Day 24 / January 17, 2011 -- Holes -- A fairytale about the Magic that holds Things Together

I would be a fool to begin a story with an apology. But I must, for I am now old, and the story you are about to hear goes back many years -- to a time, when time wasn’t important, and to a place that exists only in my mind. The time was long ago and the place was somewhere near the ends of the earth – to the north of Never Never, and to the west of the Woop Woop.

            Many miles inland from the ocean alongside a dry riverbed a tiny remote hamlet flourished. The town was called Yapalap, and named after the giant water snake that was said to have lived there thousands of years ago. This peaceful hamlet was nestled along side a riverbed and tucked into a grove of giant trees that grew four hundred feet tall and had pure white trunks the size of a house. The people of this hamlet didn’t count time in years but in experiences, and a man’s age was based on how many times he had seen water in the dry riverbed. If a man were to live to a ripe old age he might be lucky enough to have seen the riverbed hold water three times.

The people of Yapalap were happy and content with their lives. The men were always busy working away on wooden thingamajigs and the women kept themselves busy cooking wonderful dishes of food seasoned with local spices and herbs that could be found in the hills that surrounded Yapalap. 
Unfortunately, one early spring morning when the air still held the chill of winter the fate of this peaceful hamlet would forever change. A caravan of soldiers with slaves and pack animals carrying tents and provisions for a long journey walked straight into the center of town. The caravan was lead by two brothers, the ministers of trade, from the kingdom of the third dynasty of Sukhotorcold. The ministers rode on large white horses as acted confident and triumphant as the great Genghis Khan once had.

The two ministers could hardly believe their good fortune. This hamlet was a gold mine of fine crafted wooden thingamajigs, thingamabobs, gismos, widgets, and whatchamacallits. In all of their travels they had never experienced anything like this. They thought to themselves, that to discover this, in there own kingdom, was truly a miracle, and God had chosen them from all of the others.

There was one main street that ran through Yapalap. It was a narrow dusty road that marauded gracefully around the giant white trees and twelve small shacks that were built side by side in harmony. For the most part they were where the men worked and lived. They were simple windowless shelters, made from sticks and rubbish and red shale rock, with large canopies open to the front – all except for one. It was here that the men of the hamlet worked happily together, listening to the sounds of the cackling birds and monkeys and the yapping of the dogs that ran without leashes in the street. The machines that build the various gismos were located inside the shacks where they would be protected from the strong winds that were well known north of Never Never. The machines were most interesting, gadgets all made from wood having pulleys and springs, hooks and threaders, wooden bolts and screws. The children from the worker’s family would peddle large sprockets and cranks would turn to power the woven belts that would spit this way and that and these wonderful gadgets would hammer and drill and pound and pry into the stark white boards and the various thingamajigs under construction.

 It wasn’t long before the two ministers of trade noticed that one small wooden dwelling stood out from all the rest. It was made of the same materials, the sticks and red shale and debris that had washed up from the riverbed during the times when the riverbed held water. But this shed was different from the rest. It didn’t slouch like the others. It stood erect and proud. The sticks were more uniform like they were made intentionally for the purpose they were being used for. The connections that joined the sticks together worked as two hands and acted as one. The roof was made of tightly woven thatched banana leaves and floated over the walls to let the summer breeze cool the inside or let the smoke or sawdust escape. The small structure the two brothers stopped in front of was very different than anything they had ever seen anywhere in there travels. They stopped and bent down to look inside.

A lanky old man with a stringy white beard was carving at a board of white wood with a hand held wooden plane. His eyes were steady, his left hand held the board tightly and his right hand moved at the speed of lightning throwing slivers of thin paper ribbons high into the air. They would get caught in the natural breeze and drift off into the street. His young son, no more than seven, wore a red Bandera over his mouth and nose and held the far end of the board to keep it from moving. The old man was consumed in his own efforts and didn’t look up. His concentration was intense.

“What are you making? Asked one of the brothers, sitting upright and knightly in his fine brown leggings wearing a purple silk band that wrapped across his chest.

            “Holes," the young lad proudly answered.

            “Not quite holes yet, the old man stopped and interjected.”

The old man stopped working and let the sawdust settle, then slowly looked up to see the long caravan that entered his humble hamlet.

            “First I make the board, straight and true.” He held the two meter white board away from his face, looking down the planed flat edge inspecting every fiber of the board’s length. Then I set up the jigs. The jigs must be exact. Everything must be perfect to create the maximum possible amount of holes to be drilled through each board. I’ll show you.”

The old man was very proud of his work. His voice was soft and clear and came from his heart. His words were of wood but they sounded as if he was wooing the most beautiful woman on earth, words of which the king’s ministers had never heard before; words of texture, grit, density, and pureness.

The two brothers did not listen very well and were off in their own daydreams. Dreaming of things that the old man or the boy could never imagine. They dreamt the dreams of kings and men of power, thinking of wealth and having beautiful wives and land on a fertile river where they would lie forever smelling the sweet floral fragrance of success.

            “Let me take your holes to our King and you will see many fine riches that he will bestow upon you.”

The brothers were eager to return to there homes inside the great stonewalls of the kingdom. Alas, now they could return to their kingdom and boast of a successful journey.

            The old man selected three long boards that displayed the best of his holes. Without a second thought he made the king’s ministers wait patiently for over an hour. He would not release one board without putting a last coat of resin on each. The resin was made from the very giant white trees that begot the boards originally and would protect them from the sun, wind, and water for the long journey ahead. He then carefully wrapped each board in a woolen blanket and handed them to the king’s ministers, never asking or expecting anything in return.

To be continued . . .