The Journey (14 page)

‘All night Alzire tossed and turned, not only for fear of the creature that was on Goffa, but also in distress at the absence of her star from the night sky. She got up and sat at the window for hours, looking out at the brightly splattered heavens. All those stars and hers not among them! She could not sleep, and morning found her in an unhappy state. She kept the star on her bed, where it glowed dimly, casting a faint light on the walls and ceiling of her room.

‘The next night Alzire climbed the hill again, but with none of her usual confidence. And her worst fears were realised. When she came to the same bend in the path she looked up with a sense of foreboding, to see, once again, the great monster in the same position as the night before, though if anything it now seemed even bigger. It was crouched over the top of Goffa, in a position from which it could easily launch an attack, and the bulk of its vast body covered the whole summit. Alzire could now distinguish its head from the dark shadows that surrounded it. The head was big as a house and was mounted on a neck that was long and supple as a reptile's body. Slowly the girl retreated again and returned to her house for another sleepless night.

‘This pattern was repeated for seven nights. Alzire was becoming desperate, and thought even of sacrificing her life in a mad rush at the creature. Every night her star grew a little dimmer, as though the monster was sapping light from it. Alzire began to fear that it would go out forever.

‘On the eighth day Alzire found herself in the garden, watching the gardener at work. The gardener, an old gentle woman, called Alzire over.

‘ “Look at this,” she said, pointing to a leaf. Alzire walked listlessly over and peered at it. She saw a cocoon, with something gradually emerging from it. As the insect chewed its way clear Alzire realised that it was a little black wasp.

‘ “I thought that was a caterpillar's cocoon,” she said in surprise. “Look, that's a caterpillar's skin right next to it.”

‘ “Ah yes,” said the gardener. “The caterpillar thought so too. But before the caterpillar even lost its first skin, it had a visitor. You see, this type of wasp lays its egg straight into the caterpillar. The egg hatches and the baby grub gets its nourishment by eating the inside of the caterpillar. Not that he knows about it; he goes on eating, too, and getting bigger, but in the end he's no match for the wasp larva inside him. By the time that last skin came off it was the wasp that shed it, as there was nothing left of the caterpillar. Then the wasp-grub makes its own cocoon and settles down for a while to grow into a fully-fledged wasp.”

‘ “That's horrible!” Alzire exclaimed. “That's terrible!”

‘ “Oh, it happens all the time,” the gardener said mildly. “That, and things like it. Happens with humans too in a way. We nourish evil things inside us, and eventually they destroy us if we let them, and then out they come, triumphant and powerful. Yes, we make our own monsters.” She looked knowingly at the girl, then turned back to her work.

‘With a great flash of understanding Alzire suddenly understood what the gardener was telling her. The creature on Goffa was her own creation, born out of her own darkness. It had fed on her moments of selfishness and weakness for all these years and finally it had grown strong enough to survive on its own — and to destroy her star. The girl realised that this was her moment of decision; that unless she could destroy the monster now, she would be trapped forever.

‘She ran into the house to find a weapon. But although she searched the contents of every room, there was nothing with the aura of power that she sought. It was not until the late afternoon that she came again to her bedroom and there saw on the bed the only thing strong enough to help her. Taking the star on its string, she set off towards the hill of Goffa once more, but this time with hope and determination in her heart. She did not even see the old woman, the gardener, who watched her go.

‘Alzire climbed the mountain, gaining strength from the fact that the star glowed brighter with every step she took. As she rounded the final curve in the path once more she saw the grim creature waiting for her, but this time she felt no fear. Raising the star she started towards the shadowy monster. But as the light fell upon the top of the mountain, the shadows retreated, and the monster seemed to shrink and shrink. The darkness faded before the light. Alzire realised how much power the thing had drawn from her fear; how much fear had magnified its size. When she finally confronted it, on the very top of the storm-tossed hill of Goffa, she was surprised to see how small it really was. But when she raised her hand to strike it, it slipped away, and bounded down through the long grass, disturbing rocks and small stones as it went. It was quickly out of sight.

‘It was then, with her new understanding, that Alzire became aware this creature could never be killed, but only kept as small as possible, and stopped from growing. To keep it so small as to be insignificant was perhaps the greatest and most important task that life offered. With a sense of responsibility very different from the light-hearted way in which she had flown her kite before, Alzire unfurled the string and let it soar back into the heavens where it belonged. The star seemed to almost burst with light. And it seemed to Alzire that every other star in the firmament was glowing more brightly than ever before, as if each and every one of them was saying: “Welcome brother! Welcome sister! Welcome at last!” '

The Fifth Story

‘T
HE
world's greatest circus,' Argus began, his voice and delivery showing signs of greater confidence, ‘was always laid out in the form of an avenue. Its owner, a woman named Zexta, had a fine sense of climax. She liked to begin with the smaller acts, to whet the crowd's appetite. They would pay their money and enter at one end of the avenue, where they would see twisters and rumblers and bouncers. As they went on a little further they would be invited to watch acrobats and stilt-walkers. Beyond them, they would linger at the scrabblers and contortionists.

‘As the people made their way along the avenue, however, they would become conscious of a huge pavilion that was waiting for them at the end of it. Zexta, with her magnificent sense of showmanship, had designed it so that it was higher and broader than all the other buildings. She had it draped in curtains, a kind of heavy silver brocade, so that it was always in the corner of people's eyes. And it was resplendent with banners, all of which bore the same message in different words: “SEE THE FREAK”, “ABSOLUTELY THE ONLY ONE IN THE WORLD”, “A UNIQUE BEING”, “POSSIBLY THE MOST AMAZING CREATURE IN CREATION”.

‘So while the people were looking at the roller-boarders and the wobblers, they would also be thinking about the pavilion at the end of the avenue, and speculating about what kind of oddity might be in it. By the time they reached it they had convinced themselves — or rather, Zexta had convinced them — that they were going to see something truly extraordinary. As indeed they were.

‘Access to the pavilion was by way of a large set of solid steps. People mounted these and then walked along a ramp which started wide but kept narrowing, so that eventually everyone was forced into single file. At this point they passed through the entrance, viewed the freak within, and then were ushered on through an exit which took them right out on to the street, leaving the circus behind.

‘And what did they see? Who was the freak?' Argus smiled. ‘They saw a unique creature all right. For Zexta had placed nothing but a huge mirror in her splendid pavilion.'

The Sixth Story

‘A
BOY
once lived in a certain place. There were things there. When he was hungry he put things in his mouth and his hunger went away. When he was cold he put things on his body and the cold was gone. When he was tired he closed his eyes and lay down, and something would happen for some time, and the tiredness would be ended.

‘One day he heard an old voice talking. The voice kept talking about a “garden”. The boy thought this was a very pleasant word. There was something beautiful about it, that caught hold inside him and would not let go. So he decided to go and find this thing called a “garden”. He began to walk, looking for this thing.

‘He walked a long way and did not find any “garden”. But one evening, at around dusk, he heard a sound that he thought the most fragrant and delicate he had ever heard. It shivered and tingled around him in the twilight. The sound seemed to come from a young girl, and near her was sitting an old woman.

‘The boy said to the woman, “What is that sound?”

‘The woman answered, “It is the sound of a flute, playing music.”

‘The boy said, “It is very beautiful.”

‘ “Yes,” the woman answered, “It is something like the sound of birds in a garden.”

‘The boy travelled on, until one day he came to a huge and ornate palace. He went inside, into a great hall, at the end of which was a man dressed in robes. The boy walked towards him, marvelling at the soft feel of the floor beneath his bare feet.

‘The boy said to the man, “What a wonderful thing this is to walk on!”

‘ “Yes,” said the man, who was a king. “It is called carpet. It is rather like the grass that one finds in a garden.”

‘The boy went on his way, still searching. Some time later he met a woman carrying a large square thing under her arm.

‘ “May I see what you are carrying?” the boy asked politely. The woman held it up for the boy to see, and he was struck dumb with astonishment. He had never seen anything so exquisite.

‘ “What is it?” he asked faintly, when he had got his voice back.

‘ “It is a painting of a flower,” the woman replied. “A flower from a garden.”

‘The very next day the boy came upon a group of people all seated around a table, laughing and talking. They were putting different things into their mouths. In particular, they were dipping their hands into a large jar that stood in the centre of the table, then they sucked on their fingers. The boy sat down with them but they seemed not to notice him. After a while he was emboldened to follow their example with the large jar. As soon as he transferred the stuff to his lips, his mouth was filled with a rich glow of great sweetness. It was as though the flute was now playing in his mouth.

‘ “What is this?” he asked the people in delight.

‘They turned their faces to him.

‘ “It is honey,” they answered.

‘ “What is honey?” he asked.

‘ “It comes from the nectar of flowers,” they explained. “Out of nectar the bees make honey.”

‘Much later on his travels the boy met a beautiful young girl, dressed in white, walking beside an expanse of water. The boy went up to her, sure that he could learn from someone so attractive. As he approached her he felt a wonderful sensation fill his head: he felt that it was lifting him from the ground. He realised that this feeling was entering his head through his nose, and he touched his nose dazedly.

‘ “What is happening to me?” he asked.

‘ “Perhaps it is my perfume,” the girl said shyly.

‘ “Perfume?” the boy queried.

‘ “Yes, perfume,” the girl said. “Perfume is our poor attempt to distil the smells of Nature into a liquid, so we can carry the smells around with us wherever we go.”

‘Filled with wonder at the things he had learned, the boy was more determined than ever to find a garden, and so he searched all the harder. But his searching was in vain. No matter how hard he tried he could not find it. After a long long time he was at last forced to abandon his quest and return home. He walked with head hanging low and feet dragging in the dust. But as he came to his home once more, something wonderful happened. He heard the clear musical sounds of birds singing. He smelt the sweet richness of flowers growing. He felt the soft coolness of grass under his feet. He lifted his head and saw the colours staggering with joy, the wise shade of great trees, the bright movement of bees. “This is a garden,” he exclaimed with delight. “All the time I had a garden here at home, but I had to go away to understand it!” '

The Seventh Story

A
RGUS
crossed his fingers that he would remember and hoped that he was not straying so far outside the guidelines that he would offend the elders. He took a deep breath.

A
week after the celebrations, when the stream of well-wishers had at last started to dry up, Argus faced his parents again, in a curious replay of his first departure from home. He had told them much about his journey, including a detailed account of his life with Adious. They had listened anxiously and his father had commented at the end, ‘You weren't meant to grow up that much'. His mother said nothing. Argus realised from his father's comment that although he had changed, his parents had not. It helped to make him feel easier in his mind about the course he must now take. And so he told them that it was time for him to set off once more, to meet up with Adious and Jessie, and that he did so not only out of a sense of commitment but also out of love.

But before he had finished, his mother was silently weeping and his father's lips too were quivering.

‘I'm sorry,' Argus said gently, feeling a little desperate. ‘But hear me out, please. I've got two suggestions to make, and I want you to agree to one of them before I go. The first one is that Adious and Jessie and I come and winter with you every year. We'd be happy to do that and it would mean that you could save all the major jobs on the farm until I got here each year, so that the place could be kept in good shape. But the other idea is that you retire from the farm here and come with us to our valley. It's small but it's pretty, and I'd build you a house where you'd get lots of sunlight. It's a peaceful place, and you could do as much or as little work as you wanted. The only thing that I wouldn't excuse you from is playing with Jessie, and teaching her as you taught me.'

There was a long silence in the room.

‘It'd be hard for us to leave our friends here,' Argus' father finally said.

‘Yes, I know,' Argus said, not attempting to cover the problem with platitudes.

‘What's the night sky like?' his mother asked, thinking of her astronomy.

‘Rich in stars,' Argus answered, smiling. There was another long silence, which Argus broke. ‘It's something to think about,' he said. ‘There's no rush. I plan to leave around the end of the week, to get Adious. If you think you might be interested, then we'd come back here from Conroy, to talk it over some more, and to move you, if that's what you decide you want. But,' he added, in unconscious imitation of the words he often wished his parents had said to him, ‘you decide what's right for you. Whatever suits you best.'

It was, as it turned out, a little over a week before Argus actually left. During that time he knew that his parents had many anxious discussions about his proposal. They asked him a number of questions, but it was hard for him to tell whether they were starting to favour the move or not. But they did at least intimate that they wanted to meet Adious, and so it was agreed that he would return with her and Jessie as soon as he had paid his respects to the aunt in Conroy.

In the event he was not away for long. This time they heard him before they saw him, as he came whooping and singing up the driveway, with a dusty, smiling Adious and an excited Jessie riding on his back.

‘Pack your bags, grandma!' he shouted out to his parents as they came out to greet the little family. ‘Get your things, grandpa. We're looking for a midwife and a couple of grandparents. It's going to be a springtime baby and we want you there to see it!'

With another exultant whoop he slipped Jessie off his back and began turning cartwheels around the verandah. His parents looked at each other then at Adious, and the three of them smiled, the smile of loving complicity. Argus grabbed his mother around the waist and began dancing with her.

‘I thought we sent him away to grow up,' his father grumbled, half to himself. He looked at Adious. ‘Mind you, I remember doing handstands along this verandah the night he was born. Ah well, I guess somehow none of us ever grow up.'

He turned, and with a new sense of life in his step, went inside to fetch a bottle of wine.