by BobA. Troutt
*****
Sycamore Tales
The Garden of the Seventh Trellis
By the light of the silvery sky, the days were as they were and the time was as it was in the season of the darkened moon. I was on a journey from where I had been to where I was going. There beside the road was a wagon with odds and ends furniture, whatnots, odd pieces, and scrap items. As I pulled up, there seemed to be no one around. The wagon was broken; its paint was flaked, scarred and scratched. Carefully, I prowled about. As I peeped inside the wagon there came a voice from behind the wagon, startling me.
“May I help you,” the man’s voice asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied as I looked on.
“I have some very unique pieces,” he said as he rubbed his mustache and long black beard. “Some of them may interest you.”
“Maybe,” I hesitantly replied.
I didn’t want to appear so eager. I was amazed at his odd collection of rare pieces.
“Where on earth did you get all this junk?” I questioned.
I didn’t want to create an attitude of being too interested.
“My collection consists of rare collectables from all over the world,” he said proudly.
“So, I see,” I replied as I continued to survey his collection.
“Do you see anything that catches your eye?” he asked.
Suddenly, I saw it buried deep within the clutter. It was a reflection; a small beam of light that flickered. Hurriedly, I dug my way through all the junk until I reached the back of the wagon and laid my hands on it. As I reached for it, it seemed to reach for me. When I grabbed it to pull it out, it seemed to grab me to help push its way through all the clutter. I brought it out into a much clearer and brighter light; it stood boldly before me. It was an old mirror dressed in mahogany finish. The wood was embroidered with leaves, flowers and jewels; it was laced with golden trim and touched with a silver glaze. It hung inside an ivory trellis from golden rods with diamond tips.
“So, you found something,” spoke up the stranger.
“Why, yes. Yes sir, I believe I have,” I replied. “Where on earth did you find such a piece?”
“Why that old piece of old junk, I won it off a band of gypsies by playing cards one night, somewhere in Germany,” he stated.
“What would you be asking for this?” I asked unpretentiously.
“Oh, it’s not really for sale,” he hesitantly said. “It’s one of my favorite pieces of junk.”
“I have to have it,” I eagerly spoke. “It would look great in my home. Please, what on earth would be your price?”
“It’s not really for sale,” he replied. “But, I will tell you what. I’ll loan it to you for a short while and by then, if you still want it, maybe I’ll be willing to get rid of it.”
“Why, yes,” I cried. “That is an excellent idea. When will you come for it?”
“When I get there,” he replied.
“But you don’t know me or where I live.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” he said with a deep haunting laugh. “Are you ready to load it onto your truck?”
“Yes, sure, I’m ready,” I mumbled.
We struggled with the mirror trellis, but we were finally able to get it in the truck bed.
“Now be careful,” said the stranger, “and take good care of it. It may be junk to you now, but later you may find it to be a treasure.”
Hurriedly, I drove home; I laughed and made fun of the old man all the way home. He doesn’t know me so he doesn’t know where I live, I said to myself. He’s an old fool who doesn’t know anything. He thinks he has loaned it to me, but I’m going to claim it as my own. Suddenly, I noticed the mirror trellis in the rearview mirror of my truck; it reflected the image of the old man with his haunting laugh. I could not believe what I was seeing. I checked my side mirrors and his image was there also. I slammed on my brakes. What on earth is happening? I cried out. Then as quickly as the image appeared, it was gone. I had no idea where the image came from. I thought for a moment as I tried to come to my senses. I took a deep breath and sighed. It’s only me; I’m too tired I guess. I hurried home and struggled to get the mirror into the house. I worked and worked, resting every few minutes, until I finally got it in. I looked around to see where I could put it. I tried here and there but no place seemed to be the right spot. Finally, I found the very spot; I faced it east with the morning sunlight.
“There,” I said. “That is the perfect place.” As I stepped back, I couldn’t help but adore the fine piece of workmanship as it stood before me.
I looked into the mirror and saw myself. It looked like I had gained a few pounds and needed a haircut. I turned from side to side and jumped back and forth. I was so happy and pleased with my new treasure that I had no intention of giving it back. As the days passed, I admired the mirror trellis more and more. I waited for the stranger, but he never came; he was probably miles away from here. Why that old fool didn’t know my name or where I lived. He may have thought he did, but I tried to tell him. Day after day, I admired myself in the mirror. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth and admired how good my clothes looked on me. Weeks passed and the old man never came, just like I thought and hoped.
The lights from the east shined in through the nearby window and reflected in the mirror trellis; it lit up the room in a heavenly glow. It soon came to pass that morning as I stood before the mirror once more and the light of the east continued to shine through. As I stood there, my image in the mirror became a watery wave. Confused, I stepped closer to see what was wrong. When I reached out to touch the plated glass, I was pulled inside to the backside of the mirror. I was so afraid; I feared for my life. I screamed out, God help me! I fell weak; my body trembled, my legs quivered and my mouth dropped open. Cautiously, I looked around at my surroundings. I had no idea where I was. I wanted to go back, but didn’t know how.
Carefully, I turned around. There was nothing behind me; no mirror back, trellis or light. There was nothing but empty space. As I continued to look about, a beautiful garden appeared before me with all kinds of flowers, trees and the smell of fresh spring. The woven carpet of green grass led to a path. I followed it throughout the midst of the garden and there stood a giant golden trellis draped with flowers, vines and pollinated with bees, hummingbirds and butterflies of all kinds. The sky was so blue and the air was so warm that you could smell the fragrance of each of the flowers in bloom. But, as I got closer and stepped into the trellis I suddenly heard a child crying. Startled, I looked down and there at my feet was a basket with a child wrapped in a sheet. I took the little one up into my arms, held him close and rocked him. As I swayed back and forth, I hummed a few lines of a song my mother used to sing to me when I was a child. Shortly, his little eyes fell heavy; he closed them and went to sleep. When I placed him back into his basket, I couldn’t help but notice that he looked a whole lot like I did when I was a baby. As I slowly straightened up, I saw a giant eagle perched upon a limb directly across from me. I looked down to check on the baby and he was gone. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find him. I heard something above me and looked up; the eagle took flight and disappeared into the trees. Where, oh where did the baby go? I thought to myself. I looked up again to see if the eagle had returned but all I saw was a torn piece of the baby’s sheet hanging from a tree limb and dangling in the wind. Slowly, I turned and walked out from under the second trellis and resumed my journey.
Not far down the path, I came upon a sign. The garden eventually led to the valley of the midst where Lick Creek crossed Stone Place. However, there was another sign that hung beneath it which read Oak Knob, Antique Shop and Winkers What Nots on the corner of Witcher and McClure. This must be my way, I thought. Maybe there I can find the mirror trellis and find my way home. It seemed like I had traveled for hours; I was tired and worn out. The air was getting warmer and the
once cool breeze was now stifling. The freshness of spring had all but gone as the summer heat set in. I was about to give up when I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw the Oak Knob Antique Shop. It was an old rundown building with tarnished boards of age, broken windows and a collapsing porch. I rushed upon the porch and knocked on the door. I stopped when I noticed the out to lunch sign swinging in the wind. Should I wait or go, I thought. By now the sun was extremely hot. I paced back and forth as I tried to figure out what I should do. I didn’t know if I should look in, go on or stay there. I decided to look in to see if I could see anything. But as I peeped into the dirty window, I saw nothing but an old empty room with a boarded floor. Disappointed, I turned and ran up the path and over the hill.
It seemed like I had run for miles until I fell beneath the third trellis in the garden. I asked myself if there was no end. I rose to my feet and looked about; I was sweating so because it was so hot. According to the sign, I was in the valley of Slick Rock. As I stood under the trellis, I saw a young boy playing in the meadow. He was flying a kite and tossing a ball like a typical boy. I watched in amazement at the young lad; I looked closely at him. Why he looks like the baby boy in the basket, I thought. I tried to get his attention by yelling out to him but I couldn’t because I was bound by the trellis. I could see him but I couldn’t reach out to him. As I watched the lad, I saw me in so many ways; I laughed and cried when I saw my victories and failures. Why, I even breathed the same breath for he was the image of my childhood life. Slowly, he faded into the light of the sky and vanished before me as he had once before. As soon as he vanished, the trellis unbound me and set me free. Once again, I put one foot in front of the other and tried to find my way.
I headed down the path away from the valley of Slick Rock. As I traveled, I noticed the air was getting more brisk and chilled. Hurriedly, I made my way down the path. I saw the leaves begin to change; the reds, yellows, oranges, and mint greens were so beautiful. I could have looked at them all day. The sky had even started to blend. The clear blue sky was now mangled with gray and white; there was even a patch of black here and there. It came to pass, as I wandered the path that was once green and is now brownish yellow that I reached the fourth trellis in the garden of the valley. Lo and behold, there before me was a beautiful maiden. She was so beautiful to look upon in that garden of love. She was as I had always dreamed of. She took my hand in the spot where one path of the garden crossed another; it was called Crooked Point. We had so much to talk about and learn. Together, we strolled onward. Finding the end didn’t matter to either of us. We were in the beautiful garden together. Her name was Priscilla and my name is Nathan. We became as one in this garden of love. Onward we ventured into the autumn sunset and pressed upward toward the horizon to cross over to the other side.
Days came and weeks passed as we found refuge in the hollow of a tree under the fifth trellis called Twisted Limb. The ground was white with a heavy, thick blanket of snow. Ice hung from the trees as the chill of winter blew about us. We spent winter in the hollow of the tree and we were as one. As the days passed, we scratched a mark in the bark of the hollow so we would know how many days had passed. Winter was long and bitterly cold but the tree sheltered us from the elements. The days were short and the nights were long. I awoke one morning to the sound of dripping water. As I made my way out of the hollow of the tree, the sun was so bright and the sky was so blue. I looked down beside the tree and saw a flower that had bloomed through the patch of leftover snow. The air was a bit cool but the smell of spring was near. So, we packed up and moved on.
Just up ahead, we came upon the sixth trellis and beneath it was a cave inside of a hill. I knew we shouldn’t return to the hollow of the tree because the birth of our son was near. Priscilla, me and Albert, our child to be, lived, loved and shared the garden of the valley of the sixth trellis. As the seasons passed, our days grew old; our child was now a young man and we were tarnished with gray and wrinkles of old.
We knew our time was drawing near as we ventured out again through the valley of the trellis. We didn’t know if we would ever pass through that way again. Sorrowful and saddened by our mistakes, our hearts yearned for our youth. But, our loved endured through it all. When will our end be, I thought? When shall we awake and realize it might have all been a dream? Where do we find the end? Is it at the beginning where it all started? A long time had passed since I looked into the mirror trellis but what waited ahead was what worried me the most. The land that was once green with the abundance of flowers and trees is now a desert covered with rock and sand. The blue sky was now darkened with night and the smell of spring was but a memory of times passed. Onward we pressed toward the darkness that lurked in the sky. Miles and miles from everywhere we looked was nothing but empty sky on the horizon.
“But wait,” I cried from atop of the Sandy Ridge. “Look over there; I see it.”
“I see it too” she cried.
“Hurry,” I shouted, “run as fast as you can.”
As we grew nearer, our run slowed to a stop. There before us was the seventh trellis of the garden. And behold under it was a giant wooden door with a lock. I rushed over to it and tried to open it, but I couldn’t. I beat, knocked and called out but there was no answer. I took a heavy stick and pried, pushed and pulled, but I still couldn’t budge it.
“Look through the keyhole,” she said. “See if you can see through to the other side.”
I fell to my knees and pressed my eye against the keyhole to see; I figured this would be our way out. I suddenly gasped for a breath of air, for it almost took my breath away. My eyes watered and twitched as sweat ran down my face. There was only darkness behind the door; it was darker than a thousand midnights.
“What is it?” she asked. “What do you see?”
“There is only darkness,” I replied.
She turned to me and questioned, “Is there no light?”
I looked once again and as my eyes searched, I found nothing. There wasn’t a beam or even a glimmer of light.
“Hey, Dad,” my son yelled. “Look at what is written on the door?”
“The valley of the seventh trellis set in the land that wuz and in the land that will never be,” I read out loud.
“Look Nathan, look again,” Priscilla insisted. “Maybe you are mistaken. Surely, there is a light.”
“No, I didn’t fail,” I said as we sat down on a rock. “There’s no hope,” I cried. “It’s all hopeless. Oh, God, where have I failed?”
We reached for each other and held each other tight. We cried together in our hopelessness of no light.
Our hope was about gone when Priscilla glanced up at the keyhole and then cried out, “Look, Nathan,” she said with excitement.
In the keyhole I saw a glimmer of light. I jumped to my feet and rushed over to the door and looked in. There before me was a small spot of light.
Our sorrowful spirits leaped with joy until my wife cried out in fear, “Nathan, look out!”
Immediately, I looked down. The darkness was sweeping out from under the door. It was dark, black and sticky; it stretched as I tried to pull away. I pulled, pushed, jerked and yanked but I couldn’t get away. My wife and son screamed as they fought to set me free. But, their efforts failed. Slowly, the darkness crept up my legs; it pulled and tugged at me.
“Let me go,” I yelled out in the name of the Lord.
Unexpectedly, I heard a haunting but familiar voice calling my name.
“Nathan, Nathan, Nathan.”
“How do you know me? How do you know my name I screamed?”
“I know who you are and where you live,” said the haunting voice from the past. “Remember, it’s only junk.”
I started screaming like I had never screamed before. As the darkness raced up my body, I gasped for air. In the faint distance, I could hear a voice call
ing me by name.
“Nathan, Nathan, wake up.”
As I felt hands about me, I leaped forward and cried, “I don’t want to die.”
I looked around and there was no one there but the old stranger from whom I had gotten the mirror trellis from.
“What on earth happened to you, Nathan?” he inquired? “Did you have a bad dream?”
“What did you call me?” I questioned. “How do you know my name and where I live?” I asked as a woman and young man entered the room.
“Oh, by the way, Nathan,” he said. “This is my wife, Priscilla and my son, Albert.”
“But…..it can’t be,” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked the stranger’s wife.
“Oh,” said the old man, “he probably had a bad dream is all.”
“Bad dream,” I said.
“Do you still want to buy the mirror trellis or do you want me to pick it up?” questioned the old man. “That’s why I’m here.”
