The Quest of George Part Four: Self-Control
July 20th – evening.
Sunny today. About 24 degrees. Sunrise at 6, sunset at 8. Half moon …
No this won’t work. No one wants to read a history of the weather. Not even me. What do you write in one of these things?
Lewis said that it would help. I turned, startled by the presence of my new friend. He caught me off guard – transfixed by the image of the stranger in the river. The river-stranger who had my eyes and my trademark chin. My cowlick. I was stuck wondering who he was. This evil twin.
“Who are you George?”
Well, I must have been that way for a while when Lewis said it. And he must of been there a while too. I was nearly swimming in that reflection when his words caught my collar.
“This will help”.
I turned around to see a book in his outstretched hand. “A book” I thought! A ‘how to’ book, was it? How to not be such an untrusting idiot!? I took it. I owed him that much. He headed off towards the house and I was alone again. With disinterest I opened the cover.
Blank! It was no book at all, but a journal. An empty journal. Lewis wasn’t trying to tell me something – he wanted me to listen. To listen to that man I saw down there in the river. I hadn’t done that for a long, long time. I wasn’t going to start, either. I put the journal in my pack, next to the flask. My useless collection.
Fido bounded from the woods right into the face of the river-stranger. The dog replaced my own reflection and it seemed fitting – like he was almost half of me by now. I yelled, “No Fido – stop!”. But he must understand my words as little as I do his. “Stop” seems to mean “YES! Do that more!”. He splashed about and I sought cover. I became his towel as he whipped his body tightly back and forth on it’s axis. With each shake his fur set itself free from the cold water and my reflection. He splashed me over and again until we were both soaked.
And I suppose that’s how it all started with the Garden – and with Mary.
It had been sunny, and I could have dried off. Except that I had lost time in that riverbank. The moon snuck into the sky, sneering at my predicament. It brought the cold with it. I would not dry off this way. I had no choice but to head up to the house.
I say house – I should almost say fort. The fort is the kind of secret place I dreamt of as a boy. The kind of place where you show your soul to just one friend every summer. This was a hideaway. A treasure. A Pirate’s Cove, a secret lair. And I was about to enter – sheepishly. Few things can motivate me to swallow my pride and ask for help. Being cold is one of them. Being wet is another. It is no coincidence that both anger and shivering clench my teeth involuntarily.
I knocked softly, but they were joking around inside – or were they singing? I knocked a little more loudly – trying not to make a scene. Only the smashing pound of my fist worked in the end. The laughter inside stopped and I heard a drip from my sleeve hit the ladder. Another one traced my spine with it’s icy slither. The door flung open and Lewis bellowed, “Friend, you look half frozen!”.
“I hadn’t noticed”. My tongue caught that sarcasm like a frog to a fly. Instinctive. Just fast enough. “Don’t screw this up” I thought. “You can’t afford to be so … you.”
Lewis swept me under his arm and pulled me inside.
“I’ll tell Fido he has to stay …”
But he had taken off. He never did like that house. I thought it was the heights. Now I see it was the first sign.
Lewis brought me into his home and sat me down at his table. His wife poured soup and I inhaled it. I slept like a baby that first night – and until mid afternoon the next morning. They just let me sleep. They let me do a lot of things. I spent the first days resting. If I was going to make it to the Landowner, I knew I needed to refresh. Just for a day or two.
Or three. Or four.
The food was so good. The family so kind. They had asked me to stay until the end of the month. Their daughter Mary was to turn 21 – become a woman. I could see it was important. I denied and they asked that I at least stay another day, when their daughter would return from town. She had gone to buy a dress for the party – one fitted and sewn especially for her. She would like to meet me, they insisted, and I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse.
Besides, I had just started the garden.
Right by the tree – beneath the fort-house – there is this little plot of land. Great land. I wanted to get my hands dirty. I asked Lewis one night whether he would mind if I tried my hand at a little garden while I was still around. He delighted at the idea. The town was a far walk for vegetables. He’d get me seeds tomorrow. He walked away and the peace I felt in this place worked it’s way down.
I could get used to this.
That peace was cut by a sharp bark. As my eyes struggled to catch up with my ears, I found Fido at the end of the path – about 100 feet away. He just sat there and barked. And whimpered. He wanted to run. Wanted more adventure. “I’m no pup, Fido!” I shouted back. He didn’t move forward at the turn of the path – just barking and whining at the crossroads. “Must see a squirrel or something”, I had thought. How could he be restless in a place like this? Crazy dog.
Next day I planted those seeds. This Little Garden somehow took on meaning for me. It grabbed my attention. I am a farmer! That’s who I am! Yes George – you’re starting to get it! Carrots, tomatoes, potatoes and dill. No more room. What a stew that would make though! Maybe I’d have to stick around a bit to taste it. Bess would make good stew.
I stood up surveying my perfect rows of seed. My kingdom – my one speck of control in this foreign soil. I was the Master of something at last. And then I heard Fido. He stood far off at the crossroads and he barked. And he whined. “It’s going to be a great garden Fido!”. “Fresh carrots for you!”. He barked. I saw no squirrel.
I haven’t talked much about Mary yet, and I should. She was the second sign.
Mary came back from town when I was out fishing for dinner. She was in her room when I came in and washed up, and I didn’t see her until we ate. Bess and Lewis and I sat waiting around piping hot fish and rice for her arrival. I have to be honest, I didn’t expect much from Mary. Lewis’ wife Bess is, pardon me, no prize. Her features are barely more delicate or feminine than Lewis’ own. I did not expect Mary.
She emerged from her room – wearing the kind of airy sun dress that carried you into my heart years before. She floated in it, like a ghost who did not know or care if anyone could see her. Like a ghost – all spirit. All dream. She took her seat but quickly got back up, apologized and offered her hand to me. I felt like a prince in an old storybook – like I should take that hand and place a kiss upon it. She was looking for a shake – and shook firm – like her father. I nervously let go – a moment too late I felt, and knocked over my glass of milk as my hand retreated to my fork. I cleaned up, cursing my clumsiness. The rest of that evening I continued to act more like a trained ape than a man. I could walk upright and use utensils, but conversation seemed a trick too hard. Mary asked who made the fish. “It’s so delicious” she applauded. “I did” I answered. Then I remembered I did not.
“… catch it”.
Nice save. I did catch it. Me George ape, you Mary girl. Me no understand simple question. Me quiet now.
Look at George eat his rice – that’s tricky even for people! Good ape!
I got up from the table and retreated to my room, fully expecting to slip on a banana peel to the sound of a slidewhistle as I skulked away.
Things got better though. I talked with Mary often. I told her about everything at home … almost everything. I told her about my quest. She seemed enthralled. This mysterious stranger from a far off land! This world traveller. And from the Dry Land too?! Mary had not met a dry-lander before. I felt like a rebel, young and impressive.
And I was impressive when I tended that Little Garden that had grown at amazing speed. It was as if the soil were magic – just waiting for a wizard’s incantation before it exploded in green. I was the wizard and Mary liked my tricks. We watched together as little green tomatoes lit up the vines.
“Maybe”, I schemed to her one evening, “this food will be ready for your party. We could all eat it together then. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“Yes, it would! So, you are staying then?”
Someone wanted me to stay. There were not many tears when I left the farm. But I was wanted here. I was needed here. And wasn’t this Little Garden as good a land as I could ever hope to get? Perhaps this was where the Landowner had wanted me to come all along. Isn’t that his way? Meandering, surprising paths? Maps we cannot fully read or understand? I have heard such talk.
Fido barked at his invisible squirrel once more. He just stood there at the crossroads and barked. Maybe if I could see his eyes I would have picked up on something. But he was a good hundred feet off. And it was dark. And he wasn’t really my dog, anyways.
As days passed, I worked the garden and I slept. I pitched in around the house and chatted with the family. We played games at night. We became so close that it seemed right for me to stay for that party. How could I not? Mary would be a woman and she would soon meet a man. Or had she already? What was happening to me? What was I thinking?
The night before the party I had a dream. I was tending the Little Garden. The plants had begun to snatch at the clouds above. They must have been a hundred miles high. I stood back, proud. Well done, George. I heard footsteps behind me, and I could smell Mary’s perfume. She was walking towards me from behind, but I did not turn to see her. No hurry. I would let this moment wrap itself around me. I would enjoy this. I stood open jawed at my accomplishment. At night, it’s fruit would be the stars! I waited for Mary to tell me she was proud, too. She placed her hand upon my shoulder. Her arm was around me. I tensed up, but then relaxed. She had not touched me before. I was swimming in a pool of shark-water thoughts. I turned to kiss her, open eyed. I turned and saw you, Emma, and then I woke up.
I tried to push that dream out of my head all day, and I nearly succeeded. “What would Emma know – or anyone know – of this place?” I had found my calling! I was fulfilling my potential. Perhaps the Little Garden would grow as high as I dreamt. These people understood me. Emma – they got me the way you used to get me. The way I used to get you. I still want to be got.
At dinner Lewis, Bess and I waited at the table for Mary – as we had that first night. Her second coming was far greater than the first – a gift wrapped in a custom-fit gown. A gift for some lucky boy somewhere. Someone. Some farmer? We were able to eat a few of my vegetables, though most were still waiting for the right time. And then I remembered – the right time! Yes – there was one more thing I could bring this family – could bring Mary. The flask was in my room. The Ancient had told me of two conditions. It must be drank at the right time and in the company of friends. These were more than friends by now, and as far as I knew at that moment, I would never leave that house.
I declared, “Wait! A toast!” They looked puzzled until I emerged from my room, flask in hand. I poured for each of us and just a little remained. It was nearly a perfect amount! This was surely the right time. I would stay here – they would let me. My journey ended. Whatever the map said, this was my destination. A toast to my peace. To my fulfillment. “A toast” I cheered, “To Mary!”
“To Mary!”
We all drank deeply.
Silence.
Spew! Gag! Wretch! Heaving coughs filled the air!
Mary’s white gown stained red with the vile, spit liquid. My wretched, lazy soul soaking the pure, joyous evening in darkness. My easy-way-out face reflected back at me in my half-full cup.
The third sign. Three strikes. I got it …
What does it matter that I mastered that Little Garden? I can’t even handle myself.
Mary left the room, stained. Bess and I didn’t talk, but Lewis sat with me as I packed. The empty journal fell open from my pack as I rushed. Stupid ape. Lewis simply picked it up, dusted it off and handed it back to me.
“This will help”.
I packed like a madman – not wanting to lose any more time, and more than slightly embarrassed. I said thank you as best I could.
I didn’t look for Fido because I knew where he was. Waiting for me at the end of the path. Barking. Restless. I hear you boy. I am listening now.
We have been walking through the night and my body needed to stop but my mind is racing on. I write, and it does help. My mind is remembering you Emma – and seeing all the parts of you that I thought were Mary. Yes … I am missing you.
Tags: Stories, The Quest of George