Moonstar (10 page)

As each new generation turned, there were less unchosen born, but in the traditions they had fostered, their influences echoed after them for many years. The fashion of the time, especially among those who were not themselves of Choice, was to believe that genitalia and gender had to match. Should a child be born unchosen, her gender must be shaped from the moment of her birth; a female must be raised to be a mother, a male must be raised toward lesser burdens of the body, to serve and protect her wife. But when a child was of Choice, there were confusions to those parents who were not. A Choice makes the shape of genitals an arbitrary option, and thus the shaping of the gender must be postponed until the genitals have grown into fulfillment. This makes all children equal, for none can dare predict that this one will follow Dakka and that one will follow Reethe, so all must learn the lessons of the mother, all must learn the lessons of the father. There are separate roles to be learned, only one role that can express itself as either Reethe or Dakka. Such breeds only understanding, sensitivity and sharing among chosen—but in those early days, there was also fear and tension; for those who followed old traditions saw them threatened and decaying, saw them dying, saw the ultimate destruction of the roles of the genders; for if the genital was arbitrary, so was gender. They feared the creation of a new order that had no place for them. Perhaps these fears seem quaint to us—we know it now that gender is not always arbitrary; often it establishes itself quite early in the child and genital can be made to match—or not, if that is the feeling of the person when she reaches Choice. But in those days, there was not the knowledge that there is today—Choice had spread too far too fast. The older generations had not fitting concepts with which to measure the situations that they faced. Here were younglings who were neither this nor that, but something still unformed.

Younglings who were themselves unchosen saw that their peers were either left unguided, or guided so that they would know their role in either Choice—these younglings felt insecurities and envies of their own. They emulated those of Choice and rejected models of either role, and created further consternation in their troubled parents. And those who were of Choice were also troubled; many felt uncertain, lonely, out-of-place—they tried to emulate the unchosen and adopted roles within their lives too soon, rejecting out of fear their right to choose their sex. They would chose a way and live within it, often years before their bodies were ready to follow. When Choice came to the, they denied its options and followed their own way, often to years of trouble further on. And yet, despite misgivings by those who sought to let Choice develop as a natural thing, this practice was encouraged—often by those who once themselves had been of Choice. Perhaps it is that once a person has rejected Choice within her heart, she needs that decision reaffirmed and must convince her fellows that they too must reject Choice within themselves. Such was Rurik's father.

Or perhaps she was Unchosen. Whatever Rurik's father was, her feelings may be known by her later actions on her child. Rurik might have been, indeed must have been, one who was not easily certain of herself, nor of her ultimate goals. She would have been a quiet child, the innocent one who does not act on life so much as allowing it to act instead on her. She moves through her youth as if through a wondrous forest, not thinking if it has an end, not caring where the path might lead, so entranced is she with all the colors of the flowers. She is content with wonder and with learning, and not in a hurry to become a larger person until she has learned to be the size she is today. By contrast, Rurik's father was a builder—or so it's told; she was one who conceives of things that don't exist and moves in impatience to bring them into fact. She might have felt threatened by the lack of factuality within her child. She must have been impatient for a resolution.

But Choice is made within the heart, and usually not until the body has learned the tasted of Reethe and Dakka both. It is only after blush that a person truly learns to live at ease within herself, for blush is more than merely tasting options; it is the living of a variety of lives and the discovery of which one of those is actually oneself.

And therein lay the tension between the chosen and the un. Those who were chosen could only finalize their Choice by living it. To be male, one must be a male to someone else's female. To be female, one must be a female to someone else's male. Blush occurs at thirteen years—it can start as late as fifteen; it can last for several summers, or it can end within a season; it is the nature of the person's experience that shapes her days of blush.

That younglings should know the ways of sex was not consistent with traditions handed down from before the time of the Savior who brought Choice—but with the Savior had come many changes, and traditions are like creatures of the sea upon a barren plain: they must adapt or die. Some disappeared as if made out of fire-paper; others fought like demons to endure—especially those that had to do with adolescence and maturity.

Those who were of Choice had to learn of sex to make their Choice. That was the way. Those who were not of Choice looked at their peers and, again, they felt envious and insecure at being different—and again they copied in their envy; they copulated with and like the Chosen ones. And this was frightening to their elders—they did not want to know that their children had become sexual beings; persons who could be attracted sexually and attractive sensually as well. This threatened their own senses of self—especially when the children's avenues of exploration and expression bore no relation to the parents'.

A parent hopes to grow a miniature of herself, but one who can stand taller and untroubled; such was very much the case with many parents of the old traditions. Such must have been the case with Rurik's father. She could not stand the things that she was seeing—Rurik was supposed to be her son, but she was turning more effeminate as she reached toward her blush and Rurik's father must have seen that as rejection of herself. She could not let that happen; her life demanded affirmation.

In versions of the story performed by mimes or dancers, there are traditional ways of presenting this moment. Whether there are only two singers or two vast choruses, the “soliloquy of pain” is almost always sung. Concerning Rurik's father, the first chorus sings:

Guile is a slower force, a sadder shade of pain.

The pressure turns and you are caught between the water and the rocks
.

Mother-ocean sifts and boils the sands upon the shore
.

Father-glacier slides and grinds across the crumbling mountain
.

The second chorus responds with:

But the willful seed is stronger
.

I am washed to new horizons by the waves that batter at me
.

Nestled in a tiny crack, a hidden mote of promise—

Someday I'll reach beyond this time
.

Someday I'll burst the boulder
.

I am nourished, never threatened, by the waters of the world
.

I will be what I must be
.

The first chorus returns with:

Resist the breeze and risk a storm
.

Flow with me, my child
.

The second chorus resists:

I flow with different currents. I feel a different breeze
.

Release my sails and let me flow across the golden seas
.

Both choruses then harmonize:

And so the flows of east and west will meet and swirl about, turning back and back again, a maelstrom of doubt
.

Nothing flows and nothing grows, and nothing comes about
.
*

It was known in those days that children who were chosen tended to be more sensitive than those who were not of Choice; perhaps it was their differentness they felt, perhaps it was reflection of their training in both genders while possessing neither as a right, only as an option. Lono and Rurik must have been so sensitive—many tellers emphasize that they were the only two chosen of their age on their island, and if this is so, the sense of separation would have been intense in them. They could not have helped but been especially sensitive to each other. While such feelings among chosen are not uncommon, in those days when there was so little knowledge of the patterns of the life, even among the chosen themselves, it must have been considered “queer” by those who lived around them that Lono and Rurik seemed to be an island to themselves. As they grew closer to each other, they grew apart from others. And those others, including their parents, must have been concerned.

But this separation was a prelude. For a youngling to determine her own life, she must step apart from larger events so that she might know which elements of her environment are part of her and which are not. The growing closeness of two chosen younglings is necessary so that their first stirrings of sensuality might have receptive ways to be expressed. The stirrings, these experiments, are the fumbling first movements toward the time of Choice itself; whether the moment last a season or a year, each step must be taken in its turn before the next can be achieved, before the threshold can be reached. For Lono and Rurik to learn of Choice, they had to learn about themselves—and as it was for the, it is for all of us. For them to learn about themselves, they had to be apart from others.

It begins with curiosity, first about oneself, and then about each other; whatever the truth of these two lovers, it must have been just one more faceted reflection of the larger truth that applies to all of us who love. Perhaps they were casual in their first steps, not unromantic, but neither overwhelmed by the memories of previous passion; without knowledge, there is the wonder of discovery. There would be trust. And innocence. And sharing. Perhaps they played with sex and sense without yet knowing what they were. They could not become expressions of romance until much later, after the lovers began to understand the why of what they did. And yet, even in the earliest gestures, it is love—it always is; a purer kind, all love is based on trust and innocence as sex is based upon sensation. To share sensation, one must trust—to learn sensation, one must be innocent of its touch. Lono might have said, “Let me show you something that feels nice.” And Rurik might have said, giggling, “That tickles—let me show you,” and touched her back in the same way.

Their discoveries were joyful—the myth is told no other way, for this is the myth of all of our discoveries and we want it to be sublime. There was giggling and laughter. Some of the ways of sex are tender, some are fun, and some are just absurd—perhaps the silly ones are best of all, for when two lovers laugh together, they grow closer in their joy. To the ones who come new and fresh to such a sport, all of its absurdity exalted, and therein lies the wonder and delight.

These two children turned to younglings in that summer, exploring changes of first blush with little shame between them—and this too they must have kept apart from the others on their island with instinctive knowledge that this was one more aspect of their difference that would not be understood by those prone to ignorance and hasty judgments.

Imagine them now, walking hand in hand along paths still new on rocky cliffs, pausing to watch the seabirds flashing just above the waves; their brown arms brush against each other causing skin to tingle, and they glance into each other's eyes and share a smile. Imagine them resting on the tufted moss rug of the slopes; Lono rests her head in Rurik's lap, Rurik's soft hands are stroking Lono's hair—her finger traces the line of her friend's cheek and when it crosses near the petals of her lips, suddenly they pucker to kiss the reassuring touch. They share a smile half hidden under shyly lowered lashes.

Imagine them in wind and sea, sometimes naked in the surf and sometimes wrapped in veils of gauze, running deft among the rocks, then pausing, laughing, tumbling into each other's arms to share a kiss or just a hug, sometimes friends and sometimes lovers. When Rurik's breast begin to swell, the nipples tingle with the budding; Lono's fingers explore them with curious caress and wonder when her own will flush with joy.

“They tickle, Lono—they're tender. Sometimes they hurt,” Rurik might have said and Lono might have kissed the nipples, brushing her lips across them lightly, to show her care—and Rurik, suddenly surprised with new delight, might insist on showing Lono why and might have kissed her back.

Together they must have wondered why they were so different from the other children on the isle; together they must have explored themselves with clinical detachment, as if to find the answers in the empty clefts where so many others had young organs—albeit immature, but organs nonetheless.

When Rurik's penile bud appeared (or was Lono's the first?) they must have watched its growth with speculation and a sense of uncertainty. Did they touch them? And wonder at the feeling? And discover the father of sensation there? “It hurts sometimes, but sometimes it tickles.”

“And what if I rub it with oil like this?”

“That's better . . . that's good.”

“And what if I kiss you like this?”

“That's . . . nice . . . Let me kiss you there and show you . . .”

Such was how they must have explored their growing maleness, their femaleness as well—

“Look how my lips are turning rosy, Rurik—”

“I can touch you there—”

And shyly, “Put your fingers into me. (I have done it myself at night, but it feels better when you do it.)”

And finally there must have been a moment when: “I am long enough. Let me go inside you.”

“I want you to.”

And later, perhaps another time—

“I want to feel what you felt, you looked so happy. You come into me this time.”

“Yes. I want to try that too.”

And then, at last, this must have happened too: