Natural Selection

13

Kurra

The temple is built into the peak of Isi Na, the walls made of stone quarried from somewhere nearby so that the temple seems to grow directly out of the mountain itself. The front of the temple opens into a flat, circular area that is tiled in the colors of the ocean, which it overlooks. When we arrive, the sun is slightly below the horizon, making the edge of the sea glow. We enter the temple through its main doors, built of black wood that has been carved into a lattice pattern. Inside, there is an atrium with a long, narrow pool. On either side are murals depicting Isi Na and the sea painted in deep, rich colors.

Two attendants are waiting for us at the rear of the atrium, both wearing long gray robes. One of them approaches Nasha; the other approaches me. We bow. My attendant takes me into an antechamber where I will change into my ritual clothing. Nasha follows her attendant into the same room. There are two stations set up, but there is space for many more; the room is long and extends far into the mountainside. Each station is comprised of a chair and a small table on which several ritual implements are laid out: a clipper, a razor, a bottle of scent. My attendant gestures for me to sit down as he picks up the clippers.

I watch my hair fall in clumps onto the floor as he cuts it off. Kiss of honey. That’s what the hair color I used was called. I bought it because Morgan liked that color, and I packed several boxes to bring back here with me. I kept using it because I couldn’t bring myself to end that part of my life yet. But today, it’s over. My natural hair is dark brown, and after my head is shaved, it will grow back in that color. Some Imrians go directly from their kibila to a stylist to have new hair rooted immediately, but I think I’ll let mine come in on its own. It might be kind of fun to be bald for a while.

Once most of my hair is gone, my attendant rubs a soft, faintly scented foam into my remaining hair, then picks up the razor. The blade slides cool and wet over my scalp, and nervous energy begins to flutter inside me.

The first time Eres Tilhar walked me through all the steps of kibila, I told my teacher I thought it sounded bizarre. Why would we change ourselves every fifteen years? I remember Eres saying, “It is the natural course of things—to change. We cannot hold ourselves back from changing. Kibila honors that, and gives us the opportunity to recognize how we are evolving.”

This morning, I’m eager to change. I’m eager to become who I am now.

When my attendant finishes shaving my head, he picks up the bottle of scented oil and taps some of it onto his fingertips, then makes a ritual marking over my newly shaved head. He touches the oil to my temples and my lips, and then he bows to me. I stand up and take off my hiking clothes. Nasha has already changed and is waiting near the entrance to the atrium. I slide into my ritual robes, gray like the attendant’s, made of a soft cloth woven from a cottonlike plant that grows on the southern slopes of the mountains. It’s like a caftan, with embroidery at the wrists and the collar in the shape of waves breaking upon the shore. I will wear this robe at every one of my kibila for the rest of my life.

I walk toward the entrance to the atrium to meet Nasha—though I shouldn’t think of her as Nasha anymore. There is excitement in her eyes, and I smile at her. Her head is smooth and slightly glistening from traces of the scented oil. We bow to each other.

A bell rings. It’s time.

She goes first because she was born first, and as she leaves I think: Good-bye, Nasha. I wonder what name she has selected for herself.

I wait long minutes until my attendant nods at me, and then I step through the door into the atrium. I see my parents waiting on the far side of the pool, the light of the rising sun behind them casting their faces into shadow. There is no one else in the room. I take a deep breath. My hands are trembling.

I enter the pool. The water is blessedly warm, and as I descend the tiled steps my robes swirl out around me, floating on the surface. The pool is slightly deeper than I am tall. I must walk across the length of it, ducking my head underwater at the center point, and then walk up the steps on the far side. When I’m in the middle, I suck in a breath of air and plunge beneath. The water slides over my head. I pause. I hold my breath, suspended in this moment between the past and the future, and I hear my heartbeat.

This is me.

The water streams over my face as I emerge from the pool. My robes are weighted with water, wet against my skin. I smell the scent of the oil: warm and sweet, almost like burnt sugar. My parents are waiting for me. They hold out their hands. Aba is crying, and Ada looks as if he might start at any minute too. Ama’s eyes are shining. I reach out for them. They take my hands in theirs, and I open myself to them.

This is me: my heart beating, my lungs breathing, my eyes hot with tears, and I am so grateful that they have brought me into this world, that they are here for me.

In unison, they say the name I have selected for myself: “Amber Gray.”

I smile so big I feel like my face might crack. “Amber Gray,” I repeat out loud, and then they fold me into their arms and I feel all of their emotions: a giant pile of love, warm and buoyant and beautiful.

I think I’m going to dye my hair black.