stop to visit, have a chat. At that thought, I whistled a
long, clear note like a flute in an orchestra, my two
fingers held under my tongue.
“Land-ho!” the captain yelled out, again, and the ship slowly drifted in to be docked.
The Faerie Ring Dance
Chapter Three * Unending Silence
IIIIt wasn’t long before I’d hopped back onto the
carpet bag for a ’ride’. Through the mayhem and
dangers of the city streets, which from my level, looked
a bit more like England than I’d anticipated, I held on
for dear life, traveling at a level that kept me from being
squashed. Those first few steps off the boat, I’d
imagined with such pride - an Irish pixie gnome walking
free among the humans in a new land to call home
ended up, instead, as a near-death experience. I was
almost trampled! So many were crowded up against the
opening to the gang plank - pushing and squishing
against each other. When the gate finally opened, it was
if a horse race had begun, but with thundering boot heels, rather than hooves.
Who knew mortals could act so uncivilized. I tried
yelling to suggest a line might be more proper and
certainly less death-defying; alas, no one heard me but a
rat, who was also scurrying for his life down the ramp.
A woman nearly stepped on it, screamed, and lost her
footing, caught by the man behind her who cursed her
for it, but did not let her fall. Luckily, too, she’d have
been squashed like a bug! Then, I thought of myself, my
wings, my stature. I looked to the left and thereit was,
my very own - well, mine and Blithe McGillicutty’s
carpet bag. I leapt to safety without wasting a breath or
a lick of time.
Once safe inside a carriage, though, the top piled
high with the sisters’ trunks, I got a good eyeful of San
Francisco, alright. I snuck out of the carpet bag and
crawled to the top of the top-loaded carriage - high
above anything else on the streets. It was an awesome
place to sightsee, although more than just a little bumpy. I had to wedge myself in under a strap holding down
trunks, and still, at least one bump sent
my feet flying - good thing I was a-holding on at the
time.
Outside of the city, across a magnificent bridge
called the Golden Gate, we traveled, into a land of green
forest and misty foothills.
“Ahh!” I breathed aloud, once again inside the
carriage. “This is the life, ain’t it?” My first words to
the sisters, and my first words ever spoken out loud to
the human sort; but, what the heck, I was feeling brave
and cocky - adventurous. Out of my head - really - my
mum would have thought, who had taught me as a
young lad, never, ever capture the attention of the
humans. She’d have done fainted to hear I’d just spoken
to not one, but two, right out loud. I was, afterall,
traveling now in the American North Woods - a free
man, I thought. Ready to settle and claim a home all my own - for me and my kind. A trail blazer. A
revolutionary!
The two sisters just sighed. Honor wiped her
brow and her neck with a kerchief, then looked out the
window.
“Almost time for tea, I think,” she said.
“O, Honor, really!” said Blithe, “Enjoy this! It’s
positively magnificent, isn’t it?”
“O, it is! Dear sister. Truly! I just, well, I
just…”
“Yes?” Blithe asked, her eyes narrowed to a stern
glance to draw out what her sister would say next.
“I thought I heard…” her voice trailed off, she
patted again, at each side of her neck, and looked again
out the window.
Suddenly, my moment was interrupted by an
awesome sight, a herd of enormous creatures - like deer,
only larger - seen grazing.
“O my goodness! Blithe, look!” Honor pointed and Blithe asked the carriage man to stop while she dove
her hands into the carpet bag, searching for her
binoculars. I was pretty amazed at this wilderness sight,
too, so at first, I didn’t mind the
interruption. We watched the herd until it dispersed
and the animals ran off. The sisters stretched their legs
while the carriage driver rambled on, telling us the
animals were elk and about the dangers of carriagetravel
at night.
“Best be going, now,” he said, so the sister’s andI
hopped back into the carriage. I cleared my throat.
This was a moment, I mean, this was a moment! 800
years of silence between English humans and Irish pixie
gnomes was about to be broken.
I folded my hands into my lap, then, I think I
said something like, “Beautiful weather!” That particular
memory is a bit fuzzy due in part to stifling some rather
hurt feelings caused that day, and for quite awhile after,
and because of the fright of the matter surrounding it. The ladies with whom I’d anticipated a lovely chat,
years and years of catching up, centuries even, both
screamed and jumped off of their carriage seats just as
the horses lurched ahead
and took off; both ladies nearly falling to a crippling
end. One tried to swat at me - not sure which, as I was
scrambling for cover behind the carpet bag.
“Did you see that?!” Blithe shrieked.
“I did!” Honor exclaimed.
“Did youhearthat?!” Blithe asked her.
“Yes,” Honor gulped weakly.
“Was it-?”
“Human? I don’t know.”
“Little pe-ople?!” Blithe hissed out the question
with such distaste in her voice, I knew two things, right
away.
1. I had not properly prepared for this moment.
Not because of the weakness of my simple and naïve
opening line, but because of my ignorant assumption that each side of this centuries old cold war would warm to
this fresh, friendly, new start in America. And,
2. My mother just may have been right about
humans. Maybe they were to be avoided at all costs.
Anyway, no time to weigh the pros and cons as
I was leaping about almost as much as the sisters, trying
to keep hidden. The shrieks went on until the coachman
stopped and opened the door to ask the sisters whatwas
the matter. Honor wasn’t quite sure how to tell him; and
Blithe froze perfectly still, except for a redness that
flushed her cheeks, actually, her entire head. With her
eyes wide as saucers, I’d guessed Blithe McGillicutty was
experiencing the first time in her life where she truly
could think of nothing polished, keen, or reasonable to
say. Not since I’d hidden among buffet china tea cups,
stuffing myself with cakes, did I worry quite so much
about not being inside the carpet bag when I realized
Blithe McGillicutty was tongue-tied. To think I had
topped the social disgrace of Miss Tullie; and with what I’d thought to be good news - something to be
celebrated with a lavish feast or a national holiday; but,
no, here I was, o
nce again, scurrying like a rat while the
ladies stepped out of the coach.
They politely asked - looking a bit frightened
and embarrassed - that the coachman search the cab’s
quarters. Mid-search, he asked them to clarify, just what
they were having him search for, when I gulped, hard,
not wanting my first American excursion to be tainted,
demeaned by the insinuation I knew was to follow -the
very comparison that hurt an Irish pixie gnome to the
very soul - the reason for the 800 year silence?
Unknown, but maybe a hurt Blithe, herself, would
understand. I knew I was about to be compared to,
called out as, the lowliest creature around.
“A rat,” Honor said, Blithe still tongue-tied and
startled. The sensible types always fought our existence
much more than the romantics or creative humans, my
mum always said. The boozers, back in Ireland, saw us right away. There was once a trial. Clyde McTarnish
took a whole tribe of my ancestors to town to speak on
our behalf; but, that’s a story for another time. My heart
sank, a tear welled up.
“Why always a rat?!” I nearly cursed. And then,
I looked at Blithe and whispered, “Shrew.”
I thought to myself, maybe Miss Tullie was right.
How would she like it? Come to think of it, Miss Tullie
was a bit of a boozer, and I thought at one point she’d
seen me. Maybe the injustice of it all had infuriated her,
too. Perhaps the sister had been put in her place, justly.
But, I was more sad than her rude comment had
sounded. My hopes for a new beginning dashed - all at
once - with the utterance of - to a pixie gnome - a
downright dirty word. O, I’d met a rat or two I kind of
liked, especially the little ones. Let’s face it, I’d been in
and out of their holes over the years so often reduced to
these types of escapes - like this one I’m describing - all
because of an uppity human ineptness to ‘believe’. I’d interrupted dinner times, bed times, and rat family
gatherings of all sorts - in and out of dark and dingy
places that a boy of my status and distinction should not
have had to resort to finding himself in at all. I mean,
afterall, we pixies are
equal to humans in intellect, reasoning, societal and
familial structure - well, all ‘cept me, I’m an orphan
(another story). I mean, stature (of the height and
measure type) ain’t everything; and, a pixie gnome even
has magic! Of which I had to resort to in this particular
situation. Hovering out of sight, quite near the ceiling I
was, the coachman did not find me; then, I sulked for
the rest of the ride.
Arriving on a prayer they didn’t find me and a
broken dream, I hopped out of the carriage at Old Soul’s
Hollow. Alone and unknown with a knapsack and one
suitcase in my hand. My mood considerably lowered
from the time of “Land-ho!”. I thought of the
McGillicutty sisters. “Like a rat!” I dismayed and hurried off into the
landscape while they fussed over steamer trunks being
unloaded.
Now, that day, I definitely left the side of the
sisters determined to face whatever the wilderness
brought me, alone; but looking back, I knew, that once
Blithe McGillicutty had uttered the words, “Little pe
ople?!” she would be set to find out if she was right
about that! No, I would not soon be forgotten by her,
although, Honor, I also knew, by her next cup of tea,
would have chalked up her knowledge of my existence to
a spell of carriage sickness to be forgotten in her own
recounting of the voyage - if only Blithe would let her.
By the time Blithe were to see me again, I’d
simply be proof to her sound mind in “ship shape” as she
often muttered. In fact, if I hadn’t retreated to sulking,
and jumped out in front with another kind word once
the two ladies calmed down from the shock of things
I’d probably would have been moving in to the big farmhouse, right then - maybe my own room - just until
I’d gotten a place of my own built, of course. Instead, I
faced the wilds and a cold night; so I opted for a less
wild adventure - once a city boy, always a city boy
and chose, rather, to bed down in the nearby barn for
the night. I’d never been
away from the sisters’ for an entire night since mymum
was a-livin’, and I was a wee lad in her arms; but,I did
know what a barn looked like from the inside; because
of a few country excursions, in the carpet bag, with the
sisters. And, I knew that there’d be a whole cast of
characters - a hierarchial structure of sorts - of which to
remain cautious and not let my guard down. Once
inside, however, I found this barn quite deserted,
although clear and warm, filled with corners of dry hay
to bed down in. I threw my knapsack down, set the
suitcase in a corner, and opened it. I took out a blanket
and pillow that smelled just like the sisters’ old home - a
bit sweet as if the scent of sweet tea leaves just lingered in the air. I smelled it.
“Ahh!” Then stretched out my legs, weary from
hiding in cramped spaces, laid down on the bed I’d
chosen of soft, warm hay and closed my eyes.
Exhausted from the trip, I fell asleep immediately
and slept for a long time. Good thing,
too, because the sight I woke up to required the utmost
of my energy - which I otherwise wouldn’t have had
after alluding the coachman during his search and the
repeated “Well-I-for-one-know-I’m-not-seeing-things”
searches of Blithe McGillicutty.
I was first awakened by the noise: stomping and
scraping, a crackling sound, and an occasional holler or
hoot. The shapes and colors were a bit blurry as I
opened my eyes from a sound sleep. Vibrant orange - a
fire! - and dark shapes moving around it. It was a bon
fire! I’d made out and the dark shapes, the shadows,
were rats! But, what was that scraping sound? I rubbed
my eyes. Two rats were sharpening long sticks to sharp points.
“We’ll roast ‘im!” One yelled, unable to control
his excitement, with a little jump of anxiousness. He
snarled and laughed to show sharp teeth and another rat
shushed him.
“Be quiet!” he hissed, “let ‘im sleep!”
“O, I wouldn’t do that,” I said sitting up. He
didn’t realize where the voice was coming from, yet.
“What? Let ‘im sleep?”
“No, roast me. You see, I’m an Irish pixie gnome
- I’m made of magic. I don’t roast. One
moment over that fire and - poof! - I’d disintegrate
disappear. You’ll have to catch me, I guess, like I am
uncooked. You know, raw.” I brushed off my tiny
wings and put my knapsack on quickly and quietly,
while the rats, not the brightest breed I’ve ever had to
outrun, thought a moment, looking at their bon fire,
deciding if my bit of bad news was going to deter them
from their plan. “Raw it is,” one said while I snapped shut my
suitcase.
“We’ll eat you raw, then!” the rat who had
shushed concurred.
“But we’ve sharpened our roasting sticks!” one
sharpener complained while the other moaned, loudly, in
disappointment. I jumped from the hay loft where the
scene of the cookout had started.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?!” the largest
rat yelled in a low booming voice that scared me more
than just a little.
“We have a feast for a king to prepare!”
“Get back here, I say!” cried the scrappiest one,
as I ran for my life toward the door of the barn. My
wings were weighed down by my knapsack and suitcase,
but they were a fluttering, nonetheless, increasing the
speed of my legs quite a bit. For a moment, I imagined
myself through the barn door, out into the open field
escaping all rats of all kinds,anywhere; but, if you’ve ever seen the sight of a rat on all fours, top speed, or if
you’ve ever heard your mother shrieking from atop a
chair about ‘something’ - “A rat!” which once was there,
but then was gone, then you know what I mean when I
say that the courteous one who’d said, “Let ‘im sleep,”
could really move! Where I had thought him behind me
with only one pace ahead to the open air; his shadow
and form all at once- darkened the doorway and
blocked my last step of escape.
“You think you’re real smart,” he sneered pulling
out a whisker and picking his teeth with it while his
gang caught up with us and circled around
me, “but escaping’ my group of hooligans requires a little
more something than smart talk, here.”
“Yeah!” the wiry sharpener chimed in, “we’s the
very gang that ran the last residents outta here. Look
around ya!” They even took the animals out of the barn.
What are you, a firefly? Think we’re gonna let you stay?”
“I get it,” I told ‘em, “You ran the last family out
of house and home cause you’re so tough,” they giggled
and jeered, ‘and now you’re starving to death cause there
isn’t any grain, and there isn’t any milk, and there aren’t
even any scraps from a cat’s bowl because now there
aren’t any cats?!”
“Hey, wait a minute!” one protested.
“I probably interrupted your discussion about
The Faerie Ring Dance Page 3
