“Not to worry, friend. I have lived more lifetimes than most men. If they kill me, then I have no complaints.” Not exactly true. He had never known the love of a good woman. He’d never had a real family. No one had ever celebrated his birthday, not even him. He didn’t know when, where, or to whom he was born. And no one had ever known the real him, the badass man beneath the camo pants.
“Perhaps it is time, my friend, for old soldiers to give up such dreams and step into the eternal abyss.” He sighed with a heavy heart.
Fina tried to hide her dread with confident strides as she walked away from her hut, where the unfathomably hot warrior man was corralled, but anyone paying attention would know all was not well. The guilt of this situation made her sick. And, well, slightly frustrated, too.
Brutus was the first male she’d ever laid eyes on who exhibited such fierce, virile, sexy traits. Honestly, he made her feel like warm squirrel lard melting over a hot yucca patty. Sigh…so delicious.
But, alas, sex was not in the cards for her. Not for a very long time, and not until she was leader—i.e., after the death of her mother. Then and only then would she be allowed to have sex to produce a single daughter. The tribe only bore females and did not want multiple heirs competing for future leader. Competition for power was the way of “those vile men.”
Hmmph! As if men were the enemy? As if their all-female tribe was superior? Okay, maybe so, but they still needed men. And regular sex would be nice, too.
Another thing: Why was everyone expected to live like selfless drones? They were not ants. They were great warriors, hunters, and builders.
Gods, I really hate all this. Not that she didn’t love her tribe, but the rules, the traditions, the way they all had to pretend to worship Cimil left no room for individuality. Yes, they ate. Yes, they had shelter. Yes, the women received a basic education here in the village, but it wasn’t even close to the schooling she’d received on the outside. And not everyone pulled their weight. What was the incentive? You worked more or worked less, didn’t matter. Everyone got the same thing. A crappy hut with a leaky roof and two meals a day.
Then there was the money situation. They might be isolated from the world, but they didn’t believe in remaining ignorant when it came to the outside world, so the tribe had to make some money—enough for one person to get a formal education. Yes, she was that person. She had been charged with passing her knowledge to the entire tribe so they might stay up to speed on modern life, mostly for the purpose of creating contingencies against intruders. For this reason, they sold exotic flowers to a few perfume companies, but that only left them with enough funds to send one person to a real school.
But why only one? Maybe others might like a formal education, too.
Theoretically, they could take the money for that single, outrageously expensive Ivy League degree and send ten highly motivated members to a good school. If more than ten wanted to go, then allow the best, most intelligent to compete. Honestly, it was better than today’s system, where they spent all their cash on just one individual, while the rest of the tribe received barely anything. Old books, an older teacher (nearly six hundred years old), and one abacus. Seriously?
That led Fina to her next thought: Her mother refused to consider changing anything, including modernizing their business so that they might responsibly grow and harvest more flowers. Those were unearned profits they could use to better the lives of everyone, including sending more tribeswomen to a formal school if they chose.
Her mother called Fina’s ideas “greedy.” She said that money would corrupt them all.
But was that so? Growing more flowers wouldn’t make them millionaires, but it would certainly fix the leaky-hut situation. And it wasn’t as if anyone would be forced to work longer hours. Those who wanted dry beds could put in the effort and longer hours in the flower field. Those who didn’t want to work longer and liked being rained on could continue doing what they were doing. The minimum.
There was no judgment here. To each her own.
But what killed Fina was that her mother wouldn’t even entertain giving their people a choice. “My job is to care for them, provide for them,” she’d say. What her mother really meant was that they did all the work and she got all the power. Mother treated them like children and decided what they ate, what they wore, how many hours they worked, and what duties they performed. Dreaming was not allowed. Having diversity in thought was not allowed. Self-determination was not allowed. Because failure was not allowed.
I just don’t get it. Why send me to school and fill my head with so many ideas, only to tell me I am not allowed to use them? The last time she went against her mother with one of her “radical” ideas, she had been accused of heresy. I just said I didn’t think we all had to worship Cimil. Maybe we could choose whom we adored.
Speaking her mind had cost Fina three weeks tied to a black palm. And those fuckers hurt. The porcupine of plants.
When Fina became queen, she would allow everyone to have their own ideas, to worship the deity of their choosing. She would let men in the village, and she’d have sex every day, as much as she liked, and she might not even have children. Or she might. Either way, it would be her choice, and if there was no heir, then they’d let the members compete for the spot. Hell, maybe she’d let them do that anyway. Puzzles, hunting, swimming, and running. Why not? Their tribe claimed to value intelligence, bravery, and resilience. Let those be the job interview.
As for the lost art of thinking, Fina would make it mandatory for people to use their gods-given brains to discuss topics, even if they disagreed. Just as her professor had taught her in debate club at the university. You were assigned a topic and had to make an argument regardless of your own position. As a future leader, she found this exercise extremely valuable. It taught her to really see the world from another person’s point of view, something of great value when trying to build bridges and loyalty instead of ruling by fear.
But, alas, as things stood today, Fina would be hung from the highest cliff for daring to say a word if it didn’t fall in line with her mother’s thoughts. Treason! Die! You are worthless. How dare you contradict me.
Ugh. How could her mother claim to have a good heart, to value respect, and love her fellow woman? This was not love. It was guilt, fear, and control packaged as loyalty.
Which led Fina to her biggest gripe of all: Men. Or, really, impregnation and men. Also, mannibalism. Yuck.
The lore said that the women of the tribe could only be impregnated after their centennial birthday. On a full moon. When the kapok tree near the bend in river had its first blossom and the wind blew due north.
So for pregnancy to happen, they’d have to allow many, many men into the village at the right time of year so they’d be present at the precise moment.
But men were banned altogether now because that crazy redheaded goddess had showed up one day, many centuries ago, and spouted off about toxic masculinity. “Allowing men into the village will make you weak.”
No one questioned Cimil. No one looked at the facts. They simply took Cimil’s word. Why? Because she was a goddess? There was no proof that men made women stupid.
Okay, maybe there was proof, like in the case of someone like Brutus, who sucked the thoughts from her mind, but that was a different animal. Men in general did not hold such power over the opposite gender.