School of Evolutionary Development / March 2012

About the Girl Without a Name, or about Roots and Wings

– Mum, my back hurts. There, between the shoulder blades. Have a look, will you?
Mum brushed the hair off the Girl’s back and looked at the spot that the Girl, twisting her head round, had tried in vain to see.
– There’s nothing there. A little rash. I’ll put some baby cream on it and it’ll all go away.
– I’m not a child.
– Of course not. Soon it will be clear what kind of plant you are. What do you think? – the last question was addressed to Dad.
– I don’t know. Maybe a Daisy, and maybe a Rose, a Wild Rose, unkempt. Why are your things scattered about and why is your room a tip?

The Girl, wincing from the pain in her back (which, of course, had not gone away from the baby cream), and reacting with a little grimace to Dad’s remark, began to tidy up.

The arguments about What she was had been going on in the family for more than a day. Her Sister thought the Girl was an Orchid, her Brother joked “a rare kind of cactus”, Dad said that cacti could be of great use too, and have beautiful flowers, though rarely, and the fruit is sometimes edible, and her brother added “and hallucinogenic”. Her future was a constant occasion for jokes, which means – for a hidden anxiety. The most original version was produced, growling, by her three-year-old Niece: “you’re a bear!” And, as it later turned out, she was closer to the truth than the rest. But in this garden it was not the custom to pay much attention to children, who were themselves still Nobody Knows What.

Jokes are jokes, but the pain in her back grew stronger every day. It was a reality that the Girl could not help reckoning with, and that her family stubbornly refused to notice. “You just want to attract attention”, “get on with something useful”, “stop making things up”. The Girl Without a Name began to turn to other people for advice, but that did not help either. They did not understand her, just as those whose own teeth are healthy do not understand the toothache of their neighbours. “Don’t stress”, “have some fun”, “let’s have sex”, “find a proper job”… Then followed the same impersonally boring “and it will all go away”. The most original and the saddest was this: “It hurt there for me too, for about 10 years. Then it went. Just put up with it, there’s nothing to be done. It went away for me gradually, so it will go away for you.” The Girl looked into his sad eyes, then at his back, and was horrified at what she had never noticed before.
– But you have a hump! – she exclaimed.
– Yes. So what? Not everyone even sees it. You’ve only just noticed it yourself. The main thing is – nothing hurts.
The Girl Without a Name did not think that was the main thing. She herself did not want to become sad and hunchbacked. The pain that did not let her sleep, and by and large, live, carried within it a certain potential. She had to solve a riddle, not just stupidly get cured. And she decided that if she could not find the answer Here, it could be looked for There. And that was when the question of roots arose. Her family simply stood around her like a living hedge.
– Where are you going? – Mum wailed.
– How will I manage without you? – Sister echoed.
– You’re mad. – Dad stated.
– They’ll make a wicker chair out of you, or a broom altogether. – Brother, as always, came up with a version scarier and funnier than the rest.
– This is not what we raised you for, this is not what we expected of you!
The Girl Without a Name suffered from this, felt sorry for them and for herself, but all the same went There. It was a not very long, but very instructive journey. She did not find the answer to her question – what was tearing her spine between the shoulder blades with such cutting, burning, pulsing pain. But on the other hand…
– They cannot know anything about what is behind your back. And neither can I. And nobody can. Only you can. You can find it out yourself. But first you must make a sacrifice.
– What sacrifice?
– You know which.
Yes, of course she knew. And she had hoped to the last that she could do without it. But… become sad and hunchbacked?

Having come home, the Girl Without a Name armed herself with a knife and a nail file. She thought, and took pliers from Dad’s tools and put them next to her. And just in case – iodine and a bandage. She already knew what she would do, though she did not know how. She sat down on the bed. She thought a little, strengthening her resolve, and turned out her foot so that it could be seen. Yes, there they were. The roots. Clenching her teeth, she set to work. She tried not to groan, so that her family would not come and interrupt her. About two hours later the job was done – on her palms lay the stiffened little roots. They were still alive, they were moving, and probably hurt as much as the Girl Without a Name’s feet did. But she fearlessly put on her shoes and went out into the yard, taking matches. She wanted to get rid of the little roots right now, without delay. Luckily, night had already fallen and nobody got in her way. Walking was hellishly painful, the wounds on her feet were bleeding and little puddles of blood squelched in her shoes. “The Little Mermaid, for crying out loud,” thought the Girl, and smiled wryly. Everything was exactly the other way round. The Little Mermaid, at the price of pain, gained the ability to walk, and she, it seemed, might lose it. In exchange for what?
When the little fire burnt down, she returned home and, exhausted, fell onto the bed. In the morning the Girl woke up in a heap of fallen leaves. They smelled the way they do after the first frosts, of freshness and death. And… her back had stopped hurting! This was so inspiring that the Girl Without a Name did not even notice that her feet still hurt as before.
Dad came in, wished her good morning and asked why she had made such a mess with the leaves, and where they had come from in the first place. The Girl, without answering, leapt to the mirror and turned her back to it. Good Lord! She was growing Wings!
– Dad! Look!
– Look at what? Tidy up in here. And where are the pliers?
The Girl turned round, stunned, and looked into his eyes. They were as they always were. Not a grain of surprise. He seemed to see nothing unusual except a heap of leaves on the bed. “Well, and who is mad here?” thought the Girl. It was a rhetorical question. She had no doubt that she, at least, was perfectly normal, and saw clearly: behind her back was nothing other than wings. What else could it be?
When Dad left, the Girl carefully spread her wings and tried to flap them. It worked. Once more, harder. She felt them like a second pair of arms, but for now very weak. However, she felt that a flap gently lifted her into the air. And with the next glance she jumped up a little. It came out very high and smooth. The air in the room set into motion, the Girl had the feeling that it had become dense, swirled into whirlpools and even shimmered a little. The fallen leaves rose from the bed and chaotically decorated the floor. However, there was catastrophically too little room to fly. And something had to be decided about that.

– Mum, meet Gabrielle. She’ll stay with us for a couple of days.
– Very well. Come in, Gabrielle. What flower are you? Where is your garden?
Gabrielle thought for a second. The answer was clearly coming to her at that moment.
– I’m a Dandelion. I grow wherever I want.
– A Dandelion… That’s so… lightweight.
– Yes. I love lightness. I love to fly and to see different things.
– Oh, I can tell I shan’t get any support from you. You know, my daughter has got it into her head that she has wings and she…
– Yes. That’s wonderful! – said Gabrielle and laughed. Mum frowned.
– But you have children. How do you get on with them? And who are they, if you are a Dandelion and fly from place to place all the time?
– We get along fine. The youngest still thinks he’s an Aeroplane. The eldest for a long time considered himself a Computer, and now, it seems to me, he is going through the Monkey stage, periodically lapsing into Tobacco and Hops, or even Marijuana. But I believe. That it’s just experiments and will pass in time.
– And you do nothing to make them into normal trees? – Mum looked at Gabrielle so reproachfully that if she had had even a shadow of doubt about her position, she would surely have been ashamed.
– I do. But not into “normal” and not into “trees”, though I have nothing against either.
– Why did you lie to her about the Dandelion? – asked the Girl, when they had left the house.
– I answered what she was able to hear. I could hardly tell her about wings! She doesn’t see yours, so she wouldn’t have seen mine either.
– When did you get them?
– I’ve always had them. I come, you see, from a family of Birds. But my parents did their own thinking and drummed it into my head that birds live in order to build nests and sit on chicks. Can you imagine? And wings are needed… no, just think! – Gabrielle burst out laughing, – To stuff pillows with feathers! …That’s why mine, as you see, are rather plucked, – she finished when she had stopped laughing, – And need repairing. That’s what I came here for.
– Where are we going?
– To the 21st floor.
– Do they teach flying there?
– And not only that, I think. You know many people there. By the way, besides us there will be at least one more flying creature there, who has not always been a flying one either. And you know him very well. It’s Gorynych.
– Gorynych?! Great! And Chris?
– Yes. She still can’t make up her mind who she is, though. She looks like a fluffy Kitten, but has the makings of a predatory beast. For now she behaves like Ivy. But I can hardly picture an Ivy that could twine around a flying, fire-spitting serpent.
– Will our old friends be teaching us too?
– Of course. The one who looks like a Tigress and the One Who Looks Like Everything At Once.

On the 21st floor there were lots of people who did not yet know Who They Were. The wishes of the Girl Without a Name and Gabrielle about flights did not quite come true. They were not taught that, but how to be Everything.
– Why limit yourself? – the trainer inquired. Philosophically arching a fluffy tail and half-closing one eye with a leathery lid (the other meanwhile looked fixedly, without blinking, and lit up something in the depths of the Girl’s soul, unknown to her herself), his scales shimmering orange, fingers growing out of his claws and rattling out yet another cancan on the keyboard. The Tigress half-roared, half-purred, echoing him. The Girl Without a Name shook her head, driving away the illusion. It seemed to her that instead of fur she had human skin painted with colours. Which, by the way, was how it was at that moment, then it changed again.
– We teach you to grow in yourself what you need at this moment. And as for the wings, you will sort them out yourself. They are already there… all that’s left is to decide where they will carry you. And they crawled, jumped, growled, bit, wrestled, laughed uncontrollably, hugged, dreamed, stretched and shrank, were born and died, danced…

With the roots, by the way, things also became clear. It turned out that getting rid of them was only the first stage for the Girl. The second was to learn to grow them again in other places, to let them go into the earth when a new home became an old one. And to grow new ones, and leave them again. And there was a great, great deal more. Outside the window the seasons of snow, fog and wind flew by. Sunsets blinked with orange eyes, height became familiar and the wings became strong.

– So why not now? – the Girl Without a Name stood on the balcony of the 18th floor and looked into the distance. The training was over, it was time to go home, but was it? The wind stirred, ruffled, caressed the feathers, invited and teased. The sun coloured, inspired, promised, illuminated. Gabrielle held the Girl’s hand.
– Won’t you say goodbye to your people?
– I’ll write later. And I’ll fly back.
– Do you know where you’re flying?
– Yes. For a Name. Come with me!
– Nope… I’ll go by train. I already have a ticket.
– Aren’t you sure of your wings?
– It’s not that. I just don’t know yet where I’m going. A goal, a goal… And you… go on!
– Wait. I have one more thing to do.
The Girl Without a Name took out her phone and began to call the Hunchback.
– Do you know what! There’s definitely something there on you! Get it out and look at it! …I know it hurts, but you have a chance! Not every man gets to be pregnant, especially on his back. That’s it! Bye. I’m off!
The Girl turned to Gabrielle. The sun flashed on her teeth, parted in a smile. It was merry, predatory and beautiful. Gabrielle waved, the Girl Without a Name crouched, flapped, jumped and… the one she had been until now died.

Gabrielle
2–5 March 2012
Odesa–Kirovohrad