The
petite girl’s raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, covering her face and
arms. Her golden brown fingers deftly wove the glamour into the cloth. By touch
alone, her small, delicate hands sewed the light of the between times into the
fabric.
When
she wove, the small, dark room with its concrete floor disappeared, and Jewell
forgot it. She became a part of the tapestry itself, losing herself and
becoming one with it. The magical silver light wove itself in and out of the
tapestry, as it channeled its way through her.
Little
could be seen in the small basement room at this time of the day, which made it
safe for her to open the curtain and let in the faint predawn light.
Perchance
if someone did look in, all they would see is the dim red light of the
smoldering coals in the stove waiting to be stoked.
Because
of the prophecy, it was against the law to be awake and out of bed during the
between times. Nonetheless, Jewell could only put the finishing touches into
her tapestries at this time of day, for this dim light held a luminosity all
its own. This heavenly light could not be understood, only felt. Even outside,
little could be seen at this time of the day—only a fraction of the sky, if one
looked up. The sun had not yet begun its journey over the horizon.
Jewell
spent a portion of each day sitting at her loom weaving. Her tapestries came to
life from somewhere deep inside herself. The picture or design was pulled from
the very air into the cloth without thought or purpose. The colors took on a
reality of their own. Each hue she picked up in her slender fingers performed
its own task in the scene that unfolded. All had their own destination in the
overall design. None seemed accidental; all had their place.
If
someone was watching, he might see a glimmering silver light spill from the
window above her head. As it touched her hair, a chorus of colors played
through her hair. From her head, the
light moved through her body to her fingers and into the tapestry. This
splendid light lit her from within. As it flowed out of her fingers, it became
the thread she used. It was the precise material that made up the universe. Its
essence was virtually undetectable, unless you knew how to channel it. Her
birth rite was the ability to sew the radiant silver light of the between times
into cloth.
The
bewitching, faint light worked its way into all of her tapestries. Each time,
the blaze of the light added something unique to them. It gave them a beauty
beyond words and more. That more could only be detected by Jewell and the
wearer of the fabric, for each piece held magic of its own woven into the
splendor of the cloth.
The
small black cat threaded its way in and out of her legs. Almost like a
familiar, it became a part of her, aiding her as it danced. They became one
being as they pulled in the power and glory that existed in the mystical universe
and made it one with their souls.
“Sable, we have finished,” Jewell said. “Father will be able to take
two textiles to market with him tonight. I believe these are the most powerful
and beautiful of all the pieces we have ever made,” she told the little cat.
Sable
jumped on her lap, and they sat for a moment. Jewell hummed a small tune, and
the cat purred. Their voices harmonized together, and the song they made
ushered in the dawn. Before she began each day, Jewell drew the curtain that
she’d made out of one of her tapestries aside and let in the predawn light.
Sometimes she opened the window to let in a bit of fresh air. The air could not
be called clean, as full of soot as it was, but at least it rid the small room
of its dank, musky odors—the smells trapped in a closed room from cooking, coal
burning, candles, and human bodies.
When
the dawn lit the morning sky, she would close their one small window. That
window gave her the only glimpse of life outside her room. Through it, she
could see a tiny bit of the world that lay just outside their small, gloomy
basement. There was not much to see, only a bit of sky covered with the clouds
that raced each other across the sky. There were times she could make out a
corner of the building, if she stretched her neck and peered out of the corner
of the tiny window. Most days she just enjoyed the slight breeze that moved
through the room from the open window.
This
brief time in the early morning, when she opened the window, became the only
other time in her day when Jewell had contact with the outside world. Without
that little window, she would have nothing but the one-half hour in the
courtyard the law allowed her each day. She spent that period gathering water
and washing their clothing. Not a minute remained to view the world around her.
With
the growing light, Sable jumped from her lap, and Jewell stood and stretched.
Her small frame shuddered from the chill that seeped through her body. So long
had she sat motionless that the cold of the concrete floor and the stone walls
had gotten into her bones.
The
day has begun, she thought, as she pulled the tapestry closed. It is time to
light the fire, get Father’s breakfast, and pack his lunch.
Even
through the tapestry that covered their one small window, she could see the
smoke and soot already filling the street. “I wonder how the moon and the light
of dawn are able to find their way through the heavy haze. The ash from the
factories and the soot from the coal stoves fills the air, till the sky is
black as night,” Jewell told Sable.
“It
is father’s short day at the factory, Sable. He gets so tired from working so
many hours. I wish I could help him by working in the garden or going to the
market.”
I
wonder if he considers Sunday short, she thought. Even though he spends eight
hours that day in the church, still, he is at home earlier.
“I
wonder what church is like, Sable. Did you know they do not allow women in
church? Father told me, unlike the days when mother lived, they don’t teach
women to read or to think anymore. I wonder why these men Father, talks about
consider women too stupid to learn. He said they consider women the spawn of
evil and not worth redemption.”
