We choose so many unimportant reasons for the basis of prejudice. Skin colour, gender, descent, religion, so many others. Why are those reasons still there? It may be some time in the future before we can say minor differences,any differences at all, do not matter.
Tlaloc was enchanted by the tiny silvery fish in the clear shallow stream. The minnows swam over and gently nibbled at his fingers when he dipped his hand into the cool water. He had already broken the rules once again by sneaking off into the woods over to the off-limits sunny side of the ridge, so the rebellious teenager was emboldened to remove his boots, roll up his pants, and wade out into the silty bottom of the creek.
The fine sand felt comforting between his toes as he wiggled them, and his feet sank in deeper. Fish gathered around his ankles, and he was compelled to walk farther out into the water, but he couldn’t. When he lifted up his left foot, the right foot sank down deeper. When he lifted up his right foot, the left was sucked down even more. He was trapped and sinking deeper by the second.
As Tlaloc panicked and frantically moved his legs, the minnows darted away. He had sunk down to his knees when a splash erupted from nearby. A long skinny fish was snapping at the minnows and gulping them down. The predator was as long as Tlaloc’s body and bared a narrow alligator-like mouth with a multitude of sharp teeth. He yelled as the fish lunged toward him and tore into his right leg.
He pulled out his knife, but lost balance and fell over backwards, thrashing his arms to keep his head above the surface.
An arrow whizzed into the water, piercing the gar fish through its spine. A girl leaped into the creek and pried open the dead gar’s jaws to remove it from his shredded and bloody limb. Before he passed out, he saw that his savior was about his age, with short dark hair and with six fingers on each hand that deftly pulled him from the quicksand and carried him away from the stream.
#
He awoke with sharp pains in his leg. The girl with twelve fingers was rubbing a salve into his wounds.
She looked at him and smiled. “You’re awake. That’s good.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Atzi.”
“You’re a Dactyl.”
“And you’re an Oligo. Your name?”
“Tlaloc.”
“Good name. ‘The one who makes things sprout.’ It fits you well.” She turned her attention back to his leg, cradled in her lap. “The gar really tore you up. That quicksand is treacherous. You have to know how to escape from it.”
“You saved my life.”
“I stay ready with my bow and arrows when out in the woods and always bring my first aid kit.”
“You speak my dialect quite well.”
“We have a squad that was trained to spy and watch on your people’s activities. I’ve been on duty monitoring the Oligos for many years. I learned your language at an early age.”
Tlaloc sat up, with his leg still in Atzi’s lap. He watched her hands in fascination. “Your salve is soothing the pain.”
“It’s made from a special cactus, and it also stops the bleeding.”
“I’m lucky you were there when I was attacked.”
“Not really luck. I look for you when you wander out. I’ve watched you many times.”
“I’ve never seen you.”
“I’m quiet and stay hidden. I saw you kill the python with your knife when it was coiled around that fawn. You threw the blade from four cuahuitls away and hit its head without grazing the fawn.” She finished applying the salve and wiped her hands on a cloth, but kept his leg resting in her lap. “I wish I could throw a knife like that.”
“I suppose I could teach you, but I think you do just fine with your arrows. You dispatched that gar in one shot.”
“My bow has a very accurate aiming sight, but it requires a six-fingered hand to operate.”
Tlaloc had a sudden sheepish look. “I’m embarrassed that you have been watching me.”
With a sly grin, Atzi said, ”I’ve seen nothing that you should be ashamed of. A few weeks ago, I watched you plant seeds in the meadow and take care of your fruit tree saplings while the fawn you saved followed you around like a pet. You are a strange one.”
“I like tending to plants and animals, but I can only do that in secret on this side of the ridge. It’s considered unbecoming for a warrior.”
“You should be able to follow your dreams and still be a warrior.”
Tlaloc said, “Perhaps things could change someday. Being with a Dactyl is forbidden, but…can I see your hands?”
Atzi nodded and stretched out a dark brown six-fingered hand. They examined each other’s fingers with the thrill of an illicit transgression.
She removed his shirt and used it to bandage his leg, securing it by tying the arms into a knot.
She stared at his bare chest. “Your skin is so pale.”
“Our ancestors settled the side of the ridge that gets only brief sun. I’m told that over the centuries it made our bloodline’s skin and hair turn light.”
“My people say Oligos are ugly savages, but I don’t believe that, and I like your long golden hair.”
“How did Dactyls get to be different?”
“Our old wise ones say that our forebears were created from instructions sent from another star in the distant past, but the ship and the machines that birthed our founders are lost to the ages. The life code specified twelve fingers.”
“Then why do my people have ten fingers and toes?”
“As our original colony grew, there were throwbacks to an older code for humans. This was a mutation that occurred. My ancestors thought the five fingers were disgusting, so your people were banished. That’s why our tribes grew apart.”
“How do you know so much about history and medicine?”
“Our wise ones found a sealed cylinder. Inside were writings preserved for thousands of years. They are learning how to read them and to use the lost technologies that are described.”
“I would like to learn about them.”
Atzi laughed. “It would cause quite a stir if I came home with an Oligo, but I will tell them about you.”
Tlaloc looked up at the sun. “It’s getting late, and they will come looking for me.”
“Let’s get you back home.”
Atzi helped him limp back to his village. When they arrived at dusk, arm in arm, it sparked an uproar in the crowd of villagers that had gathered to gawk at the loathsome intruder and the injured boy. “Kill the heathen!” one onlooker yelled. Others shouted, “Dactyl!”
Tlaloc’s mother, Zaniyah, who was the tribe’s leader, rushed forward and separated her son from Atzi. She glared at the girl. “You are forbidden to be here. You know the penalty is death.”
Tlaloc protested, “Mother, she saved my life.”
Zaniyah examined her son’s leg and turned back to the girl. “Go now, and never return.”
Atzi and Tlaloc locked eyes, then she turned and strode away as the surrounding crowd separated to let her through, recoiling from getting near the accursed one.
#
Days later, as Zaniyah cared for his infected leg, Tlaloc said, “Mother, I need to find Atzi. Her people have stronger medicines.”
“She’s a Dactyl! They are cursed with their six fingers, and her short hair is shameful.”
“I think her dark hair is beautiful.”
“It’s vile, like her dark skin.”
Tlaloc thought, And I find her really exciting. She makes my heart beat fast.
“She saved my life, Mother. She’s my friend.”
Zaniyah was firm. “You cannot see her anymore. That’s the way it has to be.”
The next day he was much worse with his leg starting to turn green in spots.
#
Zaniyah was drawing water from the well at night when Atzi appeared. “How is Tlaloc?”
The tribe leader was startled and aghast. “I told you not to return. I could have you captured and killed.”
“Why do you hate me?”
Her demeanor softened somewhat. “I don’t really hate you, Atzi. You saved Tlaloc’s life, and you are a brave young woman. But, I’m the leader of our tribe. My people require that I show hatred for you and all of the Dactyls. If I did not, I would be rejected, and someone else would be chosen as leader. Nothing would change.”
“Are you teaching Tlaloc to hate us?”
“It is the way of our world. I want him to be the next leader, and hatred and fear are powerful tools.”
“I think that you are not so different from my leaders then after all. So, how is his leg?”
“He is not well. His leg is green.”
“I brought medicine for him.”
“I cannot accept potions from Dactyls. I’m at risk just being here with you.”
“This is an offering of good will. I’ve been speaking discreetly with a few of my people that I trust, trying to start a movement for change. We should learn to be friends. Perhaps in time we could be one people again.”
Zaniyah’s face hardened. “Never! To the Oligos, you are an abomination. Go!”
Atzi disappeared silently into the darkness.
#
In the middle of the night, Tlaloc was awoken. She was there. He whispered, “If they find you here, they will kill you.”
“Their eyes won’t see me. I come and go like the wind.” She gave him a glass bottle and a ceramic spoon. “This is an elixir made from bread mold. Drink one spoonful every morning and every night until it is all gone.” Atzi pressed something else into his hand, a carved wooden whistle. “If you blow this whistle, I will hear it and find you.” Then, she was gone.
#
Over the following weeks, Tlaloc regained strength, and his leg fully healed. He was back in training as a warrior for the Oligos, groomed to be their next leader. One day, his training was to lead the chant of hatred for Dactyls. He basked in the energy, imbibing the adrenaline rush from his enthusiastic crowd expressing their vitriol for the enemy who was not like them. Afterward, he felt spent and empty. Tlaloc imagined that his body was smeared with a grimy slime.
He took a bar of soap made from animal fat and ash, and lumbered in a daze to a remote swimming hole that was crystal clear and swarming with fish. After stripping off his clothing, he had a vision that muddy drops of hatred from his tribe were falling into the pond like a black rain. The fish floundered, dying in the dirty water, as tears filled Tlaloc’s eyes. He wiped away the salty drops from his cheeks, and the haunting vision cleared from his mind. Stepping into the pool, he scrubbed hard with the soap in an effort to clean off the imagined filth.
That night, he made his decision. Tlaloc slipped away and left the village when both moons were up and full. The whistle was on a lanyard around his neck.
THE END
