The League of Berries & Laurels: Book the First - First Chapter (Pt. VI)
Continued from:
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“The league was tested beyond all measure we believed it would sustain.”
“What were you all doing that day? You say the crisis divided all, each to pledge to east or west, all succumbing to the fraught division, but it looks like perfect fun.”
“Indeed, pay no mind to else, there is not one face above the hand-signs as you see we made each in our own style, albeit in unison, who remembers not the sporting festivities, not one face to forget the order of the day.”
“What were those?”
“We love sports.”
“You see our felt hats, don’t you? In color, they are green.” Both encroach.
“Those are the coolest.”
“You see in my hat how there remains a carrot fresh?” Their scrutiny deepens.
“Is that a carrot?” Ulie asks, and J.J. backs away to appraise before speaking.
“Yes, I do see there, very smart, a carrot in a green cap, and, how interesting, you are the only one.”
“All the caps that day had in them a carrot or a root of ginger. Our discovery of brief delay behind the grocer’s, once the stocking clerk had carried another crate inside, gave us the window to quickly leap from behind barrels and the crates themselves, once, that is, our lookout on the roof signaled the way was clear and clambered down the downspout. Hurriedly we removed more from the crate than could be carried in the cradled arms of our three designated bearers of our haul. Then to take the crate itself, we consented in an instant. Hurriedly we set off down the alley, bending to disguise our trail when produce to the wayside fell. At the park, all having been met, all eager to approve either east or west, the other none, Dardanelles’ lieutenant tested the haul to ensure no designs had been placed on them by the dispatch under my command. Sagacious nods confirmed an even rule. We were in equal teams, numbered to the man, hiding about this very neighborhood when the hunt was set afoot. About this neighborhood my side went, according to my counsel, for I led the carrots, and Dardanelles the ginger roots. The hunt thus was set afoot.” From these precepts of a tale worth the telling, the boys keep adjusting themselves, finding increasingly settled spaces, as though saying with each tendency toward settled, ‘I have got to hear this.’ The responsibility to present life with fidelity being evidenced is the reason for their attention. “Through pasts heaped upon pasts hold forth thine flame; speed me in my recollection, o, thou, sworded victory, to whom is attributed all distinction in life long lived at her service. That is called intonement, J.J., and it precedes all good tales, Ulie knows.” And so, Ulie and J.J. nod to the wink of the knowledgeable elder. “This day was not won on the barge, nor on the roadways, and not, as it may seem, in the greatest stand, dastardly as that ambush of dripping scalawags fell upon us hard. Harried as the pursuits along ways and means left those fleeing, left those that chased, harried despite their surviving, and ultimate as the final stand may seem. they are strifes all leading to our result inevitable, not decisive in themselves.”
“Please, do not get up, Mr. Elkhart. I can get my own chocolate if you would but carry on in this same spirit.” Nonetheless, it is no disruption when the chair sits abandoned for the moment, and, with care, the chocolate pours bountifully from the decanter as a mark of all due hospitality. “Where were we?” No loss of warmth, or of acrid distaste, which will ruin even the most enjoyable libations past a certain volume, is noted, but a slight contented hum concludes.
“My memory was once the pouch of Hermes, in delivery hermetic, or like Raphael’s visitation, but with aged disfavor now fails me in my own address. The barge, that was it. Even from the gorges of Lake Bluff to the boundary waters of the North Branch, dangers everywhere festered, across terrains roughly divided in equal by the park where this picture was taken; not north, not south was safe. Footsteps of brave incursion into territory uncertain could easily be instilled with fear by the least rustle, the slightest whisper, and caused screaming flight back across the porous weld. Even in council, deep in well-regarded bastion, a mad wildcat, attempting to prove exemplary, even beyond his years, could rush synod greater than his lone assault might sustain, in reason, as in action, futile. Hoping he to break open ours, then subdued, another ginger adultered by us with carrots in our caps proved the folly of these incursions.”
“Was there no rule of engagement?”
“None.”
“Was there no calvary, or bicycles?”
“No, lads, none could be afforded, pedaled or hoofed, amusing as the idea may be. Indeed, dispatches between columns was entrusted those most valorous, fleetest of foot, and them alone. Many messages never made their intended officer’s ear. Many were lost on these missions. To commence with the barge, I shudder in spite of soothing years to think the idea was mine, the platoon, brave as brave is, at my command. Hands unspooled that concourse of water borne, and from what industrial use knowing not, we commandeered it for our exclusive privilege, guiltless of the consequence. Only had we raised scouts on shoulders at the window of the shack near our commandeering, to see a snoozing guard entrusted, the bottle’s contents trusted to his snoring, and the substance sawing back and forth in bottle precarious. Miscellany cast in his direction ensured the Plutonian agent sleep had eased all his ills off toward poppy fields. Our plan indeed looked rest-assured. The idea was serious, approved as sound by all, but laid many moaning with punches in their belly once disaster struck. To set off on the muddy, placid flats, appointed bargemen were poling us our way along, silently, while others worked the wherry engine, for it would need to turn when we made it out to open lake. Two miles, seventeen-hundred and sixty fathoms, was our intended landing, there to off-load the better part of our force, steely-eyed as the current, then that ran its natural course, hence since reversed. Its docile flow carried us toward grand Michigan. Unease may have settled in on us, but if we had interpreted anything unnatural about the slosh. We did not. We had no thought beside success, less as the open lake expanded the horizon, less and less, when the first reached up from the surface, dispatched the first to meet them, and climbed aboard, dripping, ready for the fight. Rushing more and more from all sides the river produced our rivals, breathing through straws, spat out as they kicked themselves on deck. Innumerable hordes pressed upon us, with no end. No whisper of our betrayal, no note of that voice to confess our stratagem, under duress, or never-merited traitorousness, carried in the wind to rustle through quietus. Only our pell-mell frantic reaching for caps and knocking overboard the weaker resounded while all struggled to secure the deck. Song birds still sang, as their notes had trilled in our ear when unawares of ambush, but no call pierced our hurly-burly from branch, however our hurly-burly intruded in their removes. Must I tell you I bravely stood? Or do you doubt I severed more ginger root from felt than any in the struggle? My heel was well-seasoned I quashed so many symbols where they had fallen loose, or aside their owner’s head. Even for this was I rushed by all, at the command of one, intent to claim the carrot, struggling into a heap, helped by none other of my side as they strived and strived to maintain the vegetables entrusted to their caps. Then though I was falling sudden. Sadness overwhelmed me as engulfed in the boundary currents my body submitted. Swum to shore, but carried far, I surveyed the place of the barge; how hopeless was our cause. All had fled. Only a few of the eastern sort, far fewer than they expected would remain of their ambush, stood catching breaths, in disbelief. I saw what survivors of our side climbed up far banks and kept their carrot, and so quickly I touched my cap. My own, the only one the crates contained with ample greens, still approved the role destinies chose for me to play. Down along the sandy way, no few sat, missing now their side’s root, placid now, and reminiscing over contributions, foreseeing each how this sport might end. All about the barge earthen roots buoyed on the surge. New watery fields were made their home to rot. Elsewhere conflicts this extreme took shape in the grappling of our allies with the enemy. Elsewhere battles fraught were won or lost. For me, for that my idea had led to ruin, upon the strand I sat and hid the shameful face in these palms.” Ulie and J.J. look to one another, unprepared, but how it shows, astonishingly shows, in the midst of their concerns, the fact grief in the case of this valor is to them far-fetched. “That seat and meditation in the welcoming sand, my grief, too, welcoming, marks the lowest I would sink on a glorious day.”
Interested in more writing from Russell Block. Listen to Act I Scene I of his play Veritas! on Inaction.