After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

I worked so hard helping them to 
make it, I should be allowed to be there when it opens
. She even thinks seriously of 
committing another offense so that she can be punished with another period of 
isolation in the storehouse. But even if she were to go to all that trouble, the Little 
People might not appear. The dead goat has been carried away and buried somewhere. 
Its eye will not sparkle in the starlight again. 
The story goes on to describe the girl’s daily life in the community—the 
disciplined schedule, the fixed tasks, the guidance and care she provides the other 

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children as the oldest child in the community, her simple meals, the stories her parents 
read her before bedtime, the classical music she listens to whenever she can find a 
spare moment. A life without “po-loo-shun.” 
The Little People visit her in dreams. They can enter people’s dreams whenever 
they like. They tell her that the air chrysalis is about to break open, and they urge her 
to come and see it. “Come to the storehouse with a candle after sunset. Don’t let 
anyone see you.” 
The girl cannot suppress her curiosity. She slips out of bed and pads her way to the 
storehouse carrying the candle she has prepared. No one is there. All she finds is the 
air chrysalis sitting quietly where it has been left on the storehouse floor. It is twice as 
big as it was when she last saw it, well over four feet long. Its entire surface radiates a 
soft glow, and its beautifully curved shape has a waist-like narrowed area in the 
middle that was not there before, when it was smaller. The Little People have 
obviously been working hard. The chrysalis is already breaking open. A vertical crack 
has formed in its side. The girl bends over and peers in through the opening. 
She discovers that she herself is inside the chrysalis. She stares at this other self of 
hers lying naked on her back, eyes closed, apparently unconscious, not breathing, like 
a doll. 
One of the Little People speaks to her—the one with the hoarse voice: “That is 
your 
dohta
,” he says, and then clears his throat. 
The girl turns to find the seven Little People fanned out behind her in a row. 
“
Dohta
,” she says, mechanically repeating the word. 
“And what you are called is ‘
maza
,’ ” the bass says. 
“
Maza
and 
dohta
,” the girl says. 
“The 
dohta
serves as a stand-in for the 
maza
,” the screechy-voiced one says. 
“Do I get split in two?” the girl asks. 
“Not at all,” the tenor says. “This does not mean that you are split in two. You are 
the same you in every way. Don’t worry. A 
dohta
is just the shadow of the 
maza
’s 
heart and mind in the shape of the 
maza
.” 
“When will 
she
wake up?” 
“Very soon. When the time comes,” the baritone says. 
“What will this 
dohta
do as the shadow of my heart and mind?” the girl asks. 
“She will act as a Perceiver,” the small-voiced one says furtively. 
“Perceiver,” the girl says. 
“Yes,” says the hoarse one. “She who perceives.” 
“She conveys what she perceives to the Receiver,” the screechy one says. 
“In other words, the 
dohta
becomes our passageway,” the tenor says. 
“Instead of the goat?” the girl asks. 
“The dead goat was only a temporary passageway,” the bass says. “We must have 
a living 
dohta
as a Perceiver to link the place we live with this place.” 
“What does the 
maza
do?” the girl asks. 
“The