The Yggyssey (17 page)

"Yes!" we all shouted.

"You're sure you wouldn't rather figure it out for yourselves?"

"No!"

"Okay, do you want me to show you how to stop the rain only, or reverse the whole curse?"

"Reverse the curse! Reverse the curse!"

"You realize by accepting this easy expedient you're taking all the depth out of the whole story."

"We don't care! We don't care!"

"It won't be meaningful or revelatory."

"We're soaking! We're drowning! Get on with it!"

"All right. Turn your pockets inside out and dance around like idiots."

"What?"

"Just do it."

We turned out our pockets and danced around like idiots, as best we could. The little rain cloud instantly vanished.

"That was all there was to it?" we asked Melvin.

"Sure, it looks easy once someone tells you how," he said. "I'm a little sorry I interrupted your authentic experience. On the other hand, I happen to know that next she was going to have you attacked by volcanos, so maybe it was for the best."

"Are you going to walk to Old New Hackensack? May we come with you?"

"I walk incredibly fast. You couldn't keep up. Besides, if we all traveled together, it would be my journey with you tagging along, instead of your journey. Also, you're all soaking wet and smell of apple pie and kitty litter. I'll see you at the festival." Melvin the shaman strode off. Then he stopped, turned around, and said, "By the way, the road will take you through the Valley of the Shlerm, or Shlermental. You may find it interesting. Don't stay too long and miss the doings at the Devil's Shoestring."

Then, he took another stride, picked up speed, and was actually making a cloud of dust by the time he disappeared in the distance.

"That guy is some fast walker," Big Audrey said.

"Professional shaman," Neddie said. "Taught me all I know."

As we walked along, we sang. We sang "The Cry of the Wild Goose," about a guy whose heart must go where the wild goose goes, and he turns into a goose, leaving just a few feathers behind for his wife to try to figure out.

The sun dried us as we walked along, and inspired by Melvin's fast walking, we kept up a good pace. Swinging our arms, we walked four abreast along the road, singing songs as the miles went by. Besides "The Cry of the Wild Goose," we sang "Mule Train," and the song from the movie
High Noon.
All good walking songs.

"What is that, a church steeple?" Neddie asked, pointing to something in the distance. It didn't look exactly like a steeple. As we got closer, we saw it clearer, rising above the trees.

"It's a tower of some kind. Made of stone." Then as we got closer still, we saw another tower, and then another.

"Look! It's a whole castle!"

The road had been going gradually upward for a long time, not steep enough to make walking harder, but always taking us higher. Now we came to the crest and found we were looking down into a green valley. The castle was on the slopes of the opposite side of the valley, and it was a fancy one—it looked like an illustration in some old children's book. Below the castle were little houses, cultivated fields, and a thick forest.

"It must be the Valley of the Shlerm!" Seamus said.

"Also known as the Shlermental," Neddie said.

"It looks like the Middle Ages or something," I said.

"Look! The houses have thatched roofs, and there are carts pulled by some kind of animals," Big Audrey said.

"What are they, oxen?" Seamus asked.

"No. Oxen have horns and are sort of like cows," I said. "These look more like extremely large..."

"Skunks!" Big Audrey said.

We stuck our noses into the air and sniffed.

"Yep. Skunks."

"Skunks?"

"Skunks. Woodpussies, polecats, zorillos, mephitidae, stinkbadgers, Pepé Le Pews, funksquirters."

"I never knew they got so big."

"Well, it's a sweet little valley—in certain respects."

"Shall we go down?"

"Why not? A smell can't kill you."

"Let's hope."

It wasn't that bad. It wasn't as though a skunk had lost its temper and let fly in the vicinity. There was just that slight tinge of skunkiness that hangs in the air when a skunk is around—in this case, a lot of skunks, and enormous ones. We were getting used to it.

"Come, children, gather round. I have grapes and cheese, and fresh spring water. Come, and listen to the old stories, and partake." It was an old guy sitting on a rock by the side of the road. He was wearing a beat-up straw hat, and a kind of smock that came down to his knees. He had cloth leggings crisscrossed with rope, and on his feet there were rags that looked to be stuffed with straw.

"Come, children, don't be shy. You are footsore and hungry travelers. Come and refresh yourselves." The old guy spread a clean cloth on the ground and out of a big leathern bag took cheese, bunches of purple grapes, a round loaf of bread that was crusty on the outside and chewy on the inside, and a stoneware bottle full of ice-cold spring water. The cheese was great, not like any cheese I had ever tasted, and it went perfectly with the grapes. We took long swigs from the stone bottle while the old guy looked on, beaming.

"I am Grivnek," he said. We told him our names. "Eat, children, eat and drink all you want."

When we had eaten and drunk all we wanted, Grivnek closed his eyes and began to speak.

"In the days before Uncle came, there was a king in the Shlermental. In those days our people were prosperous and happy. Our maidens were the fairest, with arms like bolognas and legs like bottles of beer. Our swains all had golden hair and were tall and stupid.

"And heroes! We had heroes! In those days, our brave men were not afraid to venture into the dark forest of Shlerm, the dark forest where the ravens live. They were not afraid to visit the quivering bog.

"Nafnek was the name of our king, and he was wise and just. The people were happy and content. They tended their garlic fields, raised beautiful skunks, danced and sang. But Nafnek came to die and was succeeded by his son, Foofnik, who was foolish and cruel. He taxed and punished the people, played Ping-Pong on the Sabbath, and mocked our ancient customs. The people were unhappy, and hated Foofnik.

"Then Uncle came, a stranger from far away. He spoke of throwing off the yoke of Foofnik's cruelty. He spoke of democracy, and the people rose up against Foofnik and drove him away. Then, for a time, happiness returned to the Shlermental. The people governed themselves, we sent our garlic to Old New Hackensack and New Yapyap City, and received gold, with which we bought Hershey bars, and nice shoes, and other fine things.

"Uncle led us, and also led the great cities, and all the country around. His administration was fair and efficient. The roads were maintained, the drinking water was clean, the price of garlic was controlled, children were taught to read and write, and there was ice cream in the summer.

"Then there was a catastrophe. A huge storm struck us. Trees were uprooted, houses fell down, and fields were under water. The garlic crop was lost, the skunks ran wild in the forest, and the roads could not be traveled. The people of the Shlermental were in despair. What could be done? All seemed lost. But Uncle came to our rescue, or so he thought. From somewhere he found helpers, a group of powerful people who were skilled in magic. By magical means they repaired the damage and restored everything to the way it had been.

"These people were witches, and not nice ones. They were bad witches. After they had completed their work, they stayed. They stayed with Uncle as his council of helpers. Uncle thought they were helping him, but really they had taken the power. Instead of a democracy, we had a witchocracy. Conditions are not as bad as in Foofnik's day, but we are not free."

"Wow, that is some story," we said. "What are you—a wise man, a storyteller, the village elder?"

"No. None of those things. I am the village idiot."

"Well, my lunch break is over," Grivnek said. "Back to work now."

He stuffed the picnic cloth back into his leathern bag and went off, wandering from one side of the road to the other, saying things like "Hoo! Haa! Humma humma! Goo! Arr! Bibble bibble. Hee hee hee," and picking up twigs and leaves and tossing them into the air over his head.

"Nice fellow," Neddie said.

"And a very competent idiot," Seamus said. "See how he walks normally for a couple of steps, and then shuffles. That's acting." Of course, Seamus's father was an actor, so he had an eye for things like that.

We walked along the road, Grivnek capering a few yards before us. After a while he set out across a field, falling down every now and then. We continued on our way.

"Ooo! Look at the dreamboat!" Big Audrey whispered to me. There was a boy tending a garlic patch. He had thick, low-set eyebrows, pale, luminous skin, thick black hair cropped short, sensitive fat little hands, a tiny, perfect nose, and a sweet round face.

"He is cute," I whispered back.

"He's looking at us," Big Audrey whispered.

"Strangers!" the boy said. "Maidens! Swains! Travelers! You see before you the most unhappy Viknik! Life is hollow and empty! Mock me if you wish! Throw clods of earth at me! I do not care! Nothing could make me more wretched and miserable."

"Ooh, he's tragic," Big Audrey said.

I felt a strange familiarity with this kid.

"So, your name is Viknik," Seamus said.

"Yes."

"And you're depressed about something?"

"Yes."

"May we approach?"

"Yes. Don't tread on the garlic."

We introduced ourselves to Viknik and followed him to the shade of a tree. He sat on the ground and continued looking sad.

"So, what has you so bummed out?" Neddie asked Viknik.

"Everything. Life, circumstances, fate."

"But specifically?"

"My people, the whole Valley of the Shlerm, are under the yoke of oppression. The puppet Uncle, misguided and controlled by his council of helpers, who are all witches, and not the nice kind, squeezes the very life out of everyone. We are impoverished. We are not allowed to follow our ancient traditions. We are enslaved. You know about this?"

"We met Grivnek. He told us something about it."

"Grivnek! He is an idiot!" Viknik said.

"Well, yes."

"I don't suppose he told you that the entire valley is under an evil spell."

"No, he didn't actually mention that."

"Well, it is. Those helpers of Uncle's have put an enchantment on us. Every night we sit in our little houses, enchanted. It's extremely boring."

"And this is why you're sad. Perfectly understandable."

"No! That is not why I am sad! I am sad because the men of the Shlermental are shameful cowards. We could throw off the oppression of the council of helpers, but none of them has the nerve."

"You mean by violent revolution? Against witches?
We've recently had an experience with a witch, and it was a close call getting away," Seamus said. "I can see why people would hesitate to take on a whole council of them, especially if they are not the nice kind."