Philothea’s Problem
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Emily Deady Christopher Woods, Madeline Shepley, Grace Woods, Melissa Ring, Amelia Leedom, Max Woods, Gregory Woods.
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Don’t breathe, Philothea repeated to herself over and over again. The room was utterly silent. She was sitting at a little table in the library with five other girls, all engaged in quiet study.
At the head of the group was a woman the girls secretly referred to as “the jailer” and openly referred to as “Keeper Ruth”. She was one of the holy women who cared for the temple where the girls lived, worshiped, and studied.
(Secretly, Philothea believed that Keeper Ruth was at least one hundred and thirteen years old, but was never able to confirm this theory.)
Once in a while, the old caretaker would send a stern glance around the library to ensure the girls were behaving themselves. Her flowing gray robes and the veil that hid her hair added to her intimidating aura.
You’re doing great, Philothea, she assured herself as pride bubbled in her chest. Surely her prayers had been answered!
The other girls in the library had normal, rational fears. They worried about things that could actually kill you–things like wolves, famines, or barbarian raiders. Philothea, on the other hand, feared one thing above all else—giggling.
She was a compulsive giggler. Anytime she was expected to keep silent, she would find herself using all available strength to suppress a geyser of hysteria. In fact, the more inappropriate the moment, the more likely she was to laugh.
And the tiniest chuckle on her part would set off every girl within earshot. Then Keeper Ruth would give her a firm reprimand for causing trouble and send her outside to either pick berries or collect firewood, depending on the season. Philothea suspected Keeper Ruth was trying to get rid of her so she could regain control of her other students. And every time, Philothea would spend the rest of the day reproaching herself and wishing that she could be composed and respectable.
On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Philothea decided that enough was enough. Since she was apparently completely unable to resolve this problem herself, she was going to pray for a miracle.
She ventured into the sanctuary and knelt on the cold stone floor. The Keepers had always taught her that God had many names and each temple worshiped Him under a different one.
The Father, The Cause, The Holder, and The Artist were all names for God. Philothea lived at the Temple of Creation, and so she always addressed Him as Creator.
As she knelt there, she could almost feel His presence enveloping her like a warm blanket.
Holy Creator, she prayed. Tomorrow I will be fifteen, which is practically a grown woman! And having made me a grown woman, I assume you want me to behave like one. What I am about to ask might seem impossible, but with you, all things are possible… She sighed. Please, please, please, please, help me not to laugh during study tomorrow. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Philothea left the sanctuary feeling confident that the Creator heard her prayer. She was a new woman. The kind who had complete control over herself.
Now, here she was working quietly in the library like a respectable adult, proving that the Creator had indeed worked a miracle. For a few moments, she lost herself in her reading.
Then she felt the dark-haired girl sitting beside her lean over. Philothea started to panic.
No, Zoe! No, no, no, no, no, no, she thought. Her stomach twisted.
Zoe’s breath warmed her ear as she prepared to whisper.
Philothea realized she was about to blow. She bit her lip and knotted her stomach. She was not going to lose control. Not now, when she was doing so well.
“Phil-o-thee-a,” Zoe breathed. “Don’t. Laugh.”
Philothea exploded.
It wasn’t just a little giggle. It was like a shriek and a squeal had a baby. All of Philothea’s classmates started laughing, except for Zoe, who continued working as if nothing had happened.
Philothea went scarlet and dropped her gaze to the table top. She could feel Keeper Ruth scowling at her.
“Zoe,” Keeper Ruth hissed.
Philothea glanced sideways at her tablemate. Zoe was silently reading, pretending neither to hear Keeper Ruth nor notice the ruckus that was engulfing the room.
“Zoe,” Keeper Ruth repeated.
Zoe looked up at Keeper Ruth innocently, pointed to herself, and raised her eyebrows. Keeper Ruth pointed to Philothea and then to Zoe and then thrust her thumb over her shoulder at the door.
Philothea sighed despondently. She had come so close. Though she was still laughing, she was deeply annoyed. Partly with the Creator who had apparently ignored her plea, partly with Zoe for provoking her, but mostly with herself.
How was anyone ever going to take her seriously when she couldn’t even finish one library hour without causing a scene?
Now, Philothea was giggling in earnest as she walked with Zoe up the hill toward the forest. They were both carrying massive buckets, which they had to fill with blackberries before they could return.
“She caught you!” Philothea grinned.
“Caught me doing what?” Zoe asked dryly.
“Provoking me!”
“I did no such thing,” Zoe remarked.
If Philothea’s problem was that she couldn’t control her emotions, Zoe had the opposite problem. Her expression was always blank. She never laughed, never cried, never even smiled. She spoke every word in the same, dry, even tone. Try as Philothea might, she was completely unable to break her.
At seventeen, Zoe was the eldest girl in the care of the Temple Keepers. She had come to live with them when she was an infant because her mother died in childbirth and her father had to spend most of his time laboring in the emperor’s fields. Occasionally, he was allowed a short leave to visit his daughter.
While Zoe didn’t know her father as well as she would have liked, Philothea was jealous that she knew him at all. She was left on the temple steps as a baby, and the only clue to her heritage was the silk blanket she was wrapped in when the Keepers found her.
From time to time, Philothea would examine the little blanket and wonder about her mother and father. The silk made her think they were wealthy, but if that was the case, why did they leave her at the temple?
Speculating about Philothea’s origin was a favorite pastime of her adoptive sisters. It was obvious to them that Philothea was the product of some kind of scandelous, forbidden love. The theories changed slightly depending on which girl was fabricating the details. All were entertaining, few convincing.
As they dragged their buckets toward the forest, Philothea sent her companion a glance. She couldn’t tell if Zoe’s deep brown eyes were exceptionally large or if they only looked that way because her face was so thin. She was fair-skinned except for the splash of chocolate freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her long, dark, wispy hair fluttered around her neck and shoulders as they proceeded forward.
Philothea was almost opposite in appearance. She had a gentle, round face, brown skin, and thick, wavy hair that bounced instead of fluttered. Her clear green eyes exaggerated her slightest emotion.
“I’m glad you got caught,” Philothea stated.
Zoe looked at her sideways.
“Me too,” she replied. “I was dying of boredom in there.”
“What?” Philothea exclaimed. “You planned this?”
“Planned what?” Zoe answered.
Philothea shook with rage and then started giggling and then started reprimanding herself for giggling. She couldn’t even be angry properly! How was she supposed to communicate how upset she was with Zoe when she was snickering like an idiot? If she wasn’t careful, she would start crying and laughing all at once and then she’d really feel stupid. Maybe she had been cursed by a witch as a baby so that all her emotions were backward. She laughed when she was upset. She laughed when she was afraid. It seemed like the only time she didn’t laugh was when something was actually funny.
She managed to compose herself as they reached the top of the hill, but dared not say anything else to Zoe, lest she lose control again. Turning, she looked out over the valley, hoping the view would distract her long enough to calm herself down.
Over the years, Philothea had spent many a long moment looking out from that hilltop. From there, she could see the winding walls that surrounded the temple grounds, the river in the valley below, and the peaks of the village rooftops.
This time, when she turned to look, she gave a little cry of alarm. Zoe’s eyes widened slightly, which was the most emotion she had ever expressed. She was seeing it too–the company approaching the temple.
Every so often, a noble would visit the Keepers, bringing with them a party of servants and armed guards. Philothea and Zoe studied the group, hoping that their eyes were deceiving them. This was no visiting Lord or Lady. This was a band of warriors armed for battle.
Philothea laughed.
Thanks for reading! Come back next week for Chapter 2!
The Fables of Para Sympan 