Milly
held the silver platter in her hands. It was covered with fresh fruits for
dessert. Grapes were spilling over the edges like ivy, oranges, pomegranates
and apples appeared like bright glowing orbs, and cherries, strawberries, and
raspberries surrounded them like jewels. The platter was so heavy for her
birdlike arms that she was frightened of the tray falling over. This was her
first time serving the elders of her tribe. Unlike the other children who had
already become age, or like the teens and adults who had already gone through
the practice of service, she did not know how to correctly hold the platter.
Milly did not know that the correct
way to carry the platter was to rest the part with the grapes parted like a
veil against her shoulder and neck. She did not know that it was like playing a
violin, or a fiddle. She considered the task like that of carrying a platter
with dirty dishes atop it for cleaning. It is good, however, that she did not
think of it like the task of carrying clean or dirty laundry, she would have
most likely have let fall the delicacies that her lips could only touch once a
year, until her wedding day and until she reached the age of seventy and after.
Those were two occasions when the fruits would grace her lips at a continuous movement.
Unlike most tribes, who left their
elders behind when traveling, Milly’s tribe honored their elders, and made sure
that they made the trips to new territories. They knew that they were the
reason that they had lived for as long as they had, so they protected them.
Each parent, uncle, aunt, grandfather, grandmother, and so on was an important
part of the tribe. And to thank them for their teachings, the elders were the
only ones who were able to eat fruits every night for dessert. Children from
the age of eight to thirteen were to carry the fruits to the elders. Teens from
ages fourteen to sixteen were to prepare for marriage and family making. Adults
from ages seventeen to sixty-nine were to help the tribe in any way needed. At
age seventy, tribe members became elders and were able to relax and be taken
care of until they died. They could continue helping in any way they wished and
the rest of the tribe would never leave any of them behind and would help them
if they were too slow.
Milly, now eight years old, was on
her way to the elders for the first time. She had seen them around, had spoken
to them, had been told to honor them, and felt pride in being able to know them
and take care of them. She saw them as great teachers and comrades. And as she
entered their tent, she saw all of their white withered heads look to her. She
felt like she had meaning and purpose, and this made her heart light with joy.
Bending down to the first withered
head, so that the woman could take the fruit of her choice, the woman giggled,
“Oh dear! You’re holding it all wrong!” and the woman moved the platter a bit
and showed Milly how to handle it. “My mother taught me that,” the woman
smiled, plucking an orange from the tray and sending Milly down the circular
line.
The next man shook his head at the
old woman and at Milly while taking two grapes and popping them in his mouth.
He waved her on and found that the elders each took either one small item or
two tiny items, like two grapes, a raspberry and a grape, an apple (which some
would cut in half and share with another elder who would then wave Milly on
because they were receiving a share). At the end, when she had gone to each
elder and was back at the opening of the platter, there was still many fruits
left on the platter.
Milly looked around in confusion,
seeing if there was a stand somewhere when she heard the first woman giggle
again.
“You take some for yourself and chat
with us a bit, dear. We love having company,” The woman smiled as she chewed a
bit of an orange slice, some of the slices having been passed down while Milly
had been passed down.
In the end, Milly only took a
raspberry, the smallest one left on the platter and nibbled on it like a hare
does a carrot. The elders talked on and on about the way things were in their
days, some told war stories, hunting stories, and parenting stories. They all
seemed to be giving Milly life lessons, and she wished she could remember every
word that they spoke. And then, crystal bells started to tinkle and ring in the
distance. The birth of a child. Milly had forgotten that there was a birth
ceremony going on, and the elders faces grew bright. They ushered her up and
out and put her in front of them as they marched to the birthing hut.
“It’s tradition,” The old woman giggled,
as she took a pomegranate off the platter, broke it open, and entered the hut.
In Milly’s tribe, everyone played
their part. They felt joy in this, and anytime someone would thank them, they
would shake their head and say, “No, thank you.” The elders celebrated births,
the children celebrated their elders, and the teens and adults celebrated
everyone equally. Milly didn’t understand this cycle until she saw the old
woman squeeze some of the pomegranate juice into the newborn’s mouth. And
afterwards, when the old woman had thanked the mother and had kissed the child
on the forehead, she couldn’t wait to become a mother or an elder so that she
could celebrate such gifts from their Goddess.
