter. Securing my footing I raised the entire log onto the table and swiftly sent the other end about five inches out the window.
My improvised bridge was about ten feet over the floor, connecting the counter right to the window frame.
It sloped with a sharp angle. But at this point, it was all too familiar. I had been taking gymnastic lessons ever since I was five years old. My specialty was in rhythmic gymnastics but I had a fair amount of training in artistic gymnastics. Enough for me to use the log as a balance beam.
I removed my sneakers and climbed to the kitchen table. One shoe in each hand, I stepped onto the log.
Unlike a real balance beam, it wasn’t padded nor covered in suede. Walking on it was difficult and the incline made it even harder. But I envisioned myself in the training room with the beam beneath my feet. The image lifted some pressure off my chest.
I made sure that my feet sank into the log and my toes gripped onto the bark, as I nudged forward. I had to stoop down a few times to recheck my balance. Before I knew it, I had made it to the window.
Once outside, a sense of relief rushed up to me. I glided down to the lawn and slipped on my sneakers quickly. The fresh air felt good when I spotted Bulkee and the Lethans not far from the mansion.
I jogged up to them, stepping on empty spaces in between bread trains. But I drew up short, when I discovered moving creatures underneath the loaves.
“What are these things?” I asked in a hushed voice.
Mr. Lethan turned to face me. “They are the residents of the Pocket. Just like us.”
I squinted till I made clear of the figures. Very much egg-like they were, some geared with mittens and aprons, and some with chef hats and matching suits. They had carried the loaves on their backs as they marched around.
“What are they doing with the bread?” I asked, as I watched the trains start to break apart.
“Use them to repair damages from the explosion,” Mrs. Lethan pointed at the villas.
I was confused, when Bulkee spoke. “I suppose these cottages are made out of the dough.”
“Yes. But only the crust of the bread,” Mrs. Lethan replied. “The crust is rock solid, because our dough is made with flour ground from dried maize. The rest of the bread is prepared as their meals.”
I zeroed in on a batch of eggs atop a small villa ahead of us. They had formed a line along the arch of the roof. They exchanged no words and moved like they were following a predetermined track.
I was admiring the unison of the cohort when the egg nearest to the window passed a piece of bread up the assembly. My gaze trained on it as the loaf traveled from hands to hands before reaching the rooftop. I grew curious about its fate, when the last receiving egg put a spin to it.
I realized moments later what the egg was doing. He was using his teeth to scale off the crumbs from the spinning bread like he was peeling an apple.
He then nibbled at the scraps, reshaping them by consuming undesirable bits. When he seemed pleased with the pieces, he laid them down on the tile and jammed them into the cracks with his pounding wings.
Fixing the rifts on the roof. That was what Mrs. Lethan meant when she said the eggs were using the crumbs to repair damages from the explosion, I realized.
Once the crumbs were shredded off, the egg tossed the skinless loaf down the line of the assembly. My gaze trained on the white bread through the hands of the cohort back into the house, before I refocused on the roof.
I noticed with amusement that the bread loaves had begun piling up.
“That’s an interesting process,” Bulkee said with crossed arms.
“Yeah,” I concurred. “They’ll be better off if two more join the one in peeling off the crumbs.”
Bulkee cut his eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
It hit me that his comment was merely an observation. But I had mistaken it as a remark to how inefficient the repair process was.
My cheeks flared hot. “Well,” I replied, my jaw trembling slightly. “The guy in charge of peeling is fast. But he’s totally outstripped by the rest of his buddies who keep on sending up the loaves. If you get a couple of more – ” I fished for words, “More inhabitants to skin the loaf, the crumbs will come off faster and there won’t be a jam.”
Bulkee craned his neck but his eyes remained on my face. “What else?” he asked.
I blew out air and pointed to the egg on the roof. “Instead of passing the peeled loaf back to the window, he can toss it straight down to the street, so the rest of the inhabitants don’t have to trade the breads up and down the house. All you'll need is for someone to stand by the window to catch it and bring it inside,” I explained. "Just a couple of simple adjustments will make the whole process a lot more efficient.”
Bulkee studied me again, and I held his gaze this time.
“Friends!” Mr. Lethan chimed in. “Why bother with the adjustments? Things are fine the way they are.”
“This talk about adjustments is exhausting. Let’s go back and have some more pastries and just relax,” Mrs. Lethan spoke too.
“We need to get going,” Bulkee shook his head.
Mrs. Lethan looked disappointed. “Did you have enough to be on the road again?” She made a face like being on the road was the most draining experience ever.
“More than enough!” I flashed a grin. The concern in her voice made me feel guilty for leaving. “Is there anything that I can do as a token of appreciation?” I asked.
“A token of appreciation? That’s really unheard of,” her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure if her reaction stemmed from sarcasm or she was genuinely amazed. “I don’t mean to laugh at you,” she said. “I'm expected to bake and provide for everyone. That’s just how things are in the Pocket of Origination. It’s the tradition.”
“But is there anything at all that I can do?” I asked again.
This time she paused to think and then shoot me a wink. “You introduced an interesting idea, Sasha. There might be something that you can help me with.”
“Do tell me.”
Her eyes turned glassy as if her memory had faded into the far distance. “About one or two Cycles ago,” she said. “I can’t recall. I was cleaning the fire pit after we had another round of bread distribution. I discovered a book covered under the debris.” Her brows furrowed. "Well, it looked like a book but when I flipped it open, the pages had nothing written on them except for one line.”
“What did it say?” Bulkee interjected. Something shifted in his demeanor.
“It read, ‘It shall be presented to the AohhoA Seekers of the Enlightened’. That was the message. But the words disappeared right after I read them. It was so strange.”
“Wait. What was on the cover of the book?” Bulkee sounded tense.
“A metal of some sort, with three sticks. I can’t remember exactly.”
Bulkee fell into a state of pensiveness. His face went slack. His solemn expression made me uneasy.
“Aren’t you the Enlightened Seekers?” Mr. Lethan asked with wide eyes.
“I am,” Bulkee answered, snapping out of his thoughts. “You’ve got to show me that book. Now.”
After the fifth dispatch of tea, I was so full that I could harbor the Spirit of Boston in my belly. Still, I allowed myself to indulge once more. I just loved the feeling of pores opening up and immersing in the sense of relaxation.
When I caught Bulkee studying me from across the table, my body tensed up.
He stood upright and pinned his eyes on me. His expression was unreadable. But I could see the judgment in his disparaging glare. I had a keen sense of distrust from him, like I was an impostor and he was trying to figure me out.
I jolted to my feet and broke eye contact from him. I shifted my gaze to the window. A strange sight snatched my attention.
The bread loaves were floating away from the mansion. They glided in neat lines like integral parts of a moving train. I watched with confusion as they spread all over the streets and even traveled along roofs of the villas.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Oh. You will see,” Mr. Lethan flew to the window and popped open a panel. “Let’s take a stroll and get some fresh air,” he said, as he wiggled through the frame.
I was still climbing down the table like Jack in the Beanstalk, when Bulkee and Mrs. Lethan followed Mr. Lethan to the streets. I rushed over in a hurry trying to catch up to them. But the window was set so high above the floor that my fingertips could barely reach its lower beam. Did they forget that I couldn’t fly?
I turned for the door immediately. A knot tightened in my throat when I pushed and the panel didn’t swing open. A bolt was on the doorframe locking the panel in place. It, too, was out of my reach.
I dashed back into the kitchen. My breath quickened, as I paced back and forth. What should I do? I was trapped. But I didn’t want to call for help. What I wanted was the magical tea to relax me.
I was about to jump back onto the table to snag the drink, when a burning sensation on the back of my neck brought me to a halt. I forced off the craving and continued trotting around the house, looking for something else.
My heart thumped fast, when I caught sight of a few logs by the fireplace. The logs hadn’t been chopped into firewood yet. My instinct told me that I got a viable option. I was going to build a bridge.
I picked out a piece and dragged it across the room. I leaned it against the window and lifted up one end before bringing it to the counter. Securing my footing I raised the entire log onto the table and swiftly sent the other end about five inches out the window.
My improvised bridge was about ten feet over the floor, connecting the counter right to the window frame.
It sloped with a sharp angle. But at this point, it was all too familiar. I had been taking gymnastic lessons ever since I was five years old. My specialty was in rhythmic gymnastics but I had a fair amount of training in artistic gymnastics. Enough for me to use the log as a balance beam.
I removed my sneakers and climbed to the kitchen table. One shoe in each hand, I stepped onto the log.
Unlike a real balance beam, it wasn’t padded nor covered in suede. Walking on it was difficult and the incline made it even harder. But I envisioned myself in the training room with the beam beneath my feet. The image lifted some pressure off my chest.
I made sure that my feet sank into the log and my toes gripped onto the bark, as I nudged forward. I had to stoop down a few times to recheck my balance. Before I knew it, I had made it to the window.
Once outside, a sense of relief rushed up to me. I glided down to the lawn and slipped on my sneakers quickly. The fresh air felt good when I spotted Bulkee and the Lethans not far from the mansion.
I jogged up to them, stepping on empty spaces in between bread trains. But I drew up short, when I discovered moving creatures underneath the loaves.
“What are these things?” I asked in a hushed voice.
Mr. Lethan turned to face me. “They are the residents of the Pocket. Just like us.”
I squinted till I made clear of the figures. Very much egg-like they were, some geared with mittens and aprons, and some with chef hats and matching suits. They had carried the loaves on their backs as they marched around.
“What are they doing with the bread?” I asked, as I watched the trains start to break apart.
“Use them to repair damages from the explosion,” Mrs. Lethan pointed at the villas.
I was confused, when Bulkee spoke. “I suppose these cottages are made out of the dough.”
“Yes. But only the crust of the bread,” Mrs. Lethan replied. “The crust is rock solid, because our dough is made with flour ground from dried maize. The rest of the bread is prepared as their meals.”
I zeroed in on a batch of eggs atop a small villa ahead of us. They had formed a line along the arch of the roof. They exchanged no words and moved like they were following a predetermined track.
I was admiring the unison of the cohort when the egg nearest to the window passed a piece of bread up the assembly. My gaze trained on it as the loaf traveled from hands to hands before reaching the rooftop. I grew curious about its fate, when the last receiving egg put a spin to it.
I realized moments later what the egg was doing. He was using his teeth to scale off the crumbs from the spinning bread like he was peeling an apple.
He then nibbled at the scraps, reshaping them by consuming undesirable bits. When he seemed pleased with the pieces, he laid them down on the tile and jammed them into the cracks with his pounding wings.
Fixing the rifts on the roof. That was what Mrs. Lethan meant when she said the eggs were using the crumbs to repair damages from the explosion, I realized.
Once the crumbs were shredded off, the egg tossed the skinless loaf down the line of the assembly. My gaze trained on the white bread through the hands of the cohort back into the house, before I refocused on the roof.
I noticed with amusement that the bread loaves had begun piling up.
“That’s an interesting process,” Bulkee said with crossed arms.
“Yeah,” I concurred. “They’ll be better off if two more join the one in peeling off the crumbs.”
Bulkee cut his eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
It hit me that his comment was merely an observation. But I had mistaken it as a remark to how inefficient the repair process was.
My cheeks flared hot. “Well,” I replied, my jaw trembling slightly. “The guy in charge of peeling is fast. But he’s totally outstripped by the rest of his buddies who keep on sending up the loaves. If you get a couple of more – ” I fished for words, “More inhabitants to skin the loaf, the crumbs will come off faster and there won’t be a jam.”
Bulkee craned his neck but his eyes remained on my face. “What else?” he asked.
I blew out air and pointed to the egg on the roof. “Instead of passing the peeled loaf back to the window, he can toss it straight down to the street, so the rest of the inhabitants don’t have to trade the breads up and down the house. All you'll need is for someone to stand by the window to catch it and bring it inside,” I explained. "Just a couple of simple adjustments will make the whole process a lot more efficient.”
Bulkee studied me again, and I held his gaze this time.
“Friends!” Mr. Lethan chimed in. “Why bother with the adjustments? Things are fine the way they are.”
“This talk about adjustments is exhausting. Let’s go back and have some more pastries and just relax,” Mrs. Lethan spoke too.
“We need to get going,” Bulkee shook his head.
Mrs. Lethan looked disappointed. “Did you have enough to be on the road again?” She made a face like being on the road was the most draining experience ever.
“More than enough!” I flashed a grin. The concern in her voice made me feel guilty for leaving. “Is there anything that I can do as a token of appreciation?” I asked.
“A token of appreciation? That’s really unheard of,” her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure if her reaction stemmed from sarcasm or she was genuinely amazed. “I don’t mean to laugh at you,” she said. “I'm expected to bake and provide for everyone. That’s just how things are in the Pocket of Origination. It’s the tradition.”
“But is there anything at all that I can do?” I asked again.
This time she paused to think and then shoot me a wink. “You introduced an interesting idea, Sasha. There might be something that you can help me with.”
“Do tell me.”
Her eyes turned glassy as if her memory had faded into the far distance. “About one or two Cycles ago,” she said. “I can’t recall. I was cleaning the fire pit after we had another round of bread distribution. I discovered a book covered under the debris.” Her brows furrowed. "Well, it looked like a book but when I flipped it open, the pages had nothing written on them except for one line.”
“What did it say?” Bulkee interjected. Something shifted in his demeanor.
“It read, ‘It shall be presented to the AohhoA Seekers of the Enlightened’. That was the message. But the words disappeared right after I read them. It was so strange.”
“Wait. What was on the cover of the book?” Bulkee sounded tense.
“A metal of some sort, with three sticks. I can’t remember exactly.”
Bulkee fell into a state of pensiveness. His face went slack. His solemn expression made me uneasy.
“Aren’t you the Enlightened Seekers?” Mr. Lethan asked with wide eyes.
“I am,” Bulkee answered, snapping out of his thoughts. “You’ve got to show me that book. Now.”
