proxima vita
our boy
A lone bulb spat and hissed overhead, casting wavering shadows along the cracked walls as he sat up in bed. The thick, musty air clung to his skin, seeping into his bones. A bone-deep fatigue pulled at his shoulders, each yawn a siren call back to the comforting embrace of sleep. He fought the urge, his fingers finding their way to the charm hanging from his neck---a simple, hand-carved Chakana.
He rubbed the smooth, worn wood with his thumb, tracing its familiar shape. His whisper was a dry rustle in the silent room, a faithful echo of the way his sister had drilled him on each symbol’s meaning.
“The central square,” he breathed, the words a well-worn path, “signifies a profound connection.” He could still hear the Pingshu’s Understudy---his own mentor and guide---his voice low and measured.
"A connection between the old world, the living, and those who have passed,” the boy had intoned, staring at the walls as if he could see through them into another, hidden reality. He thumbed the charm, tracing the edges of its four quadrants, each representing a unique path of an Pingshu. He had to know them all, of course.
The Scholar. He had nurtured a deep admiration for a figure steeped in the intricacies of historical events and figures, a fascination that became a refuge.
The Visionary. The path that had chosen him. The Understudy had seen something in him---a sensitivity, a capacity to look beyond the obvious. It marked him for this role. His sister had always been sceptical. They speak in ‘what-ifs’ and dreams, little brother, she’d say. They see paths in the fog.
The Sage. The word itself was like a balm. The Pingshu of inner wisdom and moral guidance. He imagined their stories were like the ones his mother might have told.
The Storyteller. His sister’s favourite. He’s for the people, Baba, she’d say, her eyes alight. He builds a home for stories in your heart.
Together, they formed a harmonious equilibrium of wisdom. But his path was set. Tomorrow, he would begin his true Eunuch training, not just in the sanctuary, but in the shadow of the Visionary himself.
The thought sent a frigid, thrilling current under his skin. He was to learn the language of dreams and prophecies, to warn of dangers and celebrate hope. It was a terrifying, lonely purpose.
Becoming a Eunuch was his lifeline. He was tired of scraping by, tired of watching hope grow thinner in Proxima’s shadows. This was his only chance to change his life---and hers.
His desire to succeed was for both of them now. He hoped that his rise as a Eunuch would lift her with him, pulling her out of Proxima’s shadows and into a life where providing was not a daily struggle. They faced the unknown as they always had: together, bound by the silence of things left unsaid and a resilience forged from loss.
For a time, the fear of failure had lingered like a shadow. But now, as the moment approached, he felt a flicker of something else: the beginning of his future.
The soft patter of footsteps broke the silence outside his room, followed by the gentle lifting of the latch and the turning of the handle, a mechanism only accessible from the outside.
A strand of her blond hair slipped through the crack in the door. Even in the gloom, her eyes held their own light, blue as a cloudless sky, fierce and alive.
“It’s me,” she whispered, her voice cutting through the quiet like a playful breeze. She bounded into the room, closing the door behind her and deftly wedging a folded card in the latch to ensure she wouldn’t lock herself in.
“Hello, you,” he replied, his arms opening wide as he sat up. The charm fell from his fingers and settled back on his chest.
Seeing it, her grin softened. “Nervous yet?” she teased before diving into his hug, peppering his bald scalp with kisses. “You won’t have to worry about that shiny head much longer.” Her gaze dropped to his midriff, eyes wide. “And that too.”
He hesitated, captivated by her smile. A soft laugh escaped him. “I’m going to be like you,” he said, his voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “No more trouble from... below the belt.” Their laughter filled the room, though hers ended in a slightly watery snort.
“Stop, stop!” she exclaimed, her eyes glistening as she playfully slapped his shoulder. “We don’t have long before daybreak.”
At that, their laughter faded into a heavy silence. He met her gaze, his heart clenching. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?” His whisper barely disturbed the dark.
“Maybe,” she replied, her playfulness melting away. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be a Eunuch. You won’t be my little boy anymore.” She tapped the wooden Chakana. “You’ll belong to him. The one who sees the fog.”
“I wish things were different,” he said, his gaze drifting to the floor. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you behind.”
She reached out, her fingers intertwining with his. “You’re so brave. You’ve got all of it up there,” she said, tapping his temple. “The Scholar’s knowledge, the Sage’s composure... You even have a bit of the Storyteller in you.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “But it’s the Visionary they want. So you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll look at those paths in the fog,” she whispered, “and pick the one that leads you back to yourself. Don’t get lost in the what-ifs.”
“But what if I fail?” The fear crept back in. “What if I’m not meant for this? Or what if I forget you?” His hand tightened around the charm. “What if I lose our connection?”
“You won’t forget,” she breathed, squeezing his hand. “A Visionary has to remember what’s real, or his dreams have no anchor. I am your anchor. You... you’ll carry us. You’ll be our future.” She leaned forward, her forehead touching his. “And I don’t need the gift of sight to know you’re going to make it a good one.”
He took a deep breath, searching her face. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Promise you won’t forget me.”
“I promise,” she said, her voice steady and resolute. “I’ll be right here, watching for the future you describe.”
Tears prickled his eyes, but he blinked them away. “I don’t want to lose you. This feels too much like goodbye.”
“It’s not a goodbye,” she said softly, her voice a warm embrace. “It’s a goodnight, and then a new chapter. We’ll always be connected. You’re my brother, and that bond can never be broken.” She offered a small, sad smile. “Not even by a Visionary.”
He lay back down, and she began to tuck him in. He pulled her into a tight embrace, savouring the solid warmth of her until his breathing slowed.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“I love you too,” he replied, his words muffled against her shoulder.
“Make me proud. I’ll be watching you,” she said, her footsteps barely audible as she stepped toward the door.
She edged her way out, pausing briefly to look back---pride and sorrow warring in her eyes. “Bye-bye, Baba,” she whispered, pulling the latch closed. He watched her go, her shoulders squared even as her eyes shone with unshed tears.
The image burned itself into his memory like the first, certain truth before the endless fog of what might be.
