Fri, Mar 29, 4:57 AM CDT

Repost: Another Middle Ages Tale...

Writers Fantasy posted on Apr 18, 2021

Contains profanity

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Here's one of the writings that didn't get online. I appreciate the suggestion that I include an image: But just know that I've posted numerous writings without images, so I can't understand why that mattered now...I know I'm tired, but it takes so much effort for me to complete a tale, I just can't imagine doing an 'image' afterwards...and blank images worked for years...but ok: If that's what it takes, here's an image. I hope it does the trick. ------------------ This is from my collection, "Visits to the Middle Ages": You've seen excerpts before. So you know: This excerpt is about the Plague---a pandemic from an earlier time. So it starts out very dark...but it totally transforms by the end. I wanted to explore the mystery of a wholly immersed soul, whose mysteries are never explained. I hope this touches something in you. Still commenting, will get to you all. Thank you for your visits as always, and I wish you all peace, health and lots and lots of inspiration, m ------------------ ...crouched in a fetal position and rocking back and forth like someone who'd been in pain for so long they had nothing left but exhaustion and stuttered pleas, she swayed to and fro, pleading to the night for a touch, some healing, anything...yet if you reached out to help her, she'd rear back and hiss at you like an injured and terrified cat. I guessed that she was 40. She was shrouded in a thick black cloak which covered all but her eyes, which---when she stared at you---were so intense, they seemed to pierce holes through your skin. Being abandoned for so long (I'd seen her here for days now), she'd come to distrust anyone who came near her. And that cloak rippled like black satin, like sheets-of-night with a sheen you'd only find on silk. And if this were silk, how did she get it in this age? Silk was rare, owned strictly by the rich; whereas she was covered in soot, had rashes all across her body---you saw this in flashes as she moved back and forth in her cloak: she looked badly diseased, which was heartbreaking---and she had no food, no water, no belongings, nothing. Yet she covered herself in a robe of what appeared to be the most rarified and royal fabric, with embroidery so opulent, one would've thought she was putting on a grand performance. But questions raged: What happened to her? Did she have Plague? Did her loved ones die and leave her these last vestiges of their once-opulent estate? What happened to this sickly and tortured soul? And as for jewelry, she wore several rows of necklaces---which I assume were all gold---as well as gold earrings, and a stunning silver amulet---untarnished---that she wore on her chest, as if for protection. "Why would you do this?" she moaned to some distant force: "What do you want? What???" Then she sunk her head into her hands, while emitting the most exquisite fragrance of rose and lavender. Again, signs of opulence in the midst of this terrible affliction... Then suddenly---as if hearing my thoughts---she glared at me, and snarled: "Do I look rich?" She grabbed me: "Do I?" (Lord.) I reared back and whispered: "How did you know what I was thinking? And how do you know English?" (I realized that she was deathly ill, and that questioning her language was utterly trivial. But, god: This was the 14th Century, in medieval France: How did she know 21st Century English? Was that an unfair question?) She snarled, crawled back inside her cloak, and disappeared. Ok....having tried to help her several nights now (as she was always here, always rocking back and forth in total solitude, into the wee hours of the night), I didn't know what to do. I realized that coming back here every night turned me into a horrible voyeur, and intruder of the worst kind, which made me cringe. So, in a last-ditch effort, I cried out: "Please---madame, please: Can I help you? Can I assist you?" She reared back and rasped: "Don't!" Then she yanked off her cloak as if she'd been counting the moments until she could cast it off for good. I reared back this time: Her body was scarred with the wounds and residue of plague, she wore sandals so dilapidated, their straps dragged on the ground like the laces of a child who hadn't learned to tie their shoes yet, her hands, stunningly skeletal---almost beauteously so---and her hair, in dreadful knots which, I assume, would've taken hours to untangle. It was heartbreaking. How do you help such a soul? Then---defiantly, almost triumphantly---she swirled her cloak around her, glared at me, swept up a cloud of dust with her feet like a great bull pawing at the ground, and barked: "Go away! Can I make it any clearer? Go away!!!" Her satchel rolled open, revealing a bevy of exquisite silk scarves, filled with extraordinary floral patterns---and Tantric patterns (miniature diagrams of the universe, from ancient Hindu traditions)---and emitted those fragrances I'd mentioned above; all alongside a pile of beautifully saturated, gorgeous yellow mangos---mangos: a distinctly Indian fruit which wouldn't make their appearance in Europe for another 100 years (!): How did she get them? Where'd they come from? I looked around: Maybe a passerby could assist me with her (if she even required it). I only knew that her mystery was overpowering, her agony equally so, even though she didn't appear to care: Maybe I could find a doctor, a healer, anyone...but this was the Middle Ages: There were no "all night doctors," no shops, no night-officers roaming the streets: Everyone was asleep. And then, even if someone had been awake, how could they be any more successful healing this woman than I'd been? What was the secret? Plague was killing masses of people in this century, you didn't go near the sick and dying, and it struck me, given that she seemed immensely sharp and discerning, that she was actually trying to protect us, that her hisses and clawings were out of desire to keep us from her terrible afflictions... Then I thought: Should I even be here? Wasn't there an edict somewhere, somehow, that one should never "intercede with the past"? Did I have any business intruding on this woman? Good god...I grew pale, a sick spy breaking-into her solitude like a yellow-page journalist trying to get a sure-sell story: Was I that much of a brute? I threw away my notes, they seemed garish and utterly foul now. But, when I looked back at her face, I was stuck once again that she'd created that unmistakable emotional shield that so many homeless souls create when they're in full view of the world, but don't want to be: They create a corona, an invisible cloak-of-privacy that says,"come no closer," which is the only protection they have from a world to which they've been unwillingly and unbearably exposed, and whose clumsy and uncaring intrusions make the homeless feel excruciatingly judged and unwanted. But then---with no warning or signs---she leapt up, stood like a goddess---I mean she was glowing, all of a sudden, wounds and all, radiating into the night: She ripped off her cloak, her eyes beaming like lanterns, her face in a blinding gold glow, and her torso looking strong enough, suddenly, to knock over a whole forest---which she proved (as if by request) by turning to the massive tree behind her, and shoving the poor thing until it ripped out of the ground with a roar, its roots dangling in the air like a cluster of rippling snakes, and sent it crashing to the ground with a magnificent crash. Then she knelt to it and spoke a prayer to it: The tree came to life, she turned to me as if to say, "see?", and moved on. Then she turned to the forest, and rushed into its opening as if rushing onstage to a starring role in a ballet: Gone was her trembling, gone was her illness, gone was her feebleness and pleading and hissing, as her feet glided through the air: She was literally dancing on mists now, running her hands along the treetops as if saying goodbye to each one personally...and animals---deer, birds, etc---leapt out of the shadows and ran circles around her feet like adoring subjects, and circled her as if she were a heroine returned from battle. "This is all a dream," I thought: "All of it---an illusion..." But it wasn't: It was a palpable, electrifying sight. I followed her into the forest, padding around like an animal trying not to be caught, straining to observe her without disturbing, while those animals danced around her in gleeful adoration. I was dumbfounded. What happened? Where did this come from? I mean why such a dramatic turn-around? Was she divine? Was her illness just a 'performance'? What happened here??? "Hello!" cried a voice. (Christ!!!) I shrieked: "You scared the hell out of me! You almost gave me a heart attack!" He smiled. "Sorry," he said: "I'm a monk. You're from another century, aren't you?" "Yes," I said (still catching my breath): "Do people read minds around here?" "Never mind," he said: "You're not supposed to be here. You're from another age---you're playing with time, sir. It's very messy, that's all, very risky..." "Yeah, I've heard that," I said, "but that woman was dying---I mean two minutes ago---and now she's dancing in the clouds: What do you say to that?" "She does that every night," he said, smiling. "Every night?" (The woman was now dancing in the clouds with a deer.) "You just came at the wrong times," he said: "She's unpredictable." He smiled warmly: "But it's something, isn't it? She's Celtic and Christian and Jewish and Wiccan and---" "Yes, yes," I said: "That's it. She's from many different cultures..." "And you, sir, are really from a different culture---you have to go! You're not supposed to be here. Look:" He pointed: "You've already left evidence behind---21st century kleenex, a water bottle, and---what's this?" "A granola bar," I said. "A granola bar!" he snickered: "You can't leave that here! It upturns history: I don't think the Hundred Years War is supposed to have 'granola bars' lying around. You have to go...please...now..." "Sir," I said: "I have a mission to accomplish. But let me ask you something: Who are you!" "Arthur," he answered. "King Arthur?" I said. (It was the first name that came to mind.) He laughed wildly: "Oh yeah, I'm King Arthur. (To the trees:) I'm King Arthur! (To me:) Sir: There is no King Arthur. He's strictly a fairy tale. (To himself:) What you people have done to our age....(To me:) Now go, before it's too late..." He bowed, said some prayers in Latin, and disappeared... The village was now immersed in deep, dark slumber. Peace flowed everywhere, like breezes... I started to walk: A mile in front of me, I saw a mango grove (!). Then, Sarasvati---a goddess from ancient India--rose out of the grove, her four hands playing exquisite music on an ancient gold-brocaded lute, while she muttered her version of the ancient, sacred Gayatri mantra: "We meditate on the glory of she who has created this universe: May she enlighten all our souls for ever..." Sarasvati bowed: Several galaxies poured out of her sleeves, rushing along the ground like scampering children. The fragrance of ripe mango filled the air, while, in the distance, that plague-ridden-woman was now dancing on the moon with the Plague---stunning. She danced with the bubonic plague, now a brilliant dark cloud. They swept across the cloud, turning, swirling... I watched for a while, then grabbed a mango and ate it--it was incredibly sweet and sumptuous---wiped the juice off my face, and walked down the long moon-drenched road. I tried to leap into a cloud myself, but, considering my age and clumsiness, I settled for a small rock. I looked around to see if anyone saw me---they didn't. I walked into the night, bowed to this strange and imbued land, and disappeared...
* * * * * *

Comments (8)


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bakapo

11:41PM | Sun, 18 April 2021

An image with the writing worked! What ever works...

Ok, this is an epic, dramatic, and touching tale. Wow, I hope our current plague ends as beautifully and magically. The hopeful mood of this piece is uplifting. I can just see her crashing through the trees (and then healing them) and dancing among the clouds, spreading sunshine and joy. Mother Earth and a Blessed Spirit all in one. An All-Healer and the Protector of everyone. Someone larger and wiser in all aspects taking care of everything. The side moral: don't litter. :)

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donnena

9:44AM | Mon, 19 April 2021

delightful story!!

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goldie

2:51PM | Mon, 19 April 2021

Glad that adding a pix to your story worked--they have been changing things around here for months...

Your tale is brilliant, Mark...the scenes are so richly, vividly described--I for one can easily see them in my mind's eye. So incredible, this journey seems to be more a recounting of a dream--the fears and hopes of one's inner psyche all entwined into understandable, relatable prose. It is also a tale that reminds us that at times not all things are actually what they appear to be--that which appears to be evil, foul on first blush can actually be a beautiful blessing.

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RodS

10:06PM | Mon, 19 April 2021

Told ya.... 😉😆

OMG..... This piece is just.....I don't even have the words to do it justice. Such a beautiful and amazing piece deserves more than to just be called beautiful and amazing.. As I read this, I had so many images in my mind. I'm sooooo glad you were able to get this posted at last. Brilliant! And by the way... That image fits this so perfectly...

I don't know what you're putting in your coffee to spark this kind of creativity, Mark, but I want some!

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eekdog

12:41PM | Tue, 20 April 2021

you keep on writing most awesome stories Mark. glad you got this posted my friend. really love the image provided with your story and happy you got it up for us to see/read.. I agree with Rod and Barb on this post with the amazing story. but now I want a mango. and I had no ill effects on my second covid shot, just a mild painful arm.

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Wolfenshire

12:00AM | Wed, 21 April 2021

Your writing is always so eloquent and thought-provoking. The imagery is without rival, and the image is really cool.

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Richardphotos

10:56PM | Wed, 21 April 2021

very imaginative writing and post work Mark

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giulband

11:21PM | Thu, 22 April 2021

I read your story, usually I don't read much but like children do I look at pictures. In this case, however, I found the text of the images extremely important, and I must tell you that I was very involved in reading. You have interpreted the plague of 1300 (a "lady" that you have well represented) as a transposition of what you must have lived with the experience of COVID, you had a great idea.


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