able and willing to pay him in some way.
His sustenance was meagre, at first, for he knew no stories to enchant people with. He had chosen not to apprentice himself to a master story-teller and, in his seclusion, he had learned little of the lore of his ancestors. His lack of contact with the world ensured that he learned little of the doings of ordinary and great people.
As his haphazard and hazardous journey began, he had little to recommend him but his magnificent voice and a knowing of a large number of songs to God. This did support him but only just. Though there was always grass on the roadsides for Toby, he went hungry many times in his first year. Often he would be fed and sheltered, for a night, out of pity for his stupidity or his naivety.
He was a well-built and handsome lad so many a mother provided sustenance in the hope of his interest in their daughters. It was made clear that he would, however, have had to stop his wandering days to marry. This confirmed to him that he would spend his life alone.
One gift that loners develop is that of listening and this he excelled at. With few stories of his own – except his own life which he thought was uninteresting – he discovered that people were mightily entertained by being listened to. The most verbose had the smallest events to tell of while those with fascinating lives, of great intrigue and adventure, said little. This amused and bemused him and he would say to himself, “Little lives, big tongues. Big lives, little tongues!” What he didn’t realise was that his silence around events of his own life lent him an aura of mystique, even majesty.
As he developed his listening skills, so he learned many stories and so his repertoire grew. But, though his head grew to bursting with fascinating, sad and hilarious anecdotes, his greatest income came from shutting his mouth and opening his ears. In this he became unique among story-tellers and his aura of mystery grew into an aura of wisdom. His beautiful singing voice – the voice of God, as many called it – and his quiet stillness let people convince themselves that he had access to knowing beyond ordinary humans.
People began to ask his advice on all manner of things: the right time for woodcutting; the number of children one might bear; the suitability of others for marriage; matters of village governance; the productivity of particular sheep; the safety of proposed business ventures; how to keep demons out of one’s head or the village and so on. Of course, Donal knew nothing of these things and so he simply listened, asked questions and listened again. In time, the inquirer would come to their own conclusions, thereby crediting Donal with the amazing answer which, in time, would become a self-fulfilling prophesy. He became, after several years, famous throughout the land for the accuracy of his prophesies and people began to seek him out.
This resulted in him being showered with more money and, when that was not available, products of his inquirers’ enterprises. Carvers gave him bowls, tinkers gave him pots, fletchers gave him arrows, bodgers gave him chairs. This meant that he had to obtain for himself a cart to carry these things he had no need for. The cart was provided by a very thankful farmer when Donal touched his prize boar and, soon after, it produced many litters of piglets. His trusty pony, Toby, who he loved with much affection, was unfitted to towing a cart and another farmer who had recently, through Donal’s “advice”, found the courage to ask for his love’s hand in marriage, successfully, provided him with a fine cart horse.
Hence, Donal’s lifestyle was abruptly changed. He now had to ride on the cart while Toby, tied by the reins to the back of the cart, walked behind. His life felt suddenly cluttered, clumsy and slow. The cart would become stuck in boggy soil as Toby never had. Parts of it would break and he’d have to spend time mending it. But, worst of all, people would want to ride with him.
As he put on the attitude of singer and listener, whereby he made his growing wealth, he would feel the weight of that responsibility. He might grudgingly acknowledge that it was usually pleasant and moving and warm and amusing to be with other humans but he was always with them as a minstrel-becoming-a-sage. As such, he was always a visitor, never quite one of them, and he did have to be careful and focused. Then, each time he departed a village, he would breathe a sigh of relief – born of many year’s habit – to be back on his own with his horses and the undemanding countryside to welcome him back.
However, owning a cart meant that he had no excuse to keep people out of this special, secret part of his life. Feeling unable to say “no” to these gentle requests for help along the byways, he was always most pleasant company and listened (yet again) with rapt attention to their chattering tongues. He chafed at having to take these walkers, though most offered coins or food to pay for their fare, for he knew he could not take off his disguise of wisdom, concern and capability.
And so, on this day, it surprised him that he stopped and offered an old lady a ride – he was enjoying the solace of solitude and the gentle thud of his horses’ hooves on the forest floor.
“Aye no, young man,” she said, smiling up at him as she leaned on her gnarled stick. “Ye be enjoying yer own company and I no be wantin’ to disturb yer soul’s peace.”
“But we be over a day’s walk to the next village. Where will ye stay on this cold night?” he asked, wondering why he was not moving on. “I’ll help ye up to take the weight from yer sodden feet.”
“Are ye sure, young man?” she asked, brushing aside strands of white hair. “I fancy yer aloneness is yer heart’s desire. Why would ye be wantin’ to break that with an old lady?”
Donal had no answer. He just sat there on his cart, looking at her and wondering what was stopping him moving on.
“Ye see, Mr Donal ... if I may call ye that ...”
“Oh yes, that’s as they call me,” he said, wondering how she knew his name.
“Ye see, Mr Donal, we be always runnin’ from summit but we canna’ run forever,” she said and an icy breeze blew down his spine. “It may be yer time, this day, to stop runnin’.” This meant nothing to him but it chilled him to his bones, while strangely warming his belly at the same time. He leapt down, placed the lady’s sack in the back of his cart and helped her up onto the seat at the front – not that she needed much help as she seemed as lithe and strong as a girl of twenty.
“So, me young man, Mr Donal, tell me yer story,” she said as he rattled the reins and they moved forward.
“Uh, I, ah, have no story to tell, Ma’am,” said Donal, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment rising through his body and face. Nobody had ever asked him that question before and he had no answer. “Ah, what am I to call ye, Ma’am?” he asked, stalling for time.
“I am, as ye know in yer heart, Morgan Pastly,” said the old lady, patting his hand. He noticed, though he tried not to look surprised, a large brown circle, like a birthmark, on the back of her left hand. He had never seen such a thing.
“Past ...” he said, feeling as if his brain was going in and out of focus, ever so slightly.
“And since ye be afraid to free the words in yer heart, I’ll release them for ye,” Morgan said with a pleasant chuckle. “Ye want to know how God thinks, aye?”
“Uh, ah, yes ...” he said, realising that was the one question he’d always asked when he was puzzled or pained.
“Let me tell ye from yer past, then,” said Morgan, closing her eyes. The cart stopped and he listened. “Whenever ye feel pain, ye run to loneliness to feel peace and it works but a while. Every time ye find this separation, this sort-of-peace, yer talents bring ye back to people, to unity. As a child ye ran and yer voice and horse-riding brought ye back. Ye chose to be a running minstrel but yer voice and yer listening brought ye back. Ye were content for a while for ye could always escape on yer pony. Then yer talents brought this cart and people returned to ye.”
“But I did none of that. It just happened to me,” said Donal quietly, uneasily.
“If ye had been truly happy in yer solitude, ye would not have had it disturbed,” said Morgan. “Ye kept asking how God thinks, how the universe works, for ye were not co
ntent, though ye tried to pretend ye were. And now here I am giving ye some of the answer. I must go now and leave ye to yer precious solitude.” She hopped off his new cart and went to the back to fetch her bag. As he turned to plead her return, she was not there. He stood and looked all around and there were no footprints in the mud, no sounds, nothing. He sat down, stunned, and Toby walked up and nuzzled his leg.
“Yes, me friend, it can be lonely out here, can’t it?” said Donal as tears freely flowed down. He untied Toby from the cart, hopped on his back and rode forward, taking Clyde’s bridle. The three rode forward together till sunset.
The next morning he was up bright and early, with a strange sense of excitement and emptiness – happy and sad.
Soon, he stopped and offered an old man a ride as he pondered the strange feeling and enjoyed the gentle thud of his horses’ hooves on the forest floor.
“Aye no, young man,” he said, smiling up at him as he leaned on his gnarled stick. “Ye be enjoying yer own company and I no be wantin’ to disturb yer soul’s peace.”
“But we’re over a day’s walk to the next village. Where will ye stay on this cold night?” he asked, wondering why he was not moving on. “I’ll help ye up to take the weight from yer sodden feet.”
“Are ye sure, young man?” he asked, brushing aside strands of white hair. “I fancy yer aloneness is yer heart’s desire. Why would ye be wantin’ to break that with an old man?”
Donal had no answer. He just sat there on his cart, looking at him.
“Ye see, Mr Donal ... if I may call ye that ...”
“Oh yes, that’s as they call me,” he said, wondering how he knew his name.
“Ye see, Mr Donal, we’re always runnin’ from summit but we canna’ run forever,” he said and an icy breeze blew down his spine. “It may be yer time, this day, to stop runnin’.” The old man tossed his sack in the back of the cart and leapt up beside Donal with the agility of a young man.
“And yer name, old man?” asked Donal, feeling more confident than he ever had before.
“Me name, Donal lad, is Morghan Soonly,” said the old man with a youthful chuckle. “And it’s yer future ye be wantin’ to know, I be guessing.”
“Well, yes ... ah, I suppose that would be interesting,” said Donal uncertainly, hopefully, not wanting give into the joyful little spark in his belly, lit by Morghan’s question. For the first time ever, he really did want to peer down the dark tunnel of his life-to-come and see if there was any light at the end.
“Let me tell yer then. There’s no future, Donal boy, for ye or anyone else,” said Morghan, patting Donal’s hand as Clyde stopped ... the world stopped. Donal noticed a large birth mark on the back of Morghan’s left hand. “There is only now. Where ye want to be in yer next now is written not in the stars but in yer little willingness, in the pounding heart of yer desire to be more than ye are now.”
“Me little willingness?” asked Donal, confused and curious.
“Let me say it this way, me friend,” said Morghan, turning to face Donal. “I did not turn up unexpectedly today – ye called me up, just as ye called up every other person, event and feeling. Ye be driving the cart of yer life – not the other way around.”
“Um, I suppose so,” said Donal, not knowing what to say or think next as he urged Clyde on again. “Yer hand ... uh, what’s that mark?”
“Ah, just a birthmark. We’ve all got something to get over,” said Morghan, dismissively. “Ye see, whatever we think holds us back is what we be here to do, to succeed through. Yers is to let out all the feelings, good and bad, from yer belly, tell yer story, sing yer story and inspire those who be afraid of their inner feelings. Let it out. Let it shine, me lad!”
Donal quickly thought of his shiny belly button and smiled stupidly.
“And now I go,” said Morghan at no place in particular in the woods. “Let it shine, me friend!” Morghan hopped off, took a step back to grab his sack and was gone. Not there. Not anywhere.
Donal sat and smiled. The sun was starting to shine in his mind. He knew not what Morghan had said but, somehow he did. Toby whinnied and trotted forward to nuzzle his leg. Clyde shook himself happily and the cart and leathers all rattled.
“Yes, it’s time for us to be free!” said Donal as he leapt down to untie the horses. He felt quite young again and leaned back against an old oak and looked up at the brightening sky while the horses foraged for tasty morsels.
Circles of Gold Page 5
