Wispy tips and purple flowers, the plant sat on the shelf like a delicate ornamental trophy, its leaves grew the memorandum of designs lost and later proclaimed as something monumental.
Once there was a village who refused to ask themselves questions. They questioned each other and each person asked what was required to give a predisposed answer that would grant them the permissions to continue to live, however, no one questioned these questions either. Thus there was a village that refused to question themselves, therefore their questions. In other words they did not interrogate the words of their asking or those who asked. They were “scripted” people.
2.
Once there was a woman of poor eyesight who dared to ask herself a question. She repeated this question religiously each day as she baked muffins and prepared herbal tea. “Why not go to market today?” After she wiped the jam and butter from the corners of her mouth and replaced the cleaned dishes to the cabinet, she would gather her hand bag and slicker then leave through the gate to the town square. “Yes, she would exclaim,” bustling one arm into her polyurethane jacket while the other swung the handles of her coated fabric handbag, “Why not go to the market today?”
More often than not as she approached the end of her amber travertine walkway and reached out to the swan neck iron handle, she would remember the skeleton key to lock the gate. Without question she would return to the house and find the latch key.
3.
In the town square there were many people, each with a predisposition, an idea of how the universe worked. Each with their own universe in mind they moved like an archipelago would if each island was unattached and free floating, not the tip of a larger volcanic body protruding from the earth’s athenosphere. Each person was mostly predictable. Goods and wares were sold and used and purchased again. The same people at more or less the same time would offer supposedly new thoughts and ideas that were quaintly attached to previous ideas which were subtly above the surface of understanding.
The woman had but one question and it was simply, “Why not go to the market today?” She did not ask herself why she would go to the market but somewhere deep inside she felt that on this day going to the market would somehow make her stronger. She didn’t realize that she was weak because she, like all of the other people in the village, dared not to ask herself questions therefore knew nothing of weakness.
She would not go to a Doctor proper for an answer. Nobody asked questions of the self and thus would not go to a Doctor for the proper answers regarding such matters. The Doctors of the village came to the people. They were slow in rounds and often only came upon situations of near death. The Doctors were followed by the coroners and the coroners were followed by the priest and the priest were followed by the pall bearers and they were followed by the grave diggers, who would never go to a person’s house because their position was to stay in the cemetery and dig ditches.
4.
When the woman arrived at market she saw things of shapes and size and color but with poor eye sight found it difficult to decide. She felt about the items on tables and stumbled about touching things. Her hands grazed over flowers and plants, breads and fruits. The aged wrinkled hands of the woman rubbed over textiles and linens. The tactile properties of most of the objects she handled were soft and soothing but left her feeling limp and vague. As she reached out for more and found watering cans, but had no flowers to water, a bread box but no rolls or fresh bread. Besides she had a bread box that was given to her from an old friend which kept her grains fresh for most of the week and since she could not see well had no reason for purchasing a new for the sake of aesthetics. She grasped the edge of furniture, dressers and a bed but as she felt the mattress she was once again soft inside and weak.
She was near the end of the market and turned to leave when she tripped over a large object that had obstructed her path. She bent over and petted a stone gargoyle which was sitting as a paper weight of the contracts for the furniture salesman. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “how solid and unmoving.” She bent down tracing the features. A head like a cat, ears engulfed by the flow of fur, a lion’s mane. “How much for the stone lion,” she inquired of the market man who depressed his lower lip and palmed his chin thinking. With solvent stained thumb he tapped his mentalis. “You’re sure that is for you?” was his usual response when he was about to make an unsure sale.
The furniture man was like the other salesman, proficient in every way at their craft and skill. They knew their clientele and what was best at fitting person to property both naturally and aesthetically.
“Oh, yes!” cried the woman, “this is just what I am looking for.” She squinted up at the furniture man and smiled.
“Well ma’am you seem happy enough…” he bit the inside of his cheek, “and that sure is a nice smile you’ve got…”
The woman raised her hopes with her eyebrows silently pleading.
5.
Inching its way over the spines of books and figures of knick-knacks, the leaves expanded its announcement into bi-pennant patterns which obscured old possessions from view.
The woman returned home with her old stone gargoyle and concidered a proper place for it. Still under the impression it was a lion she remembered how when she had better vision she would often go to the library and read from books. Outside the large granite building which contained volumes of her favorite fictional stories were two stone statues; one of a griffin, named “endurance” and another of a phoenix named “determination”. From that memory she decided it best to place the gargoyle outside the house on a pedestal beneath the cherry tree. She liked it there and could enjoy it whenever she left for or returned from market.
The next day as she wiped jam and butter from the corners of her mouth and prepared for her trip to market she remembered yesterdays purchase. Instead of asking herself "why not go to market today" she gathered her handbag and strode out the door to consult her new stolid animal friend. "Why not go to market," she inquired playfully. The statue of course did not reply. She waited a moment for an answer which she imagined was forthcoming. A bird tweeted in the cherry tree above.
“Oh what a divine and pretty song,” thought the woman. I shall go to market in search of music for us to share. She turned and walked the amber travertine walkway to the gate. As her hand touched the swan neck handle she remembered leaving her key back at the house, so she turned again and walked back to retrieve her latch key.
6.
The truth about each town person's universe was simply, there was no truth. There once was a king who ruled the townspeople. He declared that the only way to remain in the town was to speak good things of the town and the only way to profit from the kingdom was to speak great things of the kingdom. Anyone who understood the value of words and the temper of their meaning supposed that what was good for them would either be bad or great for another and those that were great for themselves could only be good for the kingdom and therefore not great. The entire town and kingdom fell silent for years not knowing bad from good and neither being able to profess which could possibly be for the other and thus lived in fear of banishment. The townspeople took to writing books, most of which were fiction. Books were passed around and shared yet no single truth was distinguished from another and no complete truth was decided on since no one had the lifetime to complete all of the books. After the King’s death the townspeople built a giant library for all of their books. Those that were fiction remained in the library and those which were ideas were created into businesses and handed down. Two stone statues were carved and placed on either side of the entrance, one with the mane and body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle named “perseverance”, the other with the wings and body of an eagle and the head and scales of a dragon named “composure”.
When the lady returned home with a sweet little penny whistle she played a little song for her statue. To her the lion listened peacefully with a large smile across its face. As she played she remembered exciting nights of dining with gentleman callers who swept her off her feet across ballroom dance floors, guiding her, this way and that as their bodies played harmoniously. She finished her song. “Did you like that my new friend?” She asked as she stroked the gargoyles head and pet the smooth contours she considered its mane. She remembered her memories and was pleased with her purchase. She patted her stolid animal friend goodnight and went inside for bed.
7.
The following morning the woman woke later than usual. The sunshine was her alarm yet the room seemed dim and the sunlight mottled. She went quickly to the yard to see if the sun was disappearing. The brightness stung her eyes. The sun was still in the sky, full and illuminating and ever so warming. She turned to her stolid animal friend and shouted with radiance, “Doesn’t the sun feel ravishing my dear old friend?” and then a moment later, “Why not go to the market today?” She laughed youth from her heart and tilted her head upwards to the tree. She could distinguish the shadows of branches and leaves and tiny clustered dots of the cherries which hung low. The woman turned again to the stone statue, “What pleasure do you desire today?” She paused and cupped her palm behind her ear, waiting for a response. There was nothing, only silence. She looked up into the tree and whistled for the birds. The woman heard nothing but the silent wind as it shimmied the branches and leaves.
The woman had felt the warmth of the sun though and it reminded her of the heat from her oven when she baked loaves of bread. “I know what I will do for us today my strong friend; I shall bring back fresh dough to bake in my oven and tonight prepare delicious cheese sauces to dip our fresh bread.” She turned and walked the amber travertine path to the gate, grasped the swan neck handle and tugged. It was locked. “Oh, why won’t you stay open,” she spat. She turned again and trumped the amber walk path back to her house to retrieve the latch key.
8.
Vine covered walls of foliage dispatching the missives with runners that carried a message of growth.
Each town person had their own idea of how the universe worked and there was no single truth for all people yet each person had a function in society; a tool, body part, color, object, made into an icon, given a normal or odd label and told “this is who you are, everyone knows who you are but only you know the depth of your knowledge”. There was no set monetary or rewards system; things were taken at face value. Those who have it are always watching to know how to take it, those who don’t are always waiting for the right moment to approach. Still though nobody knew about business ethics enough to know right from wrong and the elderly great men were so incredibly tired of reminding people and finding new ways to enforce the necessity of the old kingdoms system that they became good men as well, visiting people door to door and followed by a crowd.
That evening after the woman’s sauces had been dipped and most of her bread had been eaten she sat in the front yard beside her statue with a large swollen belly, snuggled up to her solid stolid lion animal friend and slept. She dreamed of her late husband who had died while on duty. His job, he said, was to fight in the war where he dug fox holes and trenches. Each day he returned home he would return sodden and soiled. He was a pretty man with large hands that when clean, covered entire regions of her body. Often he would approach her from behind and embrace her completely with his arms, nuzzle his face deep into the crevice of her neck and with one giant hand cup her breast and the other hold her hips firm to his. He was tall and strong. He was her strength.
When she opened her eyes the woman was blind in the dark. Night had fallen and with poor eye sight felt the grass towards the travertine walkway and the walkway towards her door. As she crawled on her hands she thought of how much time this seemed to be taking her. Then wondered how long she had been asleep. It would be a relief when she reached her bed. Ahead she could sense she was nearing the door. The woman reached up and grasped the swan handled neck of the gate. “No!” she cried out. “I’ve gone the wrong way! Why?! Why?! Why?! She found herself saying. “Why are you here now?! Why are you never open?! Why do you keep me in?! What good are you…you…you gate?!” The woman enraged turned and crawled back on her hands and knees across the amber travertine walkway towards her door.
As she reached the stone statue again she asked, “Wouldn't you like to go to market tomorrow?" she paused, "What would you like?” The woman again waited for a response, a sign. There was nothing but the wind through the cherry tree and the gentle creak of the drying limbs, a ripple then a crackle and a crisp leaf fell by her hand. She waxed it between fingers feeling the midrib and ribs out to the margin.
Inside, the house was darker there was not even the light of the moon to help guide her poor vision. She felt around for a lamp but only touched what seemed like tiny sheets of paper sewn together and hung all about her house. She thought she must still be dreaming and perhaps if she went back to sleep she would wake again, outside, snuggled beside her strong stone friend. She curled into a ball and wept for her husband. She cried herself to sleep, her tears falling upon the paper.
9.
Something tickled her nose and she swiped her open palm across her face. Her nose tickled again and she opened her eyes. Dangling above her head were rows of fuzzy seed pods suspended from a great vine which appeared to be her coat rack. Hanging on the rack were odd squares and circles that resembled her hats and polyurethane jacket. Coiled around the height of the rack and stealthily watching her was, upon closer examination, what used to be a knitted scarf. The house was dark and she wondered if she could still be dreaming. Slivers of light penetrated the darkness; she felt for the door handle and pulled. The door would not budge. The vines had grown thick around the frame and secured themselves outside. She felt along the walls to the windows but the vines were embedded everywhere, protruding to the other side like prison bars. They grew up the chimney and covered the roof. The small plant she had purchased long ago after her husband had gone.
The woman found her way into the kitchen. She prepared herself tea and ate the rest of her bread with butter and jam.
10.
The next day the elderly great men of the well, also known as the Doctors proper, arrived at the woman’s home, followed by a coroner, who was followed by the priest who was followed by the pall bearers. By the time they arrived to tell me about what had happened I was already sodden and covered with the soil of a fresh fox hole.
