The Story of Saya

Amma told the children that she spun her feelings into thread. It wasn’t exactly correct, but it made for a good story while she worked on her weaving.

The adults of the village told their children to take Old Amma’s stories with a grain of salt. They said that she had lived a hard life, and that a hard life could change a person. Despite their parents’ warnings, children gathered at Amma’s house to hear the wild stories of her youth. Amma told them that after her family had passed away, she moved into an abandoned house in the country. She told the children that she started adopting the lame animals from the neighboring farms to keep her company, and when she said this the ancient goat that lived indoors with her would bleat on cue. One child, Pia, always lingered after the others had gone. Sometimes she and Amma would sit in comfortable silence, happy for each other’s company. She was a kind child, though prone to bursts of emotion. Sometimes Pia would ask for another story, and Amma would often agree on the condition that she not repeat it to her parents. These were Pia’s favorite ones.

Pia sometimes asked about Amma’s weaving. Amma often told the children that her weaving was for the spirits of the country, and that whenever she finished enough pieces they would come to claim it. Pia would sit by Amma’s feet and lean her body against Amma’s tired calves, asking question after question about the spirits. Stroking Pia’s hair one day, Amma said she would tell her the story of Saya.

~

Saya was a young girl who lived-

How young, Amma?

A bit older than you.

She lived alone, out in the country. She had not always lived alone. She once had a large family who lived with her, but one by one they all had left.

Where did they go?

Pia, listen to the story.

Saya was a brave girl, but she was often sad. Day after day, Saya tended to the animals and baked fresh bread. Every week, like clockwork, she would visit the village. If she had no business to attend to, she would walk through town just to greet people. She followed a strict routine and found some comfort in it, but she was very very lonely.

One night, in the middle of winter, Saya heard music outside. She pulled on her warm clothes and grabbed a lantern. As she hurried outside, she saw a marketplace unfolding in front of her. She stopped short, watching stalls, shops, and tents appear as if from thin air. The market, laced with gold mist, sprawled into the distance. Saya rubbed the sleep from her eyes but the market remained. She approached the closest tent and reached up to touch the fabric stretched on the outside, but felt nothing. Her hand passed straight through. Saya realized that she could see through all but one of the structures that had settled on the countryside like ghosts. One doorframe out in the field was solid, glowing brighter than the rest. She approached and saw the mist was radiating out, obscuring the otherwise empty doorway. Saya brushed the frame with her frozen fingers and found solid wood. She glanced back over her shoulder before stepping through the door.

Amma, was she scared?

Yes, I think she was a little scared.

The market immediately became solid and her home in the distance became spectral and pale. Torches and fires flooded the night with light, and smells of food cooking and people calling to each other overwhelmed her. The doorway stood behind her exactly as it was. Saya lurched back toward it, but a strong arm caught her. She looked up into kind eyes that settled her stomach.

The eyes belonged to Tierra, one of the market vendors. She warned Saya that if she went back through the door, she would not be able to enter again until the market was next in town sixty-six days from then. Saya challenged Tierra, telling her that she had lived in that house for over sixty-six days and had never seen the market before. Gently, Tierra told her that the market appeared to those who were looking for it. As Saya thought about this, Tierra led her to one of the shops.

“Sometimes things come to us when we need them most.”

Her voice was soothing, warm and low. She told Saya that this market had a way of anticipating people’s needs. She also cautioned Saya that the woman in the shop might seem cold, but it was only because her line of work was a bit unusual. Tierra left her at the entrance with a word of warning.

“Listen carefully to what she tells you, she knows her business better than anyone.”

Saya entered the shop. It was deceptively large, with candles flickering quietly around the edges. Draped from the ceiling and hung from the walls were the most beautiful fabrics she had ever seen. They shimmered as they swayed in the candlelight. The stitches were too small to see, but the fabric itself was glowing faintly. Saya couldn’t bring herself to touch it. A woman emerged from a back room.

The woman had creases in her face that looked like they had been there for centuries, but her eyes were timeless and clear. She offered no introduction.

“I know what you’ve been looking for.”

What was Saya looking for?

She didn’t know at the time.

How did everyone else know it?

Hush.

The woman pulled a spool of lavender thread and a pair of long sharp scissors from a hidden pocket. She cut a piece of thread and asked Saya what she thought it was made of, but Saya had no answer. The woman wrapped the thread around Saya’s wrist and, as they watched, it dissolved into her skin. Saya grabbed at her wrist as it disappeared, but then felt a moment of bliss pass through her. In her soft, even voice, the woman told Saya that all the threads in this place, and indeed each bolt of fabric, had belonged to someone else. She snipped a piece of orange thread to wrap around Saya’s wrist, and fear momentarily pinched the back of her neck. The woman said that they were feelings skimmed from the surface of someone’s soul, to be sold to anyone willing to pay.

“Pay for what?”

“For the feeling. For whatever feeling someone else has sacrificed. Some ache to feel a sorrow that will never come, or to feel the giddiness of youth long gone. Some simply wish for peace.”

The woman warned Saya that skimming feelings was a delicate task. It could be taught, but it was an art that must be practiced and perfected. Saya begged the woman to teach her but the woman offered her an extra warning. She told Saya that those who are not truly ready can lose themselves in it.

The woman spent the night teaching Saya how to pull her feelings into reality and at the end of the night Saya sat among a small collection of threads and knotted, disfigured fabrics. At dawn, the woman pressed a gold coin into her hand as she led Saya back to the doorway. She told her that Saya showed promise, and that if she practiced she could earn much more than the one gold piece. As Saya reached for the door, the woman reminded her again to be careful.

“You don’t want to uproot yourself.”

Is Saya going to listen to the woman?

Are you going to listen to me?

The next day Saya was exhausted, but woke up early. She continued to practice, and as she did she began to recognize the tapestry of emotions that came with each pull. As she traced lines of memory, she recognized herself in her fabrics. As her skill grew, so did her sense of purpose. She continued to care for her animals and bake her bread, but no longer drowned in the futility of the acts. Saya was at peace, and for a while that was enough. When the market came back, she went straight to the woman’s shop and presented her with a bundle. The woman appraised each piece and gave Saya a fat bag of gold coins. She did not smile, but Saya was proud of her work.

As Saya’s daily life settled, she noticed that one small boy in the village each week watched her each week as she came to visit. His name was Amal and he began greeting her every time he saw her. The butcher told Saya that his older sister used to care for him, but she had recently passed away. When Saya went home that week, she thought back on how she had felt when her family had left her. She knew how terrible it was to be alone. The next time she was in town, she asked Amal if he would like to visit her home.

Amal loved the country. He loved the animals and the fresh air, and in time he grew to love Saya as well. They went about their daily chores together, quietly but warmly, and would dine together every evening. But every night, when the house was quiet, Saya would hear Amal weep. He was haunted by what he had lost, and with each cry Saya felt a bit of herself come undone. In a moment of desperation, Saya knocked on his door.

Amal tumbled into her arms, trying to hide his tears. Saya held him for a moment until his breathing slowed. He told her that he wanted to feel better, but that he did not know how. Saya took a deep breath, and as Amal watched she pulled a lavender thread of her feeling off herself. She held Amal’s small hand and wrapped it around his wrist. His muscles relaxed and his expression softened. To Amal’s amazement, Saya pulled a whole sheet of her feelings off herself, and explained to Amal that she might be able teach him to do the same. His feelings would come back, but for a moment he would be able to breathe easier. Together, they pulled one uneven thread after another from Amal. They were twisted and knotted, but Saya held him as she traced the delicate threads of grief and anger. She tucked him back into his bed and said that they could try again in the morning. She asked him to try and rest until then.

In the morning, Saya was waiting for Amal. When she asked him how he felt, Amal only said that he felt tired. Saya asked if he would like to try again, but Amal was indifferent. She didn’t press the matter, but watched him as he went about his chores mechanically. The silence between them, usually tranquil, seemed empty and flat. Saya began to worry when he was silent into the evening, and followed him as he went to his room at the end of the day. She peeked in and saw a mess of mangled emotions on the floor. There were no delicate bolts of gossamer, there were chaotic snarls of it. There were torn sheets and loose threads, all balled up on the ground.

Saya burst into the room, collecting all of the bits and pieces and putting them in a basket. She frantically searched for every single thread as she asked him what happened.

“I got lost.”

Saya realized Amal sounded like the woman from the market. His voice was even and steady, but cool. She started to try and untangle the knots and stitch his torn sheets together, but it was impossibly slow.

When the market next came around, Saya brought Amal with her. She brought the basket of disfigured material and demanded that the woman help her. The woman understood immediately what had happened and was stern with Saya, repeating her warnings. As Saya broke down in the shop, the woman gently took Amal’s hand. She looked into his eyes and asked him what he felt.

"Nothing."

The woman told them that she would not be able to undo the damage, but that she could make sure no harm came to him. Saya realized that Amal could no longer stay with her.

With all her energy, Saya focused on her love for Amal. She pulled a sheet of iridescent rainbow out of her and wrapped it around the small boy. His eyes lit up for a moment and he hugged her tight, but as the fabric faded his grip loosened.

Saya left Amal with the woman and returned to her empty house, with her basket of broken feelings. She reached for the first knot and began painstakingly unraveling it. She whispered a promise return them to him someday.

~

Pia was very still. She asked Amma if Saya had ever been able to fix it all, but Amma told her that she didn’t know that part of the story. Pia was quiet for a moment, then crawled over to a basket of cloth odds and ends in the corner. She pulled out a tangled ball of thread and brought it back over to Amma’s feet. The two sat in silence as Amma continued her weaving and Pia began to gently pick at the loose ends.