The Passed Note Issue 8 October 2018 - Page 25

road to the cultural center for staged performances. He will stay behind and finish the preparations for the real one.

I still participate in all of the Gara’s ceremonies, real and staged, even though recently many young Gara have refused. My older brother, Deti, is one of them. He talks of traveling the world, of “getting out.” He has made me wonder what it would be like to leave the tropics. Maybe I will venture to fluorescent China or to one of the other brightly colored countries on the Beach School’s wall map, or, maybe, I will move to Chicago, United States where our favorite people writer is from. What would it be like to live where the sky cries snowdrops and the water turns as hard as glass?

Concern regarding my mother’s dreams returns. It is a drizzling voice, chilling my insides.

“Lusa, Lusa, be present. Lusa, we are angry.”

I leave my mother and head to the trail. I must prepare the stage for our Wednesday evening show. And when I am finished, I must focus on pleasing the spirits. They will take someone with them if I don’t.

If I were able to block the spirits nagging then I could sing during the steep walk up the dirt trail to the cultural center and I would arrive at the building in only two songs. However, I am not able to block anything. I am not able to concentrate on a rhythm. My mind is like the tangled jungle vines, knotted and