The League of Berries & Laurels: Book the First - First Chapter (Pt. VIII)
Continued from:
You can purchase The League of Berries & Laurels: Book the First in print.
“‘What words have escaped you?’ I asked. ‘Think you the contest would be won, the day yours, when a whisper of this treachery gets out? Convince others as you might, in yourselves will your weakness be made permanent. Come then, I propose a front with fists clenched nothing tempestuous may transgress, and if you take not the rule of the game, the toll will be defended in flesh and bone.’ With that, the humiliation balanced precariously with their want of revenge. The fact of my stand weighed the balance in favor of the general good. ‘No, for we must be ashamed you have even suggested it. I know not by what subversion our fortress has been lost, but it has. We must slink out in full sight of our conqueror and join the others disgraced at the agreed end.’ So they left. With perch, visions of flame wielding victory, or of submerged defeat all chained, clear the neighborhood wide from this tall elm, my purpose might have been pulled in any direction, there to conjoin my might to our side. Hedgerows had fair Burbank lost, in honor defended, to the opposing Dale. Elsewhere, in the yonder, the numbers were made more even as our Aspen bettered Franz and Herman upon open hills where rushed the offending rivals. Many of the day’s storied accolades were wrested there of outlandish fortune’s disregard. Last stands took shape and phased me nothing, these groups meeting in final strife, for I saw how Dardanelles and two nearest councilors outlasted all. I had no pause to think, but rushed to where they, thinking all won, would claim their right. Forgotten, down the ladder descended the one due to equalize the day’s many battles. Before our choristers were all of us with our vegetables original met. ‘After him,’ Dardanelles directed, and even burst forth and to the fore of their trio, the three-headed guard decommissioned by my daring behind them like a mollified Cerberus. Quickly did I dash out of the open, now in the sight of their pursuit, now lost, and back to the lanes toward our tents made my dodge. It would seem as soon as I escaped Dardanelles, then the two others had caught my striding, and like dogs will give a trespasser but little warning before bounding toward their man, so I had not the time to catch my breath. Around a corner did I steal, a corner they turned at full speed, and as they saw no runner before them, with surprise, I swiftly ran between them, snatching both roots as I passed between, and both were bitter before a word was spoke. I to them, ‘Jake and Ruud, loyal two, you have done yourselves no glory the way you pressed the advantage you had on me. Bunched too much like the morel, my arms could span a distance it would have required five or six times the effort had I matched with you both alone, or, worse for me, in a shrewder scheme of co-ordination.’ By then they had recovered their breath. ‘With shame in my heart do I now see the folly.’ With that I left them and set off for the final tents my team had yet to steal banners from, knowing our side led their tally by far, and that Dardanelles would need to meet me hard by one or another, or perhaps, the last. Those flags I happily took from their shady places of hiding and with me into the light, those last few carried to the final summit, waving behind my run. With his whole side in follow and gathered in support at the last tent, Dardanelles could try no deceit, but we would test each other before audience. I imagine what was said ‘Dardanelles, this is the finest weather of the year, methinks, to take a stroll,’ and he; ‘You may have taken a stroll until now, but now are we met, and the whole of this enterprise rests upon us.’ Responding easily, I spoke this truth. ‘Well are we to not mix words. The audience all knows the score between us. They recall the final inning of the last baseball game as well as us when you were through pitching it, and I was still rounding the bases. Of all tests of endurance, they know the which of us is the first to quit.’ So, by the laughter of our amicable league, even so by my own as you live this in the room, we met to grapple, both of us slapping down the wrist that reached for its prize. Now boys, there are many ways to win at wrestling, but it is another subject altogether when the bauble on your cap is good as life and death. Our game ended when Dardanelles focused all on the mighty contest of our arms, tried by leg to throw me, and in maneuvering to trip the other failed to perceive one need not snatch if the cap passes near enough, near enough to take the final bite direct.” The boys cheer the finals. “Dardanelles’ daddy was strict as strict could be about cussing or lapses of judgement. Having failed in the latter, Dardanelles, twice sinning, the former poured forth, his steam all but exiting the ears. At the end, we were not enemies, but friends all. Still, I think back now, and you see it all remains with you, the favor, the esteem. Still, merits more original to me than I won that day served me a better stead than the betterment of our great tale.”
Up leaps one of the boys, enthralled by the tale an instant since, now, inspired, leaving the drinkable confection and the wares to settle in his wake. Already he has made the far side of the table.
“I would be one of the carrots of the winning side and maybe even have lasted in the game as long as you, grandpa.” Up leaps J.J. to join where Ulie has staked claim.
“I would be the mighty Dardanelles, but maybe would have bested even you, Ulie’s grandpa, knowing now the fatal flaw to have lost Dardanelles the sport.”
At this point, accentuated in an ideal animosity, they disappear behind the couch, and appear at its wings again. They recite something like the story they were told, and before the couch, and across its cushions, act. They do rough-house ceremoniously, almost in violence. Winded, they laugh about the moment although they know which one of them proved the stronger, neither to mention it, and drink down to the silt at the bottom of their porcelain. Freely their chatter sounds the bottom against the saucer, then both and the other, set down to rest on the mirrored table, follows in kind and is placed on the wooden tray. Entering not through the steadied kitchen door, but the main arch to the hall now containing the volume of an elegantly dressed matriarch, looking at home amongst the furnishings, looking too on them. Heavens escapes her. The theatrical look evident ever, the manner is no less theatrical.
If you’re interested in more writing by Russell Block, you can listen to Act I Scene I of his play Veritas! on Inaction.