A worker from the Hole’s Council dropped off the Guardian’s food. She placed it on a blanket next to the tent, told him what she had brought and where each item was.
“Thank
you, Simona. Are you busy today?” The Guardian, looked almost like an ordinary
old man. A very weathered old man with peeling skin and cataracts.
“I’m
afraid I am, Guardian,” Simona replied. “I brought some people with me if
you’re looking for a chat, though. They say you offered to tell them about Amara.”
“Oh?
I didn’t think anything would come of that.” Despite this, the Guardian was
beaming, remembering the girl, Mary, he had talked to yesterday. She and her
class were brought to him, as was tradition, to be scared off the prospect of
leaving the Hole. But unlike most years, he’d been asked if anyone had ever left.
He told Mary someone had, and now she wanted to hear more. She wanted to hear
about Amara.
Simona
left.
Mary,
her parents, and some others approached the Guardian. He heard their timid
footsteps and beckoned them to sit down and make themselves comfortable. He
couldn’t tell how many there were but there were a lot: murmuring voices, young
old and in between, shuffling into position. They were nervous, thrown off by
the Guardian’s appearance.
He
thought of Mary excitedly telling her friends and family about the Guardian and
the story he had to tell. She must have insisted that they come but also made
them wonder. It was long enough ago that very few of them would remember Amara
– a story about the outside? Many of them might not have wondered about that
since childhood.
The
people quietened down. The Guardian didn’t ask it of them, although he was
waiting for their attention. Amara’s story—or the part of her story the
Guardian was part of—deserved that.
He
cleared his throat and nodded to himself, getting the facts in order. The tale pushed
at his lips, ready to be told, and then he could no longer contain it:
“Amara
was the first and only person to leave the Hole.
“Though
the Hole provided Amara with food, a future, friends, education and so forth,
it was not right for her. The thick dark of this place is a blanket for us –
comforting, enveloping, offering us solace in its infinitude. It hides us from that
searing light and lets us grow uninfected crops. But Amara saw it differently; the
darkness was scary. The darkness wasn’t her cloak, it was her fears’ cloak.
“She
would always hang around the brightest source of light wherever she was – some
days I followed her, moving from light to light, until we reached the brightest
place in the village. This habit of hers worried her parents and teachers – it
was obvious that if she kept doing this, she would try to leave. Even if
that meant death.
“She
was taken to many doctors of different disciplines: psychologists, physicians,
spiritualists. They all had their theories: she was possessed, it was a
self-destructive ambition rooted in some past trauma, she needed more
attention. None of it held up and their
‘cures’ proved ineffective. We hoped she would simply grow out of it.
“She
didn’t, though. Her light addiction only worsened as she got older. The more
she craved light the sadder and sicker she got.
We all tried our best to help her – provide her with as much light as
was humanly safe – but she was never satisfied. She would break into fits – the
worst was when she tried to set her house on fire. If I hadn’t been staying
over, it would have burnt to the ground. And if the infection in the resultant
light could not be controlled, you all might not be here today.
“No.
You wouldn’t be here today.”
The
audience mumbled and shifted. Someone coughed. Once they were done, the
Guardian continued.
“Her
addiction became a threat to the safety of the village. The adults decided Amara
needed radical therapy. No light. At all. She would be taken to the groves and
be kept in the artificial dark for a long time. Then, they thought, even the
dimmest light would be enough. She wasn’t supposed to know about this, but I
overheard our teacher talking. I had to tell her. Even then I knew this might
drive her to leave.”
“She
thought she might survive the light,
and this wasn’t pure delusion: the light’s infection was worse then, but
despite giving her so much, she showed no signs of ill-health. In fact, she had
started to get her strength back. We all had a hunch that Amara was immune, although
nothing was the least bit conclusive. But a hunch was enough. Faced with the choice
of a life in darkness, or perhaps surviving in the light, she knew what she
wanted.
“She
could not leave the Hole alone, however. She was too ill to get around by
herself most days, and if she was unaccompanied, she would be brought back to
her house. So, I helped her. I took her through the village, sneaked beyond its
bounds, and hiked up to the exit as you all did today. The journey was long for
two children to make – we had to go by foot since there is no way someone would
take us by vehicle. By the time we made it to this point, Amara had strained
herself too much to walk. Because we had gone so far and because I love her, I
carried her around the corner behind me and kept going to the exit.
“If
I knew what I was about to endure, would I have done it? I really hope so. Yet
at the time I wasn’t thinking about that. I didn’t contemplate for a moment
what would happen when I rounded that corner and became exposed to the light.
“It
was like being grabbed by flaming hands – you could feel it pulling at your
skin cells, ripping them away. You could smell your flesh burning. My eyes
suffered the most, but I forced them open to see Amara smiling. She pointed
towards a flat patch of ground and I placed her there.
“She
thanked me and said she would miss me. I wish we could have spent longer
saying out goodbyes, but she told me she’d asked too much of me already – she
couldn’t ask me to suffer any longer than I had to. I left her at the exit and
returned here where I collapsed.
“The
next time I woke, I couldn’t see, I was vomiting, and my skin was so tender the
slightest friction would make me writhe in my hospital bed. Over time, I got
used to the pain. People came and took care of me, and when I grew well enough
to take care of myself, I returned to this spot.”
The
Guardian picked up a mug of water Simona had brought and took a long sip,
consuming almost all of its contents. He wiped the
excess water from his wiry beard and smiled to himself.
“Amara
is the only person to leave the Hole. The only person who could leave the Hole.
I hope she will come back to visit one day, but even if she doesn’t, that’s
alright; she has given me this darkness and so she is always with me."
