Chapter Eight

     I am still waiting for some of the wood to build the classical.  In the mean while I've been working on the archtop.  I have the top finished and the back almost finished, just a bit more sanding.  Soon I'll be ready to cut the f holes and make the x brace for the top.                                                

     A close family friend died this week and we have all been devastated.  You never expect someone so young to go before you.  He was an inspiration to us all.  So full of life.  He lived and breathed creativity and spirituality.  I will greatly miss him.  I was reminded of how hard it is to love sometimes.

Sky-Circles

The way of love

is not a subtle argument.

The door there 

is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles

of their freedom.

How do they learn that?

They fall, and falling,

they are given wings.

     Maybe Chapter eight will be a small escape from reality, if only for a moment.  Thanks to an old friend, Cliff Launt, who has taken on the job of illustrating the story.  I think you will enjoy his interpretations.

Chapter Eight

Who is Mr. Struggles?

     Mr. Popper opened his eyes.  Things were blurry.  Where was he?  How long had he been unconscious?  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to focus.  Things were clearer now.  He looked about.  He was in a grand bed made of locusts poles.  The soft mattress consisted of fresh oak leaves, river moss that had been dried, and pine needles, to give it an aromatic scent.  Someone had woven a blanket out of spun beaver hair, dyed in several colors, and wrapped him in it.  The room, if you could call it that, was oval shaped, with low ceilings and convex walls.  River cane had been soaked in water and bent to form the structure, and then, what appeared to be watermelon sugar, was used to construct the walls.  It was dark, except for a single candle that was lit and burning on a small table in the corner.

     “How did I get here?”  thought Mr. Popper.  “I remember jumping off the barge, to keep from going over the waterfall, and then...  Yes, I remember seeing the dark eyes and the webbed hand on Mr. Struggles!  This must be the home of the Hellbenders!”  he thought, with a start.  “But why would I still be alive?  They surely would have let me drown.”

     No sooner than he had finished that thought, the door opened and in came Bon Bon,    walking sideways and shaking her butt like she does when she’s glad to see you.  She gave Mr. Popper a lick kiss, which mean’t she was so glad that he was alright.  

     “Bon Bon!”  he said, giving her a big hug.  “Where are we?  Where is Mr. Struggles?”

     Bon Bon made her triangle face, and Mr. Popper knew immediately, that she had answers to his questions, or she wanted something to eat.  Bon Bon turned and started out the door.  Mr. Popper followed behind, hoping for some answers.

     They entered a large room and Mr. Popper could hear Mr. Struggles conversing with someone.  The room was similar to the room he had been in, but it was much larger.  The space was bright.  Lit up by what, he hadn’t been able to detect.  And then he saw it.  There was a huge window.  It went from floor to ceiling.  It was the waterfall!  He could see it!  It was the waterfall, but they were behind it!  Not only behind it, but under it with the afternoon sunlight shining through.  It was breath taking.

     He looked to see who Mr. Struggles was talking to, and laid eyes on the strangest creature he had ever seen.  She was average size for a person, but she was not a person.  She had webbed feet and hands, long, braided yellow hair, and her skin was shiny, like nitrocellulose lacquer.  She was red like wild strawberries, and black like midnight.  Her eyes were golden slits, like cat eyes and she was looking at him.

     “Ah, Mr. Popper.  I see you have recovered.  Let me get you some breakfast and a hot cup of tea.”  she said, with her most unusual voice.

     Mr. Popper was startled by her speech, which sounded like an old squeaking mattress, as you turn over in it, during the night.  “Thank you for your hospitality.  I should love a cup of tea.  Could you please explain where we are, and who you are?”  Mr. Popper asked.

     “You are in the underwater kingdom of the Frog Women and Turtle Men.  I am Sallianda Mull, the Queen of the Frog Women.”  she explained.  “We saw your fight with the Hellbenders and rescued all of you before you went over the waterfall.  We have brought you to our kingdom, under the Tuffaluktee, to rest from your injuries and to help you in anyway we can.”

     “I can not express our gratitude for all you have done for us.”  Mr. Popper said, and bowed low to Sallianda.

     “It was and is our privilege to help you.  We have heard of the stolen Music Water, and your mission to return it.  We would love to assist you in any way we can.”  she said.  “I will go and prepare your breakfast and leave you all to discuss your plans.”  she said, as she left the room.

     “Mr. Struggles?  Are you feeling alright?”  he asked.

     “Yes.  I slept well and I feel quite rested and ready.”  Mr. Struggles responded.

     “I hate to eat and run, but I think we should be on our way as soon as possible.  Polly and the girls are out there by themselves and we must find them.”  Mr. Popper added.

     “I fully agree.”  he said.

     “Mr. Struggles, I”m a little concerned that with your propensity toward, how should I say, bad luck, that maybe your helping might do just the opposite.”  Mr. Popper said, trying to be as delicate as he could with Mr. Struggles feelings.

     “I am so sorry.  I will try not to interfere.  I am cursed and there seems to be no hope for me.  I’m sure I don’t pretend to know why the Shamans wanted me to be a member of this mission.”  he apologized. 

     “No need for apologies.  We just need to be more careful.”  Mr. Popper kindly spoke.  “Why do you feel as though you’ve been cursed?”

     “Because I have.”  Mr. Struggles said emphatically.  

     “Would you be so kind as to share your story with Bon Bon and I, so that we may understand?”  he asked.

     “Yes, I guess if we are going to be on this journey together, we must have no secrets.”  Mr. Struggles began.  “When I was young, I was quite selfish and very foolish.   I and my associates would go out most nights to see what kind of trouble we could make.  We loved to play jokes on others and have, mean spirited fun, at their expense.  One night we were leaving a pub.  It was quite late when we came upon an unusual looking old man.  He had long red hair and wore a tam.  He had a coat that almost drug the ground, with a large half moon and stars on the back.  And he had a most curious looking cane.  It had the head of a tiger carved on it, with precious stones and mother of  pearl inlaid in the wood in beautiful letters of an unknown dialect.  I asked the old man if I could see the cane, but he was quite reluctant.  He said it was special to him and that we should leave now before we regretted it.  We surrounded him and I took the cane, thinking I could sell it for a good bit of money.  As we began to walk away from the old man, he began to cry.  I turned to look at him, just as the first tear rolled off his cheek.  Before it could hit the ground, the cane, that was in my hand, jumped to catch the tear in mid air.  As it did so, it fell to the ground.  I reached down to pick it up, but it had become a snake.  It bit me and left two holes in my hand, that are still there today and serve as a reminder of how foolish I was as a youth.  With that, all my friends left me.  The old man reached down and picked up the snake, which now had turned back into the beautiful cane.  My hand began to swell and I felt a strange sensation sweep over my body.  It was like a dark cloud descended on me.  ‘You have been cursed my foolish friend.’  the old man said.  ‘From this day forward, all your good fortune has been replaced by bad.  You will bring ill will on everyone you know, and everyone you meet.  You will forget who you are now and all your life will be spent struggling until you have come to the end of yourself.  The only cure for this curse is for you to become empty of yourself.  Only then will you realize who you really are.  This will be hard, but in the end can be a great gift if you will let it.’  I never found out who he was, but I assume he must have been some sort of a great wizard.  As the days and weeks went on, I found his prediction to be true.  I couldn’t keep a job, because I would always mess something up.  I couldn’t maintain a friendship, because something bad would always happen to the other person.  And strangest of all, I couldn’t remember who I was, and no one seemed to recognize me.  So, I took the name Mr. Struggles and that is who I became.”  he said, shaking his head.

     “Thank you for sharing that with us, Mr. Struggles.  Now I think I understand you better, and what we are up against.”  Mr. Popper said.  “Perhaps this journey will serve as a sort of penance, that will help to break the curse.”

     “I can only hope that you are right, Mr. Popper.”  said Mr. Struggles doubtfully.

     After breakfast, they were escorted to a grand cathedral.  It had windows one hundred feet high, that looked out under the Tuffaluktee.  Fish of all kinds could be seen swimming by, as well as the dreaded Hellbenders, but the journeyers were all safe inside.  The room was beautifully decorated with large tapestries and plush braided rugs.  It had paintings of the history of the Frog Women and Turtle Men on the walls, that looked very old.  And in the middle of the room, was a golden throne.  On the throne was a very short, pudgy, old Turtle Man.  He had the face of an old man, with a long grey beard, and the body of a turtle.  

     “Welcome my friends.”  he said, with a tone of authority.  “I am Octavius Woodring.  I am the Lord of the Woodrings.  We are the main sect of the Turtle Men.  I know you are anxious to be on your way.  If you would tell me how I can be of service to you, I will try to help as best I can.”

     “Lord Woodring, we are trying to recover the Music Water for the counsel.  In order to do so, we must elicit the help of the Dillieyards as trackers to the den of the Tigers.  We need to leave here and find our way to the Dillieyard’s town where we will hopefully meet up with the rest of our party that we were separated from.”  Mr. Popper explained.

     “Very well then, I will have you brought to the northern tunnel.  From there, you will be able to follow the tunnel to the edge of the Dillieyards camp, avoiding the dark woods altogether.”  said Lord Woodring.

     “That is most wonderful news.  Thank you so much for your help.  We will always think fondly of our short time in your kingdom.”  Mr. Poppers said.

     They were lead out to a small tunnel.  Only big enough for them to crawl on their hands and knees.  It was totally dark.  You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.  They were instructed to go all the way, which would be several miles and take many hours, until they felt a stairway.  Then take the stairway up.  Now it is quite a scary thing to crawl for hours in the pitch dark in a tunnel that is so small that you cannot turn around in, but this is precisely what the three of them did.  Mr. Popper lead the way, with Mr. Struggles in the middle, and Bon Bon bringing up the rear.

     “I think I feel the stair way!”  exclaimed Mr. Popper, after many hours of crawling.

     The journeyers began to climb the stairs.  There must have been thousands of them.  After what seemed like hours, Mr. Popper came to the end of the staircase.  He felt around in the dark and found a latch to a door in the ceiling.  As he opened it the sunlight poured in and blinded them all.  He poked his head above ground, and  squinted in the harsh light.  There before them was the village of the Dillieyards.

     

     

    

Chapter Seven

     Nothing new on the guitar front this week.  Just waiting for money, although I may do some work on the archtop tomorrow.
     Here is chapter seven for those who are still reading.  Also, I have put up a place for you to enter your email address if you like, and then when I post you'll get an automatic message telling you there's something new to look at.

Chapter Seven

Dream World

     In the morning, the girls woke to the most wonderful smell, of Polly’s pineapple and pear upside down pancakes, with hot blueberry syrup and lots of butter.  The girls were all starving after all the dancing, the night before.  During the night, the magic had worn off and all the animals went home to their own beds.  

     “I think I could eat ten pancakes!”  Keona exclaimed.  

     “I think I could eat twelve!”  said Thea.

     “I eat more!”  spouted Una, who was new to the idea of talking.  “I eat this many.”  she said as she held up all her fingers and toes.

     “There are plenty,”  Polly said,  “so help yourselves.”

     The girls ate until they could eat no more.  Keona ate ten; Thea ate twelve, and little Una ate fifteen.  Her belly was so full, she looked like she had eaten a soccer ball. 

     After breakfast, they loaded up Donkeyhotie and headed once again into the dark woods.

     After some time, they came upon a pool in the midst of the woods.  Smaller than a pond, but clear and clean looking.  

     “This must be fed by a spring,”  said Polly, “in order for it to be so clean.  We can fill our water bottles here and rest awhile.”  she said as she sat down on a big rock.

     Thea got out her water bottle and headed for the pool.

     “Look in the pool!”  she said, with a start.

     As they all ran over and peered in, what they saw was astounding.  Beneath the water was another world.  There were trees and flowers and strange brightly colored birds.  There were squirrels and rabbits and things deeper down, moving around, but they couldn’t make them out.  And everything looked as if it had been painted by some impressionistic artist like Monet, or Renoir.  It was all strangely beautiful and also oddly familiar.  Almost like they had been there before.

     “Isn’t it lovely?”  said Thea.  “It looks like a moving painting.”

     “This is most beautiful,”  said Polly, “but I think we should be careful.  This could be some sort of deep magic.  It may not be what it appears to be at all.”  she cautioned.  “Let me fill our water bottles, and then we better head on, before it gets too late.”  She leaned over and dipped a bottle into the pool.  Much to her surprise it wasn’t wet and and no water filled the bottle.  “This is odd.”  Polly whispered.  “The water isn’t wet.”

     “How can it be water if it’s not wet?”  asked Keona.

     Just then, Una, who had yet to learn how to swim, let out an ecstatic shout, and jumped in the pool, feet first.  With out a hesitation, Polly jumped in to save her, followed by Thea and Keona.  When they hit the water there was no splash.  There was no ripple on the surface.  There was no feeling of dampness on their clothes, and strangest of all, they could breath under the pool.  Una squealed with laughter as she landed on dry ground.  Polly, being so relived, didn’t notice how their features had changed.

     “Polly, you look like you’ve been painted.”  Thea said.  “No, you look like you are paint.”

     Polly looked at the girls and then at her own hands and arms.  It was as if they had been painted on canvas and then had magically come to life.  They looked like themselves, but yet different.  They had the same flesh tones, but mixed in were blues and greens, yellows and reds, which you wouldn’t think strange in a painting, but in real life, seem curious.

     “It looks as if we’ve all been altered by this pool in some bizarre way.”  Polly answered.  “I think we should get out of here.”

     Polly tried to pull herself out of the pool, but when she touched the surface, it was now hard like thick glass.  She could see Donkeyhotie on the bank looking down at them, but she could not reach through to the surface of the water.  Donkeyhotie looked on, not sure how to help.

     “It looks as if we’ll have to find another way out of here.”  Polly said, worriedly.  “Let’s explore a bit and see what we can find.  I’m sure we will find a way out without much trouble.”  she said, unconvincingly.

     So, they set off to find a way out.  They walked among tall willow trees, that weeped down with long branches, like worshipers bowing to a sacred deity.  They traveled through huge fields of velvet wild flowers, that looked like thick plush persian rugs, and smelled of exotic fragrances that were new to them all.  There was a smell like burn’t sandalwood  combined with lilacs, and something like cotton candy.  There was also a smell like autumn, mixed with spring, and shaken with a hint of a snowy winter’s day.  Then there were the creatures.  Things they had never seen, yet that also seemed familiar.  Bumblebirds.  These were tiny birds.  About the size of large bugs.  They were black and yellow and buzzed around the girls curiously.  There were flying fish and barking spiders; singing red pandas, and grass that carried you along as you walked on it like a conveyor belt.  Most curious of all were the clouds.  They all had faces and would watch them as they walked along, only never saying a word, except to whisper something to one another every so often.

     In the distance, before them, they began to see the figure of a man.  He was tall and thin.  Wearing a knee length red jacket, with the collar turned up and no shoes.

     “Let’s see if we can get some directions from that man and maybe figure out where we’re at.”  said Polly pointing to the strangely dressed man.

     As they got closer and tried to make out what he looked like, they realized they couldn’t.  The more they looked at him the more his features blurred.  Keona tried, to no avail, to focus on him.  She would stare at him and then suddenly not remember why she was looking at him, or even remotely remember anything about his features.

     “Hello sir.”  said Polly, with her usual friendly tone.  “My name is Polly.  We are lost and not sure where it is we are.  We have come from the other side of the pool, but can’t seem to get back that way.  We should very much like to return and be on our way.    Could you tell us what this place is called and how we might find our way out?”  she implored.

     “It is my pleasure to have you here.”  he said, as his features continually blurred and shifted.  “My name is Philemon and you have ventured into Dream World.  You have all been here before, although you may not remember.  We have met, but you will not likely remember me.  I will be your guide while you are here.  I shall try to help you and will answer any questions I can.” he said, as if they were old friends.

     “What is Dream World?” Keona asked, feeling strangely comforted by this seeming stranger.

     “Ah, Dream World is the most magical place of all.  It’s a place where you can learn to fly, or ride dinosaurs, or talk with the trees, or even swim with whale sharks.  This is the place where you go when you are sleeping.  I happen to live here.”  Philemon explained.

     “So, are you saying we’re dreaming?”  Polly asked, somewhat skeptically.

     “No.  I should say if you came by way of the pool, you are awake.  To be awake in Dream World is a privilege few have.  It means you are free.  Free to do as you wish, or not to do as you wish.  You are simply free.”  he said, with a smile.

     “We wish to be back on the bank with our burro and on our journey, if you would like to know what we wish.”  Polly said, starting to get rather annoyed.

     “Well then, I can help with that.”  he said, and then began to explain.  “You can never go back the way you come in.  It is always uphill.  The trail is usually nice when you begin and gets harder and harder as you go.  Things will go from quite lovely, like they are now, to dark and direful.  And then you will meet Pesadilla.”  Philemon said, and paused as if pondering the name.  “She will show you the way out, if you can conquer your fear.  She is of the dark; made of the dark.  Of things that frighten.  Of secret fears that no one knows.  She is part of you and has seen the rooms, in your mind, that need to be swept clean, or unlocked and opened, even though there may be terrible things inside.  She is lovely, but dangerous, and you have all known her since you were children.  As a matter of fact, you knew her best when you were children.  The girls will be the first to recognize her.”  Philemon said, glancing at the girls.

     “I don’t understand.”  Polly frustratedly said.  “Is this woman, Pesadilla, somehow over Dream World?  Why does she have the authority to let us go, or keep us here?”
     Philemon replied, “She only has the authority you give her, but she knows the way out.”

     “Why can’t you show us the way?”  Polly inquired.

     “Because I live here.  If I understood what you all, already know, I should leave here with you, but that was never given me to know.”  Philemon answered.  “You will understand soon enough.  For now, I think we should be on our way, if you will follow me.”  he said, and turned, and began walking toward a trail in the trees.  

     Polly and the girls followed Philemon into the forest.  It was mythical.  A land that you only read about, or come up with when you are day dreaming, instead of doing your school work.  They started up a slow incline, that began to take them up a great mountain.  There were huge moths, the size of eagles, flying around them as they walked.  They were black and red, or a green and blueish dragon burst.  There were birds of all kinds and colors and of course the Bumblebirds.

     “I should like to hear the birds sing. Would it be alright if I gave them a taste of the Music Water from your bottle, Polly?”  asked Keona.

      “I think that might be nice, and maybe it will put a little spring in our step.”  Polly answered.

     She handed the bottle to Keona, who pored a small bit on a giant water lily.  When the birds heard the faint call of the Music Water, they came to drink.  The sound was like a symphony warming up.  Tuning their instruments and checking their music, and then it began.  Like the sound of a thousand captured angels being set free, or the sound of sunlight dissolving into liquid, and running down a mountain side melting the snow as it goes.  The gift of song, to a songbird, is the gift of life.  It made their hearts light, and their steps seem fewer.

     For some time, the trail was sunny and an easy walk, but then it turned steep.  The trail began to climb, with many switchbacks.  Finally they reached the peak.  They found themselves standing on a bluff overlooking a great valley, covered with dark storm clouds.  There was a cool breeze blowing, which was very refreshing to them.  As, they looked down, a dark figure moved across the valley floor, like a shadow.  An ominous feeling overcame them all.

     “Do you see that black shape moving across the field?”  asked Polly.

     Philemon replied, “That would be Pesadilla.”