Karen Lord - Redemption in Indigo

He stepped over the threshold and ran skipping towards her, a vaguely cloudy image gradually coalescing into an identical six-year-old girl.

She smiled then. Imaginary Twin was a familiar game. ‘I'm Giana. What's your name?'

The djombi thought, shrugged, and replied, ‘When I am without a shadow, I may be called Constancy-in-Adversity, though others who see me differently have sometimes named me Senseless-Resignation-to-Suffering. I am a small thing, as you can see, but my mother says I am quite powerful in my own way.'

Giana nodded. The names were too large and the concepts too weighty for her to grasp, but the last she could understand. Mothers tended to say things like that, usually just before sending you to the well to fetch water.

'Would you like to go play in dreamland until I come back?’ the djombi asked her.

Her eyes lit up. ‘Would I!'

He—or rather we must say ‘she’ now, as djombi take the gender of their shadows—took her by the hand and guided her gently to lie down on the ground.

'Now you're blurry,’ she told the child softly as she tucked the long grass in a nest around her.

The child smiled back with sleepy sweetness, and then she was in dreamland.

The djombi stood up and looked over the fields. In the near distance there were other people tending to their animals in the pasture, all intent on their tasks, no-one noticing the strange momentary twinning of a little girl. One figure in particular now seemed familiar—a tall girl leading a cow by a long rope, a pail of milk balanced on her head.

'Giana, come here! I'm done with the milking,’ she called over her shoulder with an older sister's offhand bossiness.

'Coming, Laira,’ cried the djombi in her little girl voice, and she ran over the fields into Makendha.

the djombi begins to instruct paama in stick science

Six-year-old Giana was being exceptionally naughty and no-one could figure out why. She would not play with her little friends, she often ran off when she should have been helping in the kitchen or fetching water, and, strangest of all, when her mother gave her a lash with the switch for her laziness, instead of crying as she would normally do, she gave her mother such a reproachful and annoyed look that the poor woman dropped the switch guiltily and edged away, feeling extremely unnerved.

Giana's Gran, who had become perceptive through years of experience, told them to leave the child alone. She said that something had got into Giana's head and they would have to wait until it went back out again. Giana gave the old lady a big hug and got a wink in return, but her older siblings muttered about how spoiled she was, and how they would never have gotten away with such behaviour when they were younger.

There was little connection between Giana's family and Paama's, so Giana was forced to go looking for Paama herself. She wasted an entire day trying to see her and speak to her, either out in the fields or in the court, but each time there were too many people around, or someone who could not be safely ignored was telling her to run along.

In the meantime, there were tantalising glimpses of the potential of Paama's new gift. Giana was amazed. How could people miss the way Paama's feet stirred the dust of the trails into delicate, artistic swirls? How could they fail to notice that the long grass of the pastures combed itself into neat order when she breezed past it? One thing they did see, and that immediately, was that her skill in the kitchen had reached the level of pure magic. The scents that wafted from the house of Paama's parents made many a body slow down as they passed and break into bemused smiles of sheer bliss.

All this in one day? the djombi thought with a mixture of worry and pride. I must talk to her as soon as possible!

Fortunately, the next morning she found Paama washing clothes by the river. This was usually a communal task, with many women talking and singing together, but today Paama was by herself.

Giana decided to waste no time. She marched straight over to Paama and said, ‘Paama, what is that thing on your belt for?'

Paama stopped her work and stared at the little girl. ‘Small children must not be so informal with their elders. I am sure you have been taught better than that.'

Of course. Giana grimaced in embarrassment and tried again. ‘Aunty Paama, what is that thing on your belt used for?'

Paama smiled mysteriously and went back to slapping the wet cloth against the smooth stones. ‘It is for reminding me that good can come out of the worst of situations.'

Giana was startled and pleased. Perhaps Paama did not have as far to go as she had feared. ‘Does it work for other people, too?'

Paama appeared to consider this seriously for a moment, and then she shrugged. ‘I don't see why it would. Perhaps they have their own reminders. But, child, why are you wandering around near the river by yourself? Does your mother know you are out?'

Giana looked around for an excuse, feeling keenly the limitations of her chosen shadow.

' They come down to the river all the time,’ she said at last.

She pointed downstream to where three boys were playing a variation of King of the Castle. They were wrestling, barebacked and barefooted, on a large, mossy rock, each trying to push the other into the water.

Paama gave them a glance. ‘And why should you try to copy them? Big boys don't play like little girls, and what they are doing is far too dangerous for you to even think about.'

'It looks as if it might be too dangerous for them, too,’ said Giana calmly, still looking down the river.

'They can all swim,’ Paama said with a dismissive shrug.

She continued swinging the wet cloth and slapping it down. Fine droplets of water spun off from the fabric as it arced through the air, catching the sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows around her. Giana's attention was caught by the display. With the Chaos Stick at her belt, Paama was unconsciously selecting the most appealing options that chance had available. There were uncanny patterns in the water and the light, patterns that appeared to be unnatural and contrived but were merely very very rare, requiring just the right combination of angles for sun, water, and wind.

'She truly is a natural,’ sighed Giana to herself while Paama slapped and scrubbed at the clothes in a manner that would have seemed completely mundane and ordinary to the untutored eye.

'About the Stick,’ she began again, wondering how to go about explaining the science behind the Stick to one of Paama's limited education.

There was a sudden commotion. One of the boys had tumbled into the water and was bawling loudly. The little girl jumped at the sound and forgot the rest of her sentence.

'They can all swim,’ Paama repeated, not even bothering to look up.

'Even with a broken wrist?’ Giana wondered aloud.

Paama jumped up to stare at the drama downriver. One boy remained standing on the rock, pointing at his friends and yelling. Another boy was swimming towards the unfortunate one, who floundered and splashed while clutching his right hand in his left. Panicked with pain, he lashed out with his feet at the boy who was trying to save him, catching him a solid blow that pushed him off and spun him away.

'No. He'll drown them both,’ Paama breathed. She dropped the washing and began to run down the river bank.

'Paama! You can't reach them in time! Use the Stick instead!’ Giana called out, running after her.

'What stick?’ Paama shouted back.

Giana began to babble in her haste to take advantage of this unplanned situation. She tried to explain about the different possibilities in the universe, about the chance that seems improbable but that, once it is possible, might still happen. And what if there were a type of focus or control for the quantum fluctuations that determine whether a situation is Go or No Go? One could use it to select the unlikely and encourage the serendipitous. One who had the knack of getting the best out of bad situations. One like Paama.