Aranansi #8: Green Tom

Posted on August 29, 2010 by randomyriad

February 08, 2010, 19:58

I was moving about in the workshop taking apart one thing and putting together another when Morris squawked loudly, awakening from an uneasy dream. Dreaming isn’t ever very easy in this city. It is more like waking up.
“Bad dream?” I queried.
“The worst! The worst!” Morris screeched.
“All right, all right, just tell me about it.”
“Flying, I was over the tangle forest,” He started nervously, little word noises in the back of his throat. “It turned brown like a wave starting at one side, so fast all the way across. All dead! All brown.”
He ended with a sad whistle.
“That is disturbing.” I patted his black head and gave him a peanut I found on the floor. He took it in his claw and peeled away the shell delicately with his beak.
“I remember replanting the edge of that forest. That’s when I met Leela. “Green Tom showed me how it could be done.”

A chain of memories fell like dominoes in a row that led back to the moment I met Green Tom. I was living in an abandoned factory on the western border of the city at the edge of the tangle forest. The factory was a mangled ruin full of old machinery. It was a maze of  chutes, broken stairs, and ladders to nowhere. It was a perfect place for me at the time as I was working on a flying machine powered by thought and intentions. There were parts just lying around. The ceiling and walls were good enough in some places, the places I worked and lived in, to keep the water and wind at bay. I just hooked up my little generator for light and small machinery and worked away in solitude. No one could visit me there because I was the only one who knew the safe paths through.
One day I heard a muffled pounding a short distance from where I was harvesting some valuable pieces of metal for the wing frame. I climbed through a small tunnel of twisted machinery just in time to see a door burst open on the floor above. The stair was out and chute had fallen in its place just one step inside the door.
“Don’t take a step,” I shouted up, ” Or it will be a long one.”
I could see the lumpy silhouette, roughly person shaped with odd angularities, and vines tangled all round the edges.
“What do you want?” I yelled up again, and the form above rustled.
“I wanted to speak with someone about the forest,” he spoke in deep, penetrating groan like trees in windstorm.
“Stay there I will come up to you,” I shouted again, figuring the best path through the metal maze of the factory.
When I finally navigated my way out and around to the uphill side of the factory, I was surprised to find no one there. There was a strange tangle of ivy leaning against the corrugated sheet metal wall.

“Alo, my name is Tompowjur Boa. Some as call me Green Tom.”
I found his face among the vines and told him my name. He told me that he wandered into the city from the forest to find someone to help him replant the part of the forest that had disappeared into the city. The ancient giant part of the wood dreamers took away to build houses and monuments and games. I told him what I was working on. He thought that would be useful.
He stayed at the edge of the forest near the factory for a while (He could not live with me indoors),and I would visit him every day. He taught me how to plant, and what to plant, and how to sing to the birds and creatures to let them know what I was doing. All that was necessary in the process of making the forest grow where it used to be.
When I finished my flying machine, I went and applied for the replanting job and got it. It wasn’t hard with all that Green Tom taught me. And so I went and worked and met Leela. Morris was living most of the time with Leela then and would recite poetry in the evenings for us. He knew many poets then, but now has lost interest in all but Rimbaud.
“Where did you just go?” Morris said around a beak full of peanut.
“I was just thinking about when I met Green Tom.”
“Green Tom!” He screeched. “I just saw him on my way here. Moping about the high ponds.”
“Really, Did you speak with him.”
“No, Never talk to him anymore.” Morris chortled. “He’s a bit slow for my taste. Much too stiff and rattly.”
“Well, I guess he takes a bit of getting used too,” I said as I went back to work. “Just like some birds I know.”

Posted in Aranansi, conversations, developing relationships, Dreamtime, House and home, Teaching and Learning, Telling Stories, Wild Life | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Aranansi #7: The Best Place to Rest

Posted on August 28, 2010 by randomyriad

January 25, 2010, 21:48

I went by the old mansion. There was a sign on the gate “BEWARE THE BULL”. I peeked over the fence and there he was placidly chewing grass. Miranda was draped over his back asleep, her delicate pale arms hanging down over the barrel curve of his massive ribs.
“Well, they’re getting along pretty well now,” I chuckled.

I still did not want to test the bull’s good nature. So I headed home. Morris the minah bird was on my porch repeating some lines from Rimbaud in French. I knew they were lines from Rimbaud because that is the only poet he knows by heart.
“Hello Morris,” I said as I opened my door.
“Hello to you too,” he croaked as he flew over my shoulder into my dim workshop room. “And where have you been so long away, so long away.”
“I took a walk in the wild and then to Dudley’s for the night.”
“Oh! Dudley eh?” Morris made a little throaty chortle as he perched on the standing elephant head lamp. I pulled the trunk and the tusks glowed whitely.
“I haven’t seen you for a while, Morris. Where have you been hiding yourself.”
“I flew out to the old highway by the sea. By the way Leela says hi or high, I am not sure which.”
“Either one will do. Are you hungry or just looking for a safe place to rest.”
“I can always find a bit of seed or a few tasty grubs, but yours is the best place to rest. I always say that. Always.” Morris finished with a shrill squawk  and settled his head down between his shoulders so that his bright yellow ear patch looked like a sun setting over a black hill.
“We can talk more later.” I said as I went to my work bench to see what I could get busy with. I thought of Leela. There was that time when I was working up in the valley just over the ridge from her place on the ocean highway. There were dogs everywhere. I was replanting the forest on the ridge. Back then I could fly, too, and I flew over the hilly ground dropping seed and cones on the barren green mat. I wanted to ask Morris how the forest was growing. It had been a while so maybe there were trees and undergrowth.
I thought about a, time I came into to her tiny house when she had put in the new white tile even in the bed room. It was all pretty much one room broken into two where the floor just slanted up all of a sudden, and you were in the bedroom. They were large rooms but that was the whole place. Bright yellow kitchen: Pink plushy bedroom which was mostly bed. She was almost always in the bed reading when I came in. She would put her book down, and we would talk about my work and what she was reading and so many other things. I don’t really remember how this all got started or how we met, but there we were in that little house on the coast talking into the night about anything that came into our heads. I wonder why I left that job and the ocean. I just can’t seem to think of any good reasons why I am not still there. Oh, well things change in subtle ways. We shift to other paths that lead us into other places and other friends. I will have some questions for Morris when he wakes up.

Posted in Aranansi, change, conversations, developing relationships, Dreamtime, Fiction, House and home, Questions and riddles, Telling Stories | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Aranansi #6: An Evening at Dudley’s

Posted on August 27, 2010 by randomyriad

January 20, 2010, 22:33

I exited the park and crossed the old wooden bridge over Meadow Creek, which was now a respectable size, to Banfree’s Island, a neighborhood of many songs and languages. Dudley’s  neighborhood. It is a place of bright colors and tin roofs, a meander maze of winding streets crowded with people of all colors and costumes. I am never surprised any more by what I see here.
I always get lost for a while on my way to Dudley’s and this day was no exception, but finally I arrived at the right door. As I prepared to knock, I caught the scent of sweet vegetables and sticky rice. I was glad that I had saved the wine.
“Ah, my old friend!” Dudley exclaimed as he opened the door. “What are you doin’ in this part of the city at this time of night?”
I am always a little awed by Dudley’s voice when I first hear it.
“I brought some wine for the meal,” I finally said as a gentle smile spread on his broad face.
“Really? How thoughtful,” he laughed. “And it so happens I made enough for two. I was feeling hungry when I started cooking.”
We walked through the dim living room into the light filled kitchen. The first thing I noticed was the white clock radio I had fixed for him. It was playing Mozart.
“I thought I fixed that thing?” I said as I went over to check it out.
“Oh, you did, my friend! But I like the Mozart in evening when I am winding down. Now that you are here we will play the island music to liven the mood a little.”
Dudley moved past me and turned the dial. The radio emitted some fuzz, crackle and whine finally settling on a clanky, sliding groove in calypso time.
After dinner, we listened to Mozart while Dudley put the finishing touches on the dog he was crocheting. It was difficult work as the dog was becoming active and playful. Its wooden bead eyes vibrated as it panted. After a long struggle, he finally let the dog go. It raced about the room silently on its padded feet sniffing and exploring.
“You’ve gotten quite good at those,” I commented admiring its rust colored fringe and nicely rounded shape.
“I find the cats much more challenging. I can never get the body right,” Dudley mused. “Dogs are more comical and amusing. Cats must have dignity. I have not mastered that yet.”
When I woke in the morning Dudley was already out. The dog was still padding about full of curiosity. I was very careful not to let it escape on my way out.

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Aranansi #5: Walk on the Wild Side

Posted on August 26, 2010 by randomyriad
January 18, 2010, 15:48
“Where am I going? It can only be the end of the world.”
Sometimes I get the urge to walk out on the wild edges of the city. Yesterday afternoon was one of those times. I packed a bag with dark bread, white cheese and a bottle of the Night Bee’s wine (nobody makes wine like the Night Bee). And I walked over the arch of Train street bridge, down the long hill past the low sprawling houses that spread further and further apart. Trees and meadows took the place of houses, and the road was replaced by a path that dwindled into a track winding through the woodlands. After a while I found myself in Dim Bone Hollow underneath a blue sky. The wind was shepherding a few stray clouds. All was damp and sparkling. I sat down in the meadow  in the center of the hollow amongst the bright winter wild flowers, and took alternating bites of the coarse dark  bread and smooth cool cheese. I decided to save the wine for later.
As I got up to go I noticed that the afternoon was fading into twilight, and as I had a few miles yet to go, I picked up my pace a bit. The hollow narrowed down to a ravine where I had to pick my way along the muddy stream bank among the boulders and brush in the deepening shadows.
Once I had to stop and remain still as some hornshadows tromped through the dense forest on the ridge at the top of the canyon. There are two beasts that a hiker has to look out for around here, big cats and hornshadows. The big cats are silent and drop from above so there is not much a person can do to avoid them, but the hornshadows are tall and heavy and make a great deal of noise as they move. They also give off a pungent odor so generally it is easy to know when they are about.  Hornshadows are not vicious or even ravenous creatures, but they are curious, clumbsy and immensely strong. At times they can even be playful which makes them even more dangerous to smaller more frail creatures like me. I don’t really think they like to eat people, but I wouldn’t want to test that theory. Besides to avoid them, all you have to do is not be noticed by them which is usually as simple as standing still behind something. Which I did for about 5 minutes as they bumbled past just out of sight..
The shadows deepened. I knew I must be moving along, and that was easier now that there was more space now between the the creek and the canyon walls which gradually smoothed into hills. Then I started to hear some raucous sounds and splashing up ahead and cautiously peered over the edge of a small waterfall to see a party of five hornshadows frolicking about in a pool with some kind of freshly killed large animal. They are about ten feet high, black or very dark blue with enormous heads and shoulders from which antlers protrude randomly. They have long arms that end in broad handlike paws with long nails. Their legs are long and their feet broad and short. Hornshadows generally move about on two legs, but will use all four for moving quickly. I watched them knock each other about and rip chunks out of the carcass until the water was dark and rusty in the gloom. Finally they dragged their meal off into the woods, bellowing and grunting as they went. Cautiously, I made my way down to the pool carefully picking my way through the bloody mud.
About a half mile further down I came to the path that leads past the owl wood into the park and back into the city. I was glad to see the well tended path as the light had almost completely faded. I could here the gentle voice of night calling as I passed the owl wood.
On the other side of the path, the glow from the floating lantern globes in wading pool lit the down turned faces of children fishing with their hands for the brightly colored minnows that swarm in intricate patterns in the clear water. People say the pool is shaped like Texas. To me it is shaped like an uprooted tree stump with a upside down mountain clinging to its roots.
Posted in Aranansi, dangerous creatures, Dreamtime, Fiction, Of the Road and The River, Other peoples words, Telling Stories, Walking, Wild Life | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Aranansi #3: Miro in the Well (A Bach Fugue?)

Posted on August 25, 2010 by randomyriad

January 10, 2010, 12:34

A couple of days ago, I was walking next to my young friend, Miro. We were crossing a large field of dry grass. I looked at the line of distant mountains on the horizon just over some low tangled trees. When I looked back to where Miro should have been. He wasn’t. I looked down and saw the top of his white sailor’s hat about 20 feet down a cement tube that was a foot wider than Miro. He was sinking into the water at the bottom.
“Try to slow yourself down,” I shouted.
He stuck out his arms and slowed himself to a stop just as the water came up to his chin.
Luckily, a group of people passed through the field a few moments later, and one of them was able to find a rope. We pulled Miro out. By that time his mother was there to take him home, and I went on my way alone. As I walked away something about the well in the field with a boy and a rope made me think of Johann Sebastian Bach and his music. Maybe something like this happened to him. In his time Germany must have been full of wells.

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