Story of fantasy, adventure and possibly symbolism!
The Hermits Daughter, part 2
The Hermits Daughter, part 2
read - The first part of the adventure
Horace arranged the large sheet on an improvised easel. 'Another day!' he exclaimed gleefully, and Kate smiled. An hour or so painting every day before they continued their trek had proved to be a wise move. Life didn't have to be all slog, and Horace found it easier to remember this now that Kate was around looking so much younger and vulnerable than himself. He was beginning to suspect that her vulnerable youthful appearance was largely illusion.
Horace found himself whistling when Kate reminded him that it was time to pack their tent and make tracks. Life is full of surprises, he mused. Whistling! What would the prophet think ...
*
After many days travelling towards the higher land they finally came to a town. It seemed to be a junction of several paths, possibly trade routes, and there were many people, donkeys and camels.
Horace shaved before they entered and got quite a surprise when they came to the first clear shop window. He went to peer inside but due to the light he could see only his own reflection.
'I look years younger!' he said. 'I didn't mean to shout,' he added.
Kate smiled, but not very enthusiastically in Dog's opinion, and a dog's opinion is never quite as humble as the mere humanoids assume.
'Having a bit of help shaving makes a difference,' added Horace. He felt inches taller as he walked along the street, enjoying seeing fresh faces – more and more of them as they approached the town centre.
A friendly young woman took his arm and began chatting. Well, this is a pleasant place! thought Horace.
The dog began jumping up at Horace and the young woman. Horace told it to get down.
'He does make a fuss sometimes,' he explained, and the woman nodded non-committally.
He looked around for Kate, but she was walking some way behind him and seemed to be in a mood. The young woman imitated drinking from a cup and pointed towards a doorway. Horace smiled back and hesitantly peered into the room. Nothing ventured nothing gained, he thought.
Horace looked out briefly through the shady doorway into the glare of the afternoon sun. Dog seemed to be keeping Kate company at a seat by the public drinking fountain. They seemed safe enough, Horace thought, so he went further inside into the smoke, music and mystery.
The 'girly' as Horace called her shrugged voluminously as Horace left trailing the dog.
'I've lost custom to irate wives or girlfriends before,' she sighed. 'I've even lost custom to a combined team of wife AND girlfriend once, but never before have I seen an elderly gent with a hang dog expression exiting prematurely hanging behind a dog.'
'It could be a first!' conceded her work colleague. 'And not likely to set a trend.' She smiled, despite the loss of potential income.
'I bet he didn't have any money, anyway,' shrugged girly.
'You didn't know it was an opium den? And worse!' demanded an irate Kate.
Horace shook his head, glad of seventy years of suntan to hide his blushes. What most worried him was the fact that Kate apparently did know of opium dens. What could be worse? And where had she been before arriving at his cave to learn about such things?
Kate patted Dog affectionately, making it oh so plain that he was a more valued and reliable fellow traveler than Horace the muggins.
That night he looked into his shaving mirror and prayed quietly to the prophet. 'Should I do something about my falling hair?' he asked, since it was falling out at a steady rate.
'Yea, thou art bald like unto the coot,' boomed a mysterious voice. 'Never again shall hair grace the top of thy head all the days of thy life. Worm!' came the reply.
'Okay. Okay. I was only asking!' he complained.
He turned to see Kate, apparently now in a better mood.
'Ah,' he exclaimed. 'You do impersonations! Very impressive.'
*
The next day, as they prepared to leave the town, Kate smelled freshly baking bread and smacked her lips enthusiastically. Horace smiled as Kate hurried away, following her nose like all good intuitives are inclined to do, sometimes to excess.
'I'll steer clear of smoky dens today,' Horace affirmed. He sniffed. 'Mind you, smoke wafting from yonder cooking stoves smells appetising, not to say healthy.
The dog nodded sagely.
Several dozen people sat around a large fire and two elderly men with apparently random arrangement of teeth – large, small, cracked, yellow, gold, missing, lopsided – tended several huge black pots from which spicy fumes arose.
'No women of ill-repute,' he muttered. 'And I do need something to eat.'
Horace swallowed and gently admonished his taste buds for being such victims to the world of senses.
Having settled himself before a huge bowl of “spicy camel, millet, vegetables, fruit and today's mystery extras” (buy one and get only one, you tight sod) he translated, Horace was invited by his neighbours to join a game of dice ...
'Oh may the prophet help me,' groaned Horace as he had the familiar feeling of being led, once again, into a better life by a mere dog.
Kate glared at Horace as he traipsed out of the market behind Dog.
'Welcome back ... .'
'Hello Kate,' began Horace.
' ... Dog.' Kate finished. 'Did the strange man swindle any old ladies or fellow crooks?'
She patted Dog in a loving manner. The dog, Dog, looked mightily pleased, yet not a bit surprised at his treatment, which he so clearly deserved.
Horace spent another sleepless night wondering at his stupid behaviour. Had everything he'd ever learned counted for nothing once he'd travelled into the world of people. Now and then he had bad feelings about Kate – maybe she was a trick of the devil, meant to lead him into temptation? A pleasant mood, in its way, but Kate was so obviously disappointed in his failings, so she could hardly be serving the evil one, unless his main aim was suddenly the promotion of paradox.
*
That night Horace dreamed again of a woman. A young woman. A glamorous young woman, even.
They'd left the towns and market places and Horace woke in a mood, feeling such images were just another headache. So far as he could remember, he was now about 70 years old, and the prophet was either testing him to distraction or had gone slightly mad. He looked nervously up at the sky, and was relieved to note the absence of thunderbolts.
'Clearly a glamorous woman is not to be taken literally,' mused Horace, 'but maybe the prophet does want me married?'
'Sorry Horace?' asked Kate.
'Just muttering to myself, Kate.'
'We'll be insight of the mountains tomorrow,' added Kate.
My eyesight is weird, thought Horace, sometimes Kate looks about twelve years old, sometimes about forty. 'Ah, the consolations of age,' he moaned.
'Pardon?'
'Nothing.'
*
'Home!' shouted Kate, pointing up the side of the mountain.
No sooner had they begun the climb than Kate complained of feeling dizzy and Horace had to carry her. There were narrow paths where goats and sheep had worn the grass down, boulder strewn levels where Kate leant on the larger rocks and Horace was able to rest a while.
The dog, may the prophet bless his little furry paws, was the epitome of patience and good behaviour. Horace wondered more than once if the dog understood why they were so slow labouring up the mountainside compared to their four-legged friend.
*
Several days patiently carrying Kate over the large chasms to progress up the mountain did a lot for Horace's stamina, but the air was thinning and he had to rest more often.
'Not like that mad hare!' said Kate. Horace had the uncanny and rather worrying feeling that she looked years older than when she'd arrived. Not older in an aged sense, taller and wiser. He never counted the days, except for keeping track of the feast days of the prophet, but Kate had first appeared a couple of months ago, rather than years. Could children really grow up so fast, or was it just his feeble eyesight?
Horace realised, as he turned up the sleeves on his shirt, that his weeks travelling with Kate had added muscle to his arms and tone to his skin. On the third day of their ascent he'd suddenly became light-headed, maybe the thinner air, possibly the exertion, and began reciting poetry.
'I didn't know you'd learned poetry,' said Kate. 'Was it written by the prophet?'
Horace shook hid head, puzzled. 'I don't know,' he confessed. He thought Kate didn't appear surprised.
*
A beautiful woman approaches. She is holding hands with a young girl – her daughter.
'A daughter too,' wailed Horace as he woke. 'The prophet, with all due respect, is one chapati short of a vindaloo.'
'You're awake then,' observed Kate.
'I'm beginning to wonder,' moaned Horace.
'Do you want to talk about it?' asked Kate.
'Not likely...'
*
Dog yapped excitedly, they turned a corner and Horace saw many people coming towards them. In the distance Horace could see a group of modest dwellings arranged around a steeply spiralled temple featuring vividly coloured glass windows.
'Welcome Queen Minerva,' the people chanted.
Horace turned back and nearly fainted. The people were greeting Kate with great fondness and familiarity, and placed a crown on her head.
'Kate?' said Horace.
Kate, or rather Minerva, shrugged.
'Some things never change,' he said. Queen she may be, but she still looked thoroughly mischievous, which felt oddly reassuring.
*
After several days alone reading the prophet, Horace became so frustrated and moody that he hurled the book to the ground and stamped on it. His heart beat alarmingly and he felt his inner world falling apart.
Horace dreamed of a changing room near his home, his cave in the desert:
The changing room is somehow part of my cave. It is an addition.
I'm feeding a stove but it's empty. There is no fire and whatever I put into it is just wasted.
A lady with her young daughter appears outside the changing room. 'We're next!' she says. A lady with a young daughter appears on the other side of the changing room, down some steps into the market place on the plains. 'We're next!' she says.
Horace woke in a rage. 'Why don't they just leave me in peace?!' he raved. 'I was better off months ago as I've been for years! Decades, even!' He felt a pang of guilt on realising he'd never have met Kate, but was it worth it?
'Are you okay?' Kate kindly asked, appearing on cue.
'I'm totally baffled,' said Horace.
'By what?' asked Kate.
'Everything! But I no longer care. Isn't that weird?'
'Ah. Progress ... ,' said Kate.
'Hmm,' complained horace. 'Full marks for enigmatic, not much for helpful.'
'Does the little man need help, then?' Kate sweetly smiled.
Horace went away from the palace and houses towards the lake and walked around it. He remembered that in the dream the steps down to the second woman and child were stained and unsavoury. The doorway out to the woman by his cave were not. He felt he'd been found wanting on their travels through the market towns, but sensed the image wasn't only about him. Maybe he'd needed the journey to realise what a sorry state the world he'd ignored had become. The idea wasn't convincing.
He imagined the prophet waiting for him after his death, and felt sure he'd be judged a failure.
*
'I've ruined my book of the prophet,' he moaned, 'stamped it to dust,' and he realised he'd have to write his own. Maybe he could remember lots of it ...
There was something in his stubborn mood that said he'd stick by everything he'd done. He'd do the same again, probably. This path was too hard for mere mortals, he'd done his best, and who could ask for more than that?
He took out his pad and with an almighty sigh wrote his first words.
The Debatable and Impermanent Book of Horace
(by Horace)
thought no.1
Live a life devoted to love
and love is what you'll attract!
But try this with the dregs of the world
and they'll walk all over you with glee
... dog training techniques work better with the
resolutely ignorant
(by Horace)
thought no.1
Live a life devoted to love
and love is what you'll attract!
But try this with the dregs of the world
and they'll walk all over you with glee
... dog training techniques work better with the
resolutely ignorant
At least it's a start, he thought.
Horace turned a corner and found Kate waiting for him, wearing her crown. She was accompanied by a young girl, she wore an expression exactly the same as the prophet in Horace's fantasy of his day of judgement. Horace held his breath, fearing the worst.
'Welcome Horace,' said Kate, and smiled beautifully. She took his left hand and the young girl took his right, carefully enclosing his fingers around his pen and notebook.
They led him into the temple where he discovered all the dice players, ladies of ill repute and men of ill temper that he'd met on his journey. Horace was surprised and disappointed.
'This is the reward for seventy years devotion to the teachings of the prophet?' he grumbled. 'Back into the gutter?'
Kate smiled knowingly, with just a hint of rebuke. She pointed to the young girl who was walking through a gate towards an enclosed garden of trees, flower beds and a large pond. Horace followed the girl and found a cosy corner walled in on two sides by a vertical bank. Evergreen palms formed a roof to the enclosure and his easel and paints were already set out, together with his cooking utensils, a table and two chairs.
Horace was home.
