“My grandfather told me once that my great-great grandfather Shin, whose first name we never knew, was more this hue than any other. Over the generations his ‘soil’ mixed with others so that I can hardly see any trace of it in my own flesh. Yet as I look around tonight I see many with hair and eyes as dark as mine and skin tinted yellow as my great-great grandfather’s. I may infer that you may be my distant cousins.
“There are those who lament the losses of our family lines—the records destroyed accidentally in that devastating fire after the Great War. But there are others who say it was an act of mercy. I don’t know who my ancestors are, as do none of you, but I can assume all of you are part of my family. And, as the first line of The Writings reminds us, ‘We are all family.’”
Mahrree might as well have conceded defeat right there. Telling another one fifth of Edge that he was most likely a distant cousin solidly won their support. While his eyes were rounder than most of those he claimed as kin, many of his other features now seemed remarkably reminiscent of those families.
Mahrree should have called for an end to the debate, because then she would have been spared what came next.
Captain Shin dropped the yellow tinted soil into the box and now took a fistful of sandy gravel, pale and crumbly.
“Then there were others of us created in a way similar to this . . . well, soil isn’t an accurate designation. Still considered ‘earth,’ though. The other part of my family apparently is of this constitution. It took our ancestors a while to find a use for this. For growing crops or creating pottery, it was quite disappointing. Had no useful soil-augmenting or medicinal purposes either. It seemed like filler.” He sifted the sandy gravel between his fingers. “Dry. Bland. Barren.”
He paused, glanced over at Mahrree, then stepped over to her. He took up her arm which was bare since she had rolled up her sleeves, and dramatically dribbled some of the pale dirt on her arm.
“Hmm. Perfect match. No surprise there, since I took this sample from your front ‘garden.’”
The amphitheater hooted with laughter, but Mahrree bristled in anger.
At least, she hoped she looked like she was bristling. She trembled slightly as his large rough hand held her narrow arm.
“I suppose I should have asked permission to take this,” he apologized loudly over the laughter. “But I didn’t think you’d notice a shovelful missing. Not sure if you’d notice anything different in your yard.”
She yanked her arm away as the crowd roared again. With a huff she wiped off the dust and rolled down her sleeves.
Captain Shin smiled at the people packed into the amphitheater. More were arriving every minute.
“Then our ancestors discovered that mixing this dreary substance with water and a few other elements could create a mortar to hold together stones. And suddenly this, too, had purpose and was necessary for our lives.” He nodded at Mahrree as he dropped the last of the sandy gravel back into the crate.
“Over the years we’ve discovered that mixing the soils creates other uses, just as blending our family lines has resulted in new and inventive mixtures. I asked Mr. Unabi if this soil,” he again held up a handful of sample from Mahrree’s garden, “could ever produce anything besides spindly weeds. He assured me that with a few wagonfuls of his soil, other amendments like manure and sulfur, and a lot of hard work even this,” he let it dribble out of his hands, “could become productive. I find that remarkable. And a far better science project for Miss Peto’s students.”
The villagers tittered in agreement.
Mahrree squinted.
“By combining what we know and what we are, we can transform nearly anything into what we need it to become. I think that was planned deliberately by the Creator. He knew we would need each other, especially if one kind of ‘soil’ couldn’t do it all. This,” he held up Mr. Unabi’s black dirt, “would never hold as mortar.”
Tossing the handful back into the crate, he continued. “Many of you, like me, would struggle to identify just what kind of ‘soil’ we are now. But we are all needed, all equal, and all capable of combining for intriguing results. I, for one, embrace the Creator’s explanation. Our spirits are from Him. Our bodies are created by Him of the earth to assist each other. And we will be returned to the earth when we die. And then we have the promise that someday these bodies will be restored and perfected, never again to be separated from our spirits.
“There may be those who choose not to believe, and that’s their right. But I receive comfort and peace from this belief, and I choose that this,” he held up two handfuls of soils, the gravel and the yellow tinged, “is the constitution of my body, rather than to think that Miss Peto’s blob,” he jerked his head over at her sample, “is my future brother. This is not an issue for debate, but for belief. Make your decisions as to what to embrace, but let me embrace my belief.”