In 1999 Valentine’s day fell on a Sunday; 2010 is the first year since then that it has done so again.
In 1999 realising there was no post and I could not send “my muse” anything, and because we could not meet up either, I hatched a plan to send her something all the same. It was a series of apparently unconnected stories told by the storyteller Riswey, but also starring Riswey, in various incarnations sent as a physically separate letter each morning for the whole preceding week (we had often before exchanged daily letters). The absence of a finally and 7th letter was referred to in the stories and was its theme. The premise is that if the 6 preceding letters are part of the same story then the absent 7th letter is also part of the same story and so exists! To put another way what makes each letter part of the same story; or for that matter what links separate words into sentences or separate letters into words; or for that matter what makes separate people into a family or relationship or society or race or culture or world, and what does Death break up? What seems trivial goes to the Heart of the problem of living as finite mortal beings yearning to be together in a world that will strip us from each other in the maelstrom of competing contradicting passions, lost faith, bad luck, weakness; in the same way as that 7th letter I hope made it through the post so we can conquer Death; that which was to separate us (even forever), even against all impossibility, brought to submit and allow those once mortal being to be together forever.
That what was just a story would really raise its thorny head 7 years later is still an arresting shock. Just rereading it I’m so ashamed that “my muse” used the very description of the goddess with the tear rolling down her cheek to describe her grief at losing her father… but the one time she needed me I was not ready to listen :-( Hopefully she understood the story… and I realise maybe that is why even after her death I feel as close as before – I sort of anticipated all this from the beginning – I somehow knew the story before it even happened.
THE BOOK OF SEVEN STORIES (A.Gosson 1999)
An dialogue with Death
I.
In the ancient and distant land of Atlar, on its most remote Eastern shore, as the fearsome Southern Forest surrendered it grip on the land, beside sun drenched beaches stood the small fishing village of Plilia.
With a new sun beaming across the calm shimmering waves the Gen family were out on the beach beside the boats saying farewell to their youngest son Riswey. He was off in search of work in the nearest city Amindor almost two days walk away and as his mothers fading calls were reminding him, was due home in a week to celebrate the Spring Festival. With satchel on his back he raced light footed along the single path that followed the edge of the forest out of the village. He was feeling as free as the cool ocean breeze behind him and was impatient to taste the excitement of the city he had heard so much about.
Before long as he was approaching the junction with Miou, Plilia’s neighbour, he was suddenly stopped by a bright sparkle in the grasses ahead. Approaching he saw the half of a broken gold broach. It was very intricate with leaf like engravings and tiny ornate spaces running through it and on both sides three raised squares bearing symbols. He placed it in a pocket and began looking for the other half.
While searching he looked up and was paralysed by the beauty of what he saw. Standing in tranquil blue sunbeams as though he were pearl diving again was a serene goddess holding before her the unbroken broach as a point of brilliant light in her palm. Riswey blinked disbelievingly and she was gone leaving just the pearl of light darting around a tree’s lowest branch like a firefly. Riswey ran toward the light trying to catch it but it darted away into the forest. He gave chase running deeper into the forest than he, indeed anyone he knew, had ever gone.
The forest had grown dark and the trees enormous and Riswey suddenly fearful stopped. The light ahead stopped too. He looked back and could see no clear way through the vines and creepers that fell around him. He walked back a while but the light did not follow. Feeling very alone he sat down to think and then hungry for adventure mustered his courage and continued after the light.
A slight rustling was the only warning Riswey got, a thump to his back brought him violently to the ground. His satchel fell open and a hand fished through its contents discerning out gold coins with practised efficiency. His assailants were quick, by the time the light appeared to scare them off everything of value was gone. When Riswey came around he was confused and frightened. He sat in a small clearing with his back safely against a tree in the faint light cast by the dancing point of light looking at it, thinking. It was mesmerising and it brought him strength. He got to his feet, slung the satchel over his sore shoulder, and followed it again.
The trees were farther apart now and the light had gone on along way ahead when Riswey noticed it had stopped. Approaching he was amazed to duck under a small tree in full white flower and into a large domed clearing, the trees around adorned with cascading fragrant blossoms, and in the centre of which the light hovered over a still pool. As Riswey walked over the flat sandy floor the light dropped and was submerged in the waters.
On all fours Riswey peered into the pool and caught his reflection; he had a swelling on his face where he had fallen to the ground. He was examining the bump when with wonderment he saw the scene behind him.
In a cloud mountain
Of terraced plains,
A jewelled palace
In twilight’s gentle flames
Riswey was captivated. Unthinking he reached out to touch, but the palace retreated behind ripples. He reached into the pool and fished out a magnificent gold ring set with diamonds. Inspired and fearless and with a fire he resolved to find the palace. Looking up he saw the beginning of a path out of the clearing and set off.
Shortly the path led steeply down, and the canopy began to thin. Through breaks Riswey could see across a huge gorge and far over a misty undulating forest canopy to a mountainous horizon. It led to a one-man bridge walkway where Riswey was relieved to meets an old woman struggling with a huge bundle of sticks. ‘Can I help?’ he asked. She looked up expressionless and ignored him. ‘I’m looking for a splendid palace do you know where it is?’. ’There is nothing splendid here, just endless work’, scowled the old lady. ‘Well can I help you across the bridge then?’, Riswey offered again. The old lady suddenly became angry ‘You mean, if I had your youth I wouldn’t need help. Keep your youth. I’ve done this every day of my life, I can do it for one day more!’, and she started across the bridge. As she approached the other side Riswey could hear her crying and he was about to follow her to see what was wrong when he saw here cutting the ropes at the other end. ‘Stop’ he shouted, but it was too late the bridge was twisting, and then it fell. Riswey hurt and perplexed began following the path up the gorge.
The path led into a bleak mountainous wasteland above the gorge. Riswey chose a spot to cross the river and threw his satchel across. Immediately there was a flurry of feathers and a large drab bird landed on the satchel and looked quizzically at Riswey. Riswey jumped the river and tried to grab his satchel but the bird took off only to settle a few yards away. As he ran after the bird it took flight again and settled back by the river and then when pursued sat on the top branch of nearby barren tree. Trying to climb the tree Riswey failed to notice the approach of an old man, ‘What are you doing here?’. Startled Riswey looked down ‘I’m trying to get my satchel off of that bird’, ‘No, what are you doing here?’, ’I’m looking for a splendid palace’, ‘At last!’ the old man muttered, ‘I have something to show you, are you hungry? Don’t worry about your satchel the bird has no use for it. It’s a Watugot and is only interested in your satchel as long as it doesn’t own it and you still think you do. You’ll get used to them up here’. Come! Give me a hand with this firewood’.
Riswey came down from the tree and followed the old man to a small cave and a pot boiling on a fire. Riswey sat himself while the old man went into the depths of the cave. He returned with a leather bundle. In the flickering light he unwrapped an old charred book. I have a story to tell he said.
“You are looking for a palace. Many years ago I was storyteller to the King of that splendid palace. In those days this was a happy kingdom, there was a grace to life and every-man knew his place. But one day on the King’s birthday a stranger came to the court with this book bound as a present. The King, who was a great lover of stories, was delighted with his present and asked the stranger to stay for the feast but the stranger politely declined and left. Mystified the king passed me the book and asked me to read. There were seven short stories in the book and I began reading the first. It was about a King who hated stories and who lost his kingdom, his wife and his life to a storyteller. The king was so dismayed and upset that he did not let me finish. He grabbed the book from my hands tearing its pages out and threw it on the fire. There will be no more stories in this kingdom, he decreed, it is a lie my wife will never be unfaithful to me for I am king.
He banished me from the city never to return. I was able to rescue the book from the flames but the stories were incinerated scattered to the gods. As I left the city through its great Western arch the sun was obliterated by a huge presence in the sky. Behind me a gigantic dragon thundered onto the roof of the arch shattering it. From that day to this people have lived in fear and slaved to appease the serpent with endless sacrifice.
This is the book I saved. It still contains the seventh story. I give it to you. Use it wisely.”, With that the old man sat back relieved and fell asleep.
Riswey bewildered by the story suddenly remembered that he still didn’t know where the palace was, but the old man would not wake up. He picked up the book and left, finding his satchel under the tree where he had left it, and decided to climb the mountain to get a view of the kingdom.
As he climbed he began to think. It had looked as though the old man had been waiting for him, that he had been invested with the responsibility of defeating the terrible dragon. Why him? He was just a boy, he was afraid again. But, remembering the awesome splendour of the palace he was inspired once more and encouraged, odd that it seemed, that indeed he might be the one. Arriving over boulders at the windy summit he was on top of the world. The mountain dropped away in misty ridges on all sides and down into the tide of forest around. The next hill rising out of the forest was covered in billowing cloud and for an instant then it cleared and Riswey saw the rainbow resplendence of the palace. He could see the city perimeter and the Western arch and there in front the immense shadow of the mound that was the dragon. It was invincible. Then Riswey remembered the book. Of course what better way to put myth in its place than to tell it a story – the foolish king! He had banished stories. Quickly Riswey headed down the mountain toward the city desperately trying to think of a story.
Running down a steep bank Riswey burst onto the road only a few hundred yards from the dragon, and wished he hadn’t. The dragon reared upon its hind feet towering into the sky in front of Riswey’s dwarfed but proud stance. Falling upon his front feet in an earthquake bringing Riswey to his knees the dragon brought his head toward this strange defiant being, and Riswey began,
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a peaceful city whose abundant riches became the envy of an ancient dragon. The dragon rampaged into town and enslaved its people so that he might share of its wealth. And for a while he was satisfied, but soon the people became weary and the wealth of the land dwindled.
One day a stranger approached the dragon and challenged the dragon that if he could not answer his riddle the dragon would leave. Dragons are masters of riddles and of course accepted the challenge. So the stranger began,
“What can you truly only have when it is set free?”
Puzzled the dragon answered than in all his centuries learning he had never heard that riddle or any like it and refused to believe that there was an answer. The answer is simple the stranger replied,
“The future”
‘I concede’ the dragon said and immediately flew into the clouds gone forever and the people of the town lived happily ever after.”
‘That was a wonderful story the bewitched dragon softly spoke to Riswey, thank you. And he too spread his gigantic wings and thundered into the clouds.
A cheer began to rise out of the city steadily growing and growing, and jubilant people began to fill the streets; a huge crowd of men, women and children crying and shouting in joy descended on the place where Riswey stood. They took him upon their shoulders and marched him up to the palace where the king was told that the dragon was banished by a storyteller. The king remembered the stranger’s story with fear and declared to the crowd that despite the brave act the stranger had disobeyed the king’s order not to tell stories and should be executed. The crowd began an angry whisper plotting the execution of the king and Riswey was held high as people shouted, Long live the King! Long live this King. Riswey was suddenly filled with horror as he realised that the stranger’s story was coming true, he had no score to settle with the King, he did not want to win the kingdom and the Queen. He climbed out of the crowd onto a wall before the cheering masses. Speaking up at the King’s gold balcony he told the king that his pride had already wasted ten years of the kingdom and now was going to cost him his life,
“Free me and the state, of your decrees and you will end the story tellers grip and will live in happiness.”
The king thought and then granted Riswey pardon revoking the royal decrees,
“Through the bravery and wisdom of this stranger this Kingdom is now freed, it is the very least that I can do to call you stranger no more. I offer you the hand of my beloved daughter in marriage to live here in this palace as family. Prepare the most lavish wedding for tomorrow.”
Looking up to a balcony where the king gestured, Riswey’s eyes came to rest upon the most graceful and radiant girl he had ever seen and instantly he knew he would spend the rest of his days in this palace. Riswey agreed but on the condition that the old man to be pardoned and reinstated as court storyteller. And when he arrived the following day asked if he would be best man. At noon Riswey came to stand beside the exquisite princess, the happiest man in the land at the centre of the kingdom’s joy and placed the ring he had found in the pool upon her delighted finger.
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