| General Fiction posted August 19, 2022 |
  |
A Flight, A Fancy, A Fiction
Cleona
by irishauthorme
Come away! O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than
you can understand.
--W. B. Yeats
A soft, cooling twilight breeze was coming down off the Big Horn mountains, sweeping over the high block wall surrounding my back yard. The thunderheads rearing up in the western sky were tinged pink, dry lightning flashed from their dark undersides.
I had just finished sweeping off the house deck and was snapping the broom into the hanger when I heard the sound. Bright, tinkling, with curious changes, like a Tchaikovsky piano concerto, mesmerizing. It was a siren song.
I went down the steps and crossed the soft, damp lawn. There, behind the giant willow tree, across the patio tiles, she stood in the corner fountain, poised on one small foot. Clear water poured from the pitcher she held in her left hand. In her right, a solar rose pulsed with a soft, red light. Her head was turned to me, the curls under her pointed hat flying behind. Her tunic was buttoned up the front and her short skirt hugged her legs. The eternal smile promised a bright future. In keeping with my Celtic heritage, when I brought her home and put her in the fountain, I had named her Elowyn, an ancient Cornish name for the elm tree, long associated with the mysterious fairies, elves and the underworld.
The last rays of the sun brought Elowen's face to life. The strangely tilted eyes shone, her smile bringing out the dimples in each cherubic cheek.
The hanging fronds of the willow swayed in the breeze as small lights blinked on behind the leaves of the Virginia Creepers climbing the wall. The chiming of the falling water was captivating, echoing off the cement blocks.
I sat on the wooden bench, and closed my eyes, absorbing the gentle music.
When I opened my eyes, fireflies danced just over the fountain pool.
Fireflies? Wait a minute. This is Wyoming, aren't fireflies just down south, in warm climates?
And yet, there they were, perhaps a dozen or more, a swarm of lights dancing up and down erratically, so close together it seemed they would collide. The soft breeze took them out from the pool, but they swayed and returned, their lights reflected in the water.
I watched for a while, fascinated. Where had I seen fireflies before?
It was five years ago when Alanna and I spent the earnings from my last published novel on a vacation in Playa Del Carmen, on the tip of the Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico. On our last night there we had a few consolation drinks and a sad, candlelight supper on the beach while we watched the light fade over the blue water of the Gulf of Mexico.
Alanna, the classics student, took my hand and said, "Quid agis fieri non potest emendari, carpe diem!" She smiled at my blank look, then said, "What's done can't be mended. Enjoy the pleasures for the moment without concern for the future!"
Just after our waitress, Arguella, took away our dishes, the fireflies appeared suddenly from the beach scrub bushes. Just a few at first, then hundreds of them, a swarm darting up and down.
When Arguella brought coffee royals, she looked at the swarm of lights, smiled at us, and took a flashlight from her apron. She flashed the light at the swarm; two flashes, pause, two flashes, pause, then two rapid flashes. She repeated the flashes and a magical change came over the swarm. All the fireflies started flying up and down together, a coordinated rhythm that was beautiful.
It was also our last time together. Shortly after we returned home to our small town in Wyoming, Allana disappeared. She had driven to our only supermarket for ice cream to top the zucchini cake she baked that afternoon. The driver's side door of her car was open. Despite a massive search by the county officers and Wyoming Search and Rescue, no trace of her was ever found. I have lived alone for five years, waiting. I also have not written a word for five years. My agent and publisher have given up on me.
I shook free of my reverie, went back to the deck, and took my flashlight from its charger. Back at the patio I sat again and pointed the flashlight: two flashes, pause, two flashes, pause, then two quick flashes.
The fireflies froze for a moment, hovering, then slowly formed two circles. I flashed the sequence again, and the inside circle flew up on the third and fourth flashes, dipping as the outside circle flew up on the last two. A dance, a beautiful dance!
I felt dizzy. My hand fell to my side, the flashlight beam shone a tight circle on the tiles. My breath left me. The dancers' rhythm pulsed in my brain: Dada, dada, da!da! Dada, dada, da!da! I was nodding to the rhythm.
The largest red dragonfly I had ever seen lit on the arm of my bench. Its wings must have spanned six inches. It cocked its head a few times, then flew through the bright dancers, grabbed one with its feet, and flew back and lit on the bench arm. The firefly squirmed, trying to protect itself from the gaping jaws above it.
Instinctively, I whipped off my ball cap and swatted the dragonfly hard. Dragonfly and prey fell to the tiles. The firefly bounced free. The dragonfly's huge wings buzzed it around in a circle on the tiles. Its back was broken. I hit it again and it stopped buzzing.
When I looked up the fireflies were gone. I felt a loss. How could they have disappeared so fast?
I looked down at the flickering light on the tiles and gently rolled the firefly into my cap. I raised my cap, and I could see one tiny wing was broken, folded over.
There was a sudden hush and silence. Everything slowed down, then stopped. The waterfall froze in place. The Willow fronds were limp and still. My brain went numb. My eyes closed, and yet I could see. Myriad lights flew around me as a woman's warm, gentle voice spoke in my mind:
"Michaelino, you saved one of us from a horrible death. She is injured, and you are the only one who can save her. Do you believe in us?"
I couldn't speak but my heart responded; "Yes, yes!"
"Her name is Cleona."
She read my question before it was formed.
"You will receive guidance."
When I awoke, there was a tiny girl, about the size of a robin, lying in my cap. She was a little replica of Elowyn, with one broken wing. A dim light glowed inside her.
I shook my head a few times. The fountain was silent, no light in the rose. The Willow fronds hung limp and still.
I looked down, but she was still there. I rose and took my patient inside and laid her on the kitchen island counter. I heard a thump at the open door. A large tortoise stumbled over the door sill and into the kitchen, holding its grizzled head high. I heard a grating voice in my mind: "I am Epictetos. I live in your garden. Show me Cleona."
I put my hand under the cap and lowered the small form. The tortoise looked at her very close, then cocked his head and looked up at me. I felt him assessing me. "She is very near to going to the green."
His beak opened and snapped shut once. "There are some herbs you will need to make a vox populi."
"Vox---?
"A medicinal drink!"
"Two herbs are in your garden, rosemary, and dill. Sage, you can gather, and there is a patch of mint on the riverbank at the power-plant bridge. The other herb is the root of the Ashwagandha plant, but you will have to steal it from the garden of Hui Zheng, a mean and cruel man." The tortoise turned and thumped toward the door. He looked back at me over the knobby plates of his shell. "Do not delay!" he grated, then he was gone.
I sat for a minute after Epictetos left. I looked at the open, empty door then at the little, still form, crumpled on my cap. I felt tired, but I got up and went outside. From Alanna's deck display, I took the bearded gnome from his bed. I went back in and put Cleona on the soft, white mattress cover of it. Her hat was gone, and her dank curls were dark against the white cover.
I looked up the ashwagandha (withania somnifera) plant and printed out a picture. The description said you had to wait until the foliage died down, then harvest the root.
It was kind of late, eight o'clock, but I looked up Hui Zhang's 'Healing Herbs' yellow page ad and called him. There was a recorded message and I left my number and a message, that I wanted to buy herbs. A minute later, he called me back. I told him my aunt was dying, and needed that plant root. "No! No sell ashwagandha! You buy other herbs!" Wow. He was mean and cruel!
By ten that night I had all the herbs except the mint. I crept down the riverbank next to the bridge and got a basket full of it. I went back to the house and looked up Hui Zhang on my GPS. He had an acreage on Buffalo Creek Road, right on the BigHorn River, about eight miles from town.
With my shovel, a sandwich bag, and a razor knife in my pickup, I drove out and turned left onto Buffalo Creek Road. When my GPS said, "Arrived at the destination!" I drove slowly past the two-story house. With just yard lights on, I could clearly see the tall tomato vines behind the garden fence.
I parked about two hundred yards away and walked softly to Zhang's graveled driveway. I could hear the river gurgling as I kept close to the house. I walked quickly across the lighted space and through the garden gate. With my flashlight muffled, I looked at four rows of herb plants before I finally found the Ashwagandha, way in the back, just one, and it was blooming! I grabbed the bush and pulled it up anyway, cut the small root loose and stuffed the bush back into the hole. The root was about the size of a green bean.
I heard a growl behind me. Turning, my flashlight lit a huge, black dog, snarling, teeth bared. I started back toward the fence, then a beam of light blinded me, and a sharp voice shouted a command.
"Whoever you are, you stop! One command, my dog tear you to pieces!" The dog barked but stayed still. "County police here soon!"
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze for a moment, then I took the sandwich bag from my rear pocket and held my hands behind my back while I wrapped the root in the plastic bag. I held one hand over the other in front of my face and stuffed the root bag in my mouth and pushed it up between my cheek and gums with my tongue.
I heard the siren before I saw the flashing red and blue lights. The police car roared into the driveway, spraying gravel. Two cops jumped out, flashlights in one hand and service pistols in the other.
"Over here! Over here!" I heard Hui shout. Moments later, I was face down on the damp garden earth, hands above my head, then I was cuffed and hustled to the cop car. A hand on my head forced me into the back seat. The cops got a statement from Wes, then we were on our way. My Lord, what about Cleona? She will die without this herb!
At the jail, I was strip-searched, then given an orange jumpsuit and put in a chair in a small room. A deputy I knew, Scott O'Brian, came in with a clipboard and a small recorder. Scott put everything on the small table, then sat. He leaned back in his chair, glared at me, then sighed. He held a ballpoint pen by the top and slid his fingers down, reversed the pen and slid his fingers up and down, again, and again.
"All right Mike, what is this all about?"
I pushed the bagged ashwagondha root back against my upper gum. "Oh, yeah. Well, see, Scott, I have this dying little garden vixen, or fairy in my kitchen, and I am collecting herbs to make a special medicinal drink that might save her life.
The only Aswagandha plants in this area are growing in Hui Zhang's garden. He is a mean and cruel man, and would not sell me the plant, so had to steal it! Simple, no?" Who in the hell would believe that story? No way out. I needed a good story.
"Look, Scott, I have this rare mental ailment and I need a certain herb to treat it. I called Mr. Zhang, but he would not sell it to me. I am willing to pay him whatever, for the herb." I leaned forward. "I don't remember being in his garden!"
"Did you steal the herb?"
"No," I lied, "He caught me, and you guys got there too fast."
"You are being charged with criminal trespass with intent to rob, could get you 6 months in jail and a $5,000 fine." Scott waited here, then he said, "You don't remember being there, but you do remember that you didn't steal anything?"
He carefully watched me for a reply. I took a chance.
"Can I get away with pleading just trespass?"
Scott's smile was grim. "Not unless you get a damn good attorney."
To be continued...
Come away! O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than
you can understand.
--W. B. Yeats
A soft, cooling twilight breeze was coming down off the Big Horn mountains, sweeping over the high block wall surrounding my back yard. The thunderheads rearing up in the western sky were tinged pink, dry lightning flashed from their dark undersides.
I had just finished sweeping off the house deck and was snapping the broom into the hanger when I heard the sound. Bright, tinkling, with curious changes, like a Tchaikovsky piano concerto, mesmerizing. It was a siren song.
I went down the steps and crossed the soft, damp lawn. There, behind the giant willow tree, across the patio tiles, she stood in the corner fountain, poised on one small foot. Clear water poured from the pitcher she held in her left hand. In her right, a solar rose pulsed with a soft, red light. Her head was turned to me, the curls under her pointed hat flying behind. Her tunic was buttoned up the front and her short skirt hugged her legs. The eternal smile promised a bright future. In keeping with my Celtic heritage, when I brought her home and put her in the fountain, I had named her Elowyn, an ancient Cornish name for the elm tree, long associated with the mysterious fairies, elves and the underworld.
The last rays of the sun brought Elowen's face to life. The strangely tilted eyes shone, her smile bringing out the dimples in each cherubic cheek.
The hanging fronds of the willow swayed in the breeze as small lights blinked on behind the leaves of the Virginia Creepers climbing the wall. The chiming of the falling water was captivating, echoing off the cement blocks.
I sat on the wooden bench, and closed my eyes, absorbing the gentle music.
When I opened my eyes, fireflies danced just over the fountain pool.
Fireflies? Wait a minute. This is Wyoming, aren't fireflies just down south, in warm climates?
And yet, there they were, perhaps a dozen or more, a swarm of lights dancing up and down erratically, so close together it seemed they would collide. The soft breeze took them out from the pool, but they swayed and returned, their lights reflected in the water.
I watched for a while, fascinated. Where had I seen fireflies before?
It was five years ago when Alanna and I spent the earnings from my last published novel on a vacation in Playa Del Carmen, on the tip of the Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico. On our last night there we had a few consolation drinks and a sad, candlelight supper on the beach while we watched the light fade over the blue water of the Gulf of Mexico.
Alanna, the classics student, took my hand and said, "Quid agis fieri non potest emendari, carpe diem!" She smiled at my blank look, then said, "What's done can't be mended. Enjoy the pleasures for the moment without concern for the future!"
Just after our waitress, Arguella, took away our dishes, the fireflies appeared suddenly from the beach scrub bushes. Just a few at first, then hundreds of them, a swarm darting up and down.
When Arguella brought coffee royals, she looked at the swarm of lights, smiled at us, and took a flashlight from her apron. She flashed the light at the swarm; two flashes, pause, two flashes, pause, then two rapid flashes. She repeated the flashes and a magical change came over the swarm. All the fireflies started flying up and down together, a coordinated rhythm that was beautiful.
It was also our last time together. Shortly after we returned home to our small town in Wyoming, Allana disappeared. She had driven to our only supermarket for ice cream to top the zucchini cake she baked that afternoon. The driver's side door of her car was open. Despite a massive search by the county officers and Wyoming Search and Rescue, no trace of her was ever found. I have lived alone for five years, waiting. I also have not written a word for five years. My agent and publisher have given up on me.
I shook free of my reverie, went back to the deck, and took my flashlight from its charger. Back at the patio I sat again and pointed the flashlight: two flashes, pause, two flashes, pause, then two quick flashes.
The fireflies froze for a moment, hovering, then slowly formed two circles. I flashed the sequence again, and the inside circle flew up on the third and fourth flashes, dipping as the outside circle flew up on the last two. A dance, a beautiful dance!
I felt dizzy. My hand fell to my side, the flashlight beam shone a tight circle on the tiles. My breath left me. The dancers' rhythm pulsed in my brain: Dada, dada, da!da! Dada, dada, da!da! I was nodding to the rhythm.
The largest red dragonfly I had ever seen lit on the arm of my bench. Its wings must have spanned six inches. It cocked its head a few times, then flew through the bright dancers, grabbed one with its feet, and flew back and lit on the bench arm. The firefly squirmed, trying to protect itself from the gaping jaws above it.
Instinctively, I whipped off my ball cap and swatted the dragonfly hard. Dragonfly and prey fell to the tiles. The firefly bounced free. The dragonfly's huge wings buzzed it around in a circle on the tiles. Its back was broken. I hit it again and it stopped buzzing.
When I looked up the fireflies were gone. I felt a loss. How could they have disappeared so fast?
I looked down at the flickering light on the tiles and gently rolled the firefly into my cap. I raised my cap, and I could see one tiny wing was broken, folded over.
There was a sudden hush and silence. Everything slowed down, then stopped. The waterfall froze in place. The Willow fronds were limp and still. My brain went numb. My eyes closed, and yet I could see. Myriad lights flew around me as a woman's warm, gentle voice spoke in my mind:
"Michaelino, you saved one of us from a horrible death. She is injured, and you are the only one who can save her. Do you believe in us?"
I couldn't speak but my heart responded; "Yes, yes!"
"Her name is Cleona."
She read my question before it was formed.
"You will receive guidance."
When I awoke, there was a tiny girl, about the size of a robin, lying in my cap. She was a little replica of Elowyn, with one broken wing. A dim light glowed inside her.
I shook my head a few times. The fountain was silent, no light in the rose. The Willow fronds hung limp and still.
I looked down, but she was still there. I rose and took my patient inside and laid her on the kitchen island counter. I heard a thump at the open door. A large tortoise stumbled over the door sill and into the kitchen, holding its grizzled head high. I heard a grating voice in my mind: "I am Epictetos. I live in your garden. Show me Cleona."
I put my hand under the cap and lowered the small form. The tortoise looked at her very close, then cocked his head and looked up at me. I felt him assessing me. "She is very near to going to the green."
His beak opened and snapped shut once. "There are some herbs you will need to make a vox populi."
"Vox---?
"A medicinal drink!"
"Two herbs are in your garden, rosemary, and dill. Sage, you can gather, and there is a patch of mint on the riverbank at the power-plant bridge. The other herb is the root of the Ashwagandha plant, but you will have to steal it from the garden of Hui Zheng, a mean and cruel man." The tortoise turned and thumped toward the door. He looked back at me over the knobby plates of his shell. "Do not delay!" he grated, then he was gone.
I sat for a minute after Epictetos left. I looked at the open, empty door then at the little, still form, crumpled on my cap. I felt tired, but I got up and went outside. From Alanna's deck display, I took the bearded gnome from his bed. I went back in and put Cleona on the soft, white mattress cover of it. Her hat was gone, and her dank curls were dark against the white cover.
I looked up the ashwagandha (withania somnifera) plant and printed out a picture. The description said you had to wait until the foliage died down, then harvest the root.
It was kind of late, eight o'clock, but I looked up Hui Zhang's 'Healing Herbs' yellow page ad and called him. There was a recorded message and I left my number and a message, that I wanted to buy herbs. A minute later, he called me back. I told him my aunt was dying, and needed that plant root. "No! No sell ashwagandha! You buy other herbs!" Wow. He was mean and cruel!
By ten that night I had all the herbs except the mint. I crept down the riverbank next to the bridge and got a basket full of it. I went back to the house and looked up Hui Zhang on my GPS. He had an acreage on Buffalo Creek Road, right on the BigHorn River, about eight miles from town.
With my shovel, a sandwich bag, and a razor knife in my pickup, I drove out and turned left onto Buffalo Creek Road. When my GPS said, "Arrived at the destination!" I drove slowly past the two-story house. With just yard lights on, I could clearly see the tall tomato vines behind the garden fence.
I parked about two hundred yards away and walked softly to Zhang's graveled driveway. I could hear the river gurgling as I kept close to the house. I walked quickly across the lighted space and through the garden gate. With my flashlight muffled, I looked at four rows of herb plants before I finally found the Ashwagandha, way in the back, just one, and it was blooming! I grabbed the bush and pulled it up anyway, cut the small root loose and stuffed the bush back into the hole. The root was about the size of a green bean.
I heard a growl behind me. Turning, my flashlight lit a huge, black dog, snarling, teeth bared. I started back toward the fence, then a beam of light blinded me, and a sharp voice shouted a command.
"Whoever you are, you stop! One command, my dog tear you to pieces!" The dog barked but stayed still. "County police here soon!"
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze for a moment, then I took the sandwich bag from my rear pocket and held my hands behind my back while I wrapped the root in the plastic bag. I held one hand over the other in front of my face and stuffed the root bag in my mouth and pushed it up between my cheek and gums with my tongue.
I heard the siren before I saw the flashing red and blue lights. The police car roared into the driveway, spraying gravel. Two cops jumped out, flashlights in one hand and service pistols in the other.
"Over here! Over here!" I heard Hui shout. Moments later, I was face down on the damp garden earth, hands above my head, then I was cuffed and hustled to the cop car. A hand on my head forced me into the back seat. The cops got a statement from Wes, then we were on our way. My Lord, what about Cleona? She will die without this herb!
At the jail, I was strip-searched, then given an orange jumpsuit and put in a chair in a small room. A deputy I knew, Scott O'Brian, came in with a clipboard and a small recorder. Scott put everything on the small table, then sat. He leaned back in his chair, glared at me, then sighed. He held a ballpoint pen by the top and slid his fingers down, reversed the pen and slid his fingers up and down, again, and again.
"All right Mike, what is this all about?"
I pushed the bagged ashwagondha root back against my upper gum. "Oh, yeah. Well, see, Scott, I have this dying little garden vixen, or fairy in my kitchen, and I am collecting herbs to make a special medicinal drink that might save her life.
The only Aswagandha plants in this area are growing in Hui Zhang's garden. He is a mean and cruel man, and would not sell me the plant, so had to steal it! Simple, no?" Who in the hell would believe that story? No way out. I needed a good story.
"Look, Scott, I have this rare mental ailment and I need a certain herb to treat it. I called Mr. Zhang, but he would not sell it to me. I am willing to pay him whatever, for the herb." I leaned forward. "I don't remember being in his garden!"
"Did you steal the herb?"
"No," I lied, "He caught me, and you guys got there too fast."
"You are being charged with criminal trespass with intent to rob, could get you 6 months in jail and a $5,000 fine." Scott waited here, then he said, "You don't remember being there, but you do remember that you didn't steal anything?"
He carefully watched me for a reply. I took a chance.
"Can I get away with pleading just trespass?"
Scott's smile was grim. "Not unless you get a damn good attorney."
To be continued...
 Recognized |
|
This story blossomed into an astounding 5,000+ words. I do not usually write in such volume, but I did have to break the story into about half and half. Thank you cleo85 for the beautiful picture! Thank you for bearing with me. I hope your devotion is rewarded accordingly!
irish
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. irish
Artwork by cleo85 at FanArtReview.com
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