Chapter 3 — Mother?
And thus begins Chapter Three.
Now, children.
There I was.
Looting.
Happily.
Backpack increasingly full of bottle caps.
Tiny metal treasure clinking behind me with every step.
The council nods.
Quest progression:
Excellent.
Guardian status:
Unmonitored.
Eventually,
after enough shops,
enough refrigerators,
enough glorious coloured caps
I looped back.
The council pauses.
Back to where?
The beginning.
The shop where Mother had been.
Children.
Observe the wording.
Had been.
I walked in.
Looked around.
No Mother.
The council grows quiet.
Now.
This was the first moment the quest changed.
Up until then,
everything had been simple.
Bottle caps ahead.
Mother somewhere behind.
The universe made sense.
But now?
Bottle caps acquired.
Original location restored.
Mother
missing.
The council leans forward.
Toddler Nuo looked around.
Probably confused.
Not panicked.
Not yet.
Because children,
I was three.
At three,
your mind does not immediately construct worst case scenarios.
You do not think:
I have become separated from my legal guardian in a public market and may be in danger.
No.
You think:
Mother was here.
Mother is not here.
Find Mother.
The council opens a new objective.
PRIMARY QUEST UPDATED:
LOCATE MOTHER.
I checked behind aisles.
Nothing.
The counter.
Nothing.
Then
fish section.
The council pauses.
Why fish?
Because Mother loved fish.
Or
perhaps I loved fish
and Mother loved giving me things I loved.
The Archive is uncertain.
The distinction has been eaten by time.
But little Nuo knew:
Fish section.
Mother often near fish.
Therefore
check fish.
The council nods approvingly.
Toddler deduction.
I walked over.
Looked.
Fish.
No Mother.
The council grows slightly more concerned.
Fine.
Next shop.
Perhaps she had moved.
So I walked.
Checked.
Nothing.
Next.
Nothing.
Next.
Still nothing.
Children.
By this point,
I was no longer merely wandering around hoping to bump into her.
I had begun
enquiries.
The council leans forward.
Ah.
Communication.
Yes.
Advanced communication.
I would approach an adult.
Random local.
Look up.
And say:
“Mother.”
The council pauses.
And then?
Stare.
The council goes silent.
That was the system.
“Mother.”
Stare.
If they somehow understood the request
excellent.
If they didn’t
move to next adult.
The council collapses.
Children.
At three years old,
I had made one very understandable assumption.
Mother
was her government name.
The council erupts.
Of course.
Why wouldn’t it be?
Everyone called her Mother.
I called her Mother.
Therefore her name was clearly:
Mother.
The council tries to explain family roles.
Toddler Nuo rejects unnecessary bureaucracy.
So I continued.
Adult one.
“Mother.”
Blank look.
Next.
“Mother.”
Nothing useful.
Next adult.
“Mother.”
Stare.
The council laughs.
Children.
No description.
No name.
No clothing colour.
No:
Have you seen a woman with
Nothing.
Just one internationally vague noun.
Mother.
A foolproof system.
The council adds:
SUCCESS RATE: ZERO.
Details.
Now,
occasionally,
someone probably asked questions.
Where is your mother?
What’s her name?
Where did you see her?
Children.
These are sophisticated questions.
My answer remained
“Mother.”
The council gives up.
Because that was the information available.
She was Mother.
I wanted Mother.
Please produce Mother.
The council nods.
Customer service request submitted.
And still
I moved.
Shop after shop.
Adult after adult.
Tiny backpack clinking with bottle caps,
because apparently I had the foresight to maintain custody of the loot during the emergency.
The council notices.
You didn’t abandon the caps?
Children.
Let’s not become irrational.
Those were rare colours.
The council sighs.
So there I was.
Three years old.
Searching Kochi for a woman whose identifying information I believed consisted entirely of the word Mother.
And somehow
I did not sit down and cry.
At least not yet.
I kept walking.
The council grows quieter.
That part feels important.
Not because a three year old should have been handling this alone.
Absolutely not.
But because the oldest surviving version of me already had this strange reaction to uncertainty.
Move.
Look.
Ask.
If that fails
move again.
The council nods.
No map.
No phone.
No language problem even.
Just an information problem of my own creation.
Mother.
That was the database.
Eventually,
children
I looped again.
The council freezes.
Again?
Again.
I returned to the starting area.
The original shop.
The place where the expedition had begun.
Surely now
Mother.
No.
The council goes quiet.
I checked.
Still not there.
By now,
something in tiny Nuo’s brain finally recognized:
Current method ineffective.
The council looks impressed.
Strategic review.
Exactly.
Bottle cap trail?
Completed.
Original shop?
Checked twice.
Fish section?
Checked.
Nearby shops?
Checked.
Random adults?
Repeatedly informed that I sought a human called Mother.
The council nods.
No results.
And so,
children,
for perhaps the first time in the history of the Wanderings
the Unbegun adapted.
The council rises ceremonially.
STRATEGY MUST BE CHANGED.
This was no longer a simple:
walk until Mother appears.
No.
The quest had escalated.
I had wandered out.
Returned.
Searched.
Asked strangers.
Looped back again.
And Mother remained missing.
The council raises a finger.
Technically you were the missing one.
Children.
Perspective.
From my point of view,
I knew exactly where I was.
Mother had disappeared.
The council laughs.
Important legal distinction.
So there I stood.
Three years old.
Surrounded by adults.
Backpack full of stolen
acquired
bottle caps.
No guardian.
No useful identifying information.
And one tiny conclusion forming in my head:
This isn’t working.
The council leans forward.
Meaning the definitive first Wandering was about to enter its second phase.
Not exploration.
Not looting.
Problem solving.
Toddler problem solving.
Which is,
children,
a category of strategy that should terrify everyone involved.
Thus concludes Chapter Three.
The Return To The Beginning.
The Fish Section Investigation.
The Government Name Of Mother.
The Stranger Enquiry Protocol.
And The First Failed Strategy.
Children.
I had gone looking for bottle caps.
Then I had gone looking for Mother.
And after two complete loops through the market,
I had found plenty of one
and absolutely none of the other.
So the three year old investigator stood still,
thought very hard,
and arrived at the only reasonable conclusion.
New plan.
