Things Take Off !

With the snug warmth of the fire, his full stomach and all the travails he had undergone that day - coming into existence at all being only the first ! - Eliot was finding it extremely difficult to concentrate on the list; though he did find it fascinating, and suggestive. His head was swimming; he kept plunging into little moments of sleep, then re-awakening with a jerk. He was becoming more and more confused. It was definitely time for bed.

"Sir Magus", he said thickly, "I'm sorry this is just too much on top of everything else today. I've had it; I need to crash out !"

Standalf, who had been silent and contemplative while Eliot was reading, did not seem in the least put out.

"Absolutely. It's important to do it justice. There is a time for everything; now it is for sleep. You can keep that - it's a copy - and look at it at a better time. Now - you won't get much sleep tonight I'm afraid, Stearns. The essential first condition of ever having the possibility of finding the Dragon is to set out very early tomorrow morning, later on tonight really, while it is still dark, definitely before the dawn or even the first glimmers of it. What I'm going to do is put you in a healing trance so that you'll be as refreshed as you can be; and I'll keep watch and make sure you get up, and point you on your way. Lie down, lie down."

Eliot did so gratefully, and the Magus brought a rough but warm blanket out of the cave mouth (which like a cornucopia seemed to supply whatever was required), put it round the poet and tucked him up quite tenderly. Then he looked directly into the poet's eyes; the Magus' glittered; they eclipsed everything; they seemed to fill the whole universe. Eliot fell abruptly into a deep sleep . . . .

. . . . and surfaced from it groggily, not knowing who or where he was; only that he was being shaken awake - by the Magus in fact who, true to his promise, had sat quietly keeping vigil all night. Eliot sat upright on his couch with immense reluctance; he rubbed his face wearily as his identity, location and purpose came back to him. The fire had died out and was just cold black embers in the raw and penetrating night air. Eliot began to shiver; at least he was waking up !

"Don't you worry", said Standalf brightly, "I've got just the thing !"

He went into the cave and bought out two mugs with liquid in them and handed one to the poet. Eliot sniffed the sharp smell of it, which tickled the inside of his nose - but it also smelled cold, somehow. Not tea this time - whisky !

"Get it down you", advised the Magus, taking a slug himself, shuddering slightly and smacking his lips. Eliot followed suit. The liquid burned his throat a little and made his eyes water; he coughed a bit and he felt its hot progress down his throat, then into his stomach - and the effect slowly, magically diffused through his whole body and his limbs. Man, he felt good ! He took a hearty slug this time. Ka-zam ! His weariness was banished, his fear forgotten; he felt equal to wrestling a walrus, could one at that moment have appeared, or even a hippopotamus !

"That's the style !" said the Magus, noting Eliot's improved condition. "Righto, Stearns, you'd best be on your way."

They both stood up. Standalf clapped the poet on the back and pointed off to the left, into the forest.

"That's the way, Stearns. Good luck !"

"Thankyou, Sir Magus. Thanks for everything !" said Eliot feelingly, handed him back the mug and strode off into the forest in the indicated direction.

Now, it was damned cold, but somehow the whisky made Eliot not mind that as he walked on the forest floor through the closely packed trees. Another curious effect of it was that either he really could see in the dark, or just felt as if he could - anyway he was making good progress without bothering too much as to where he was heading in fact. Because the Magus' instructions were vague; all they amounted to were 'Go that way !' But it turned out not to matter in the slightest, for the following reason, as you shall hear . . . .

. . . . All of a sudden, in abrupt and total contrast to the blackness hitherto, Eliot was surrounded by and bathed in strong white light. He felt heat on his face, and began to sweat, although the back of him was as cold as hitherto. He was absolutely dazzled. Slowly his eyes began to adjust. He could make out a shape in front of him; a long white metallic ramp was lowering with a soft whirring noise from the bottom of the huge smooth-surfaced object which loomed dizzyingly above him, cut off the sky and was the source of the light. He could not tell exactly what it was, but it was big. Light of a different register, tinged with blue, poured out of the hole made by the lowered ramp. As Stearns stood there stunned, a very beautiful woman or woman-like creature walked down the ramp, carrying a red Telecaster ready to play, looking definitely like she knew how to use it. If she was an earthling she was about 30, dressed all in white, with vivid red hair cut shoulder length and falling with a charming unruliness across her face. Behind her down the ramp came a curly-haired human or humanoid with a bass guitar. At the top of it, still inside whatever the monstrous thing in front of Stearns was, was a drummer behind a drum kit, with amplifiers ranged behind him. The woman looked round at the bass player and met his eye; both raised the necks of their instruments slightly; the drummer was watching her; all three were tensed, concentrated, ready. The woman raised her eyebrows a fraction as she held the bass player's gaze and counted off silently 'One - Two - Three - Four'; they all crashed in simultaneously.

Eliot was both assaulted and enraptured; entirely possessed by the music. The red-haired woman was playing a guitar line at once sinuous and jagged; the volume of it meant that Eliot felt it right in his core. As the drums crashed and the bass thumped, she was singing a song he didn't catch fully, except for the repeated word 'White', which seemed to be the main subject of the song.

The fact that this had all come out of nowhere, the entire contrast between the dark, silent forest he had been walking through and the intensity of the volume and light now, heightened the impact on Eliot immeasurably. In reality the song went on for seven minutes; but to Eliot in his delicious confusion it seemed almost endless while it was being played, and to be over far too soon once it and stopped, which it did with a final flourish on the drums. Eliot clapped appreciatively; the guitar players smiled and bowed. The drummer was now busy disassembling his kit; the bass player walked back up the ramp and disappeared inside whatever it was it led to; the red-haired woman followed him. At the top, framed in the hatch, she turned and beckoned to the poet. She said nothing, but the gesture was unmistakable: You coming ?

Eliot's hesitation was only momentary and fleeting; the Dragon could wait; or perhaps this was precisely his route to that fabled Beast, this was what he was meant to find, what the Magus had intended but not spelled out more clearly for fear of putting him off. Who could say ? Eliot walked forward, stepped on to the rigid white metal ramp, and resolutely marched up it. As he did so, it began lifting and closing under him. There was no going back . . . .


WHERE IS ELIOT NOW ? AND WHAT, BY ALL THAT IS MOST SACRED TO DODECICENTALISTS EVERYWHERE, IS GOING ON ?!? Part 6 soon - honest !

4. The Magus

Eliot approached the Magus somewhat tentatively, but the latter spared him having to attract his attention by turning fully around - he seemed to have been aware for some time of Eliot's approach - and fixed him with a severe look, though nevertheless for the first time with a perceptibly friendly look in his eye.

"You're cold and hungry, Stearns. Come, I'll show you where there is shelter."

Night had fallen fully by now, and Eliot gladly followed the Magus' courteous beckoning gesture. They went a little way along the river bank to a thick stand of trees, and as they entered this together Eliot found it was up against a small rock face; and in that was the mouth of a small cave, enough to make a very passable fireplace. He was delighted to see a cheerful fire was burning in it, throwing warmth back out into the tiny clearing; and with a sign the Magus bade him sit down on a couch of dry moss and leaves which was there; while Standalf sat on one conveniently opposite.

"Time for tea, eh ?" he said , getting up and putting a kettle to boil on a frame over the fire. It soon began to sing invitingly; Eliot was reviving more every second. The Magus produced two big mugs from the cave with teabags in them, and poured the steaming liquid into them once it was ready, merely remarking:

"Yorkshire tea, ofcourse. It's grown east of Leeds, you know."

Eliot found this rather improbable, but was in no mood to argue. The Magus checked that the tea was properly brewed with care and skill, and being satisfied that it was took the teabags out carefully with his fingers, discarding them on a little compost heap at the side of the clearing. Then he added the milk, and a generous measure of brown sugar in each mug. He waved the spoon at Eliot after stirring:

"Coffee spoons is more your style, I think ? Well - needs must when the devil calls an idle tune; and I should know because the one those fool Christians have traduced as the devil is my father !"

Then he handed Eliot the mug without further ado. The tea was glorious ! The Magus produced a bag from his cloak, and in it was some sort of delicious-looking, thick rich brown gingery cake.

"Parkin !" explained Standalf to the hungry poet. "That'll keep you going."

Eliot ate it gratefully. It dried the mouth rather and was therefore quite hard to swallow, but the tea took care of that. The Magus seemed to have thought of everything.

So they sat on their moss couches in the little clearing by the bright fire, all snug and safe and feeling remote from the harsh world and its cares; at least for a brief moment. Standalf began to speak, or as the Anglo-saxons used to put it, opened his word-hoard:

"Well, Stearns, I know all about your strange encounters. I chanced upon Odin's Ravens and they told me: they saw it all."

He paused to eat a bite of parkin and took a swig of tea to wash it down.

"What I would say about those is, don't worry about them; pass on by ! People are strange, and many riddles are not worth the effort of trying to solve."

He suddenly looked Eliot right in the eye and said,

"You need to concentrate."

Then he became reflective again:

"No, no, forget 'em, balleucas to them ! I was waiting for you in fact because I want to talk to you about something far more fundamental. You see, I am trying to evolve a description of all the most basic human needs, drives and attributes. You could say it fascinates me precisely because I'm not fully human. Well, I've got my list as it stands up to now," -

- he took a piece of parchment out of his cloak and passed it across to Eliot -

" - and I would be grateful if you'ld cast an eye over it and tell me what you think. Any comments, anything you think's been omittted, any lacunae, anything not sufficiently basic, anything obscure you want amplifying. I know what it means as far as I'm concerned, but does it make sense to the general reader ?"

He looked at Eliot directly again for emphasis.

"Who in this case you represent."

He fell silent, and Eliot, who was experiencing a pleasant repletion and delightful warmth from the fire, shifted comfortably on his moss couch and studied the list he had been handed.

Suddenly the Magus struck up again:

"Before you get deeply into it, I would offer a few more remarks. You will note that I have not included the Matt-a-pillar's thing about the universal belief in goats. That is surely based on a mis-hearing or a mis-spelling, or some strange private joke. He can be like that." The Magus paused. "He is quite genuinely eccentric, you know, but he also plays up to his reputation for it sometimes. He's prone to monomania as well, which is odd given how diverse his interests are. He knows these are my opinions, and would not mind me telling you . . . . nor would it stop me if he did ! . . . . oh yes, and if you're wondering where I get my inspiration from for things like this," the Magus went on with a slight smile; Eliot was startled; how the deuce could Standalf know that that was precisely what he was wondering about at that moment ? - "well, I simply try and keep my mind clear, and watch and wait for the messages coming in. Now, read - "

Eliot did as he was asked, and turned his attention fully to the list. The parchment was thick to the touch, and on it was written in green ink in beautiful clear handwriting, the following:


LOVE

HATE

FEAR

GRIEF

ANGER

JEALOUSY

FRIENDSHIP

HUNGER

THIRST

LUST

HEALTH

TOOLS

JOY

SINGING

EXPERIMENT

EMULATION
(= how we learn,
hence)


MENTORS

IMAGINATION

STORIES

CONTACT WITH THE DIVINE
(Exaltation, Transcendence,
Encounter with the numinous)

RELICS

CLOTHES

ADORNMENT

GROOMING

SLEEP

DREAMS

GHOSTS

ANCESTORS

FAMILY

POWER
RECOGNITION
STATUS
BELONGING
PURPOSE (Pilgrimage)
MORALE
HIERARCHY - THE TRIBE
TERRITORY (Boundary Stones)

FOOD
SHELTER

hence

A HOUSE FOR THE GOD

MAKING AND INTERPRETING IMAGES

hence SPEAKING/PAINTING/WRITING

ABSTRACT/SYMBOLIC RELATIONSHIP
TO REALITY - exploring it by these means
- we can only understand things by
representing them




WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE OF THE MAGUS' LIST ?

Stand by for Parts 5 and 6, in which I assure you heartily that events take a most unexpected direction !

3. Salut, Monstre

" Well", said the Matt-a-pillar, "hopeless wreck that you are, you'll have to do ! On with your quest, Stearns !"

Eliot was completely taken aback.

"Quest ?" It's the first I've heard of it. Quest to where ? and in search of what ?"

"Details, details," said the Matt-a-pillar testily. "But the goal is always obscure, eh, Standalf ?" he added to his friend.

"Either that or gay," said Standalf, speaking for the very first time, and his marked Yorkshire accent grated somewhat on Eliot's sensitive ears. "One piece of advice I can give you," he went on " - you'll meet a lot of planks ! Also -"

"Take heed of this one," put in the Matt-a-pillar, "it'll stand you in good stead, always follow it myself, seldom fails -"

"And mark me, mark me well", said the Magus impressively, fixing Eliot with his stare " - the fitter they are, the bigger the plank they go out with ! It's not infallible", he continued modestly,"but keep it in mind and you'll find it applicable to a surprisingly large number of situations."

Eliot was completely at a loss. He could make nothing of this strange advice, so portentously delivered, 'fit' and 'plank' evidently being used in some sense unknown to him; nor did he know who 'they' referred to. (Nevertheless, it was and is good advice, one of the many gems from the Propheticke Booke of Standalf the White.) Furthermore since there was just meadows and copses in all directions, if he had to go on to this undefined goal, which way ? how to start ? Having no other recourse, he appealed to his interlocutors.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know how to start or which way to go."

The Matt-a-pillar's interest was evidently rapidly waning.

"Since you don't know what you're after, it doesn't matter which way you go", he said snappishly. "But the usual thing is to go and see the Dragon and take it from there. Hang on - I'll give you an introduction to him - give me that business card back -"

Eliot was puzzled.

" - come on, come on, the one with the aliases on it - "

Eliot searched his pockets and found it. He handed it over, and the Matt-a-pillar wrote quickly on the back, then returned it. He had written :

This is to introduce Eliot Stearns with my compliments, and to beg you to offer him all possible assistance. (Be careful of him because he is not quite in his right mind, but not too careful because he's a weedy little Modernist son-of-a-bitch.)

"Thankyou", said Eliot doubtfully. "Well - which way shall I go ?"

"Any way you like", said the Matt-a-pillar. "Ca ne faire rien - comme vous voulez !" (One of his more unbearable pretensions was to show off by lapsing into ropey French at all possible oppurtunities.) "It doesn't matter which way you go, because whatever happens is what's meant to happen. That's Moira."

This rung a bell with Eliot.

"Moira . . . . that's Greek for 'Fate', right ?"

"Yes - Greek for 'Fate', absolutely. Your ancestors had another word for the same concept or insight - they called it Wyrd. But it doesn't matter what you call it. Acknowledged or unacknowledged, recognised or unrecognised, accepted or dismissed - it's a fact. Besides which, in Jukeland Moira is an actual goddess - a rather important one, perhaps the most important one, our Great Mother. You might just meet Her if you last long enough . . . . somewhere towards what you won't yet know is the end . . . . or perhaps She'll interevene if you get into difficulties. Tread carefully, because there's all sorts of obstacles ahead: after all, Jukeland has the entire world's resources of history, culture, story telling, folk traditions and mythological systems to draw on; that's quite a source of hazards ! You got off lightly with me and the Magus here, I can tell you . . . although we can be quite fierce when crossed . . ."

Looking at them both, Eliot could well believe it. The Magus was a big man, and the Matt-a-pillar, although diminutive, had an air which commanded respect. The two of them now fell into deep conversation; they appeared to have forgotten Eliot completely. They were evidently talking about magic, because Eliot could overhear odd snatches of esoteric terms he didn't know, or very slightly recognised - he caught the words 'crosby', 'stills', 'nash' and 'young' - qabalistic or alchemical in origin no doubt - all very mysterious.

So Eliot went on his way through the meadows, trying to find a clue as to which direction he should take to find the Dragon - rather randomly it felt to him, although perhaps a knight-errant would have felt perfectly comfortable with it. Presently he saw a figure sat down in the distance and the faint sound of music. As he drew near he saw it was a lady who was singing most beautifully but with great sadness in her voice. As he drew nearer yet, he was able to make out who it was - it was a quite small, thin Elf-Lady of striking appearance (as they generally are), with long slightly curling blonde hair. She was accompanying herself on the cittern and singing a very poignant lament about losing out to one's rival in love - it was very vivid and affecting, and the singular quality of her voice, which was at least equal and perhaps superior to any Eliot had ever heard, gave the song immense force: one couldn't help but recall sad experiences like it from one's own past. Eliot greeted her courteously but she did not respond in any way, which threw him rather. He racked his brains to think of some way of attracting her attention, precisely because she was witholding or reserving it. As a first gambit, he waggled his ears quite plainly in a most amusing and engaging manner - they were rather prominent - which was usually an infallible way of breaking the ice. But it drew no response whatsoever. Then he stood on his on his head, and walked up and down 10 yards in either direction on his hands. The Elf-Lady just went on playing and singing quite as if he was not there, despite his antics. Eliot was roused to fury and therefore to a supreme effort - he grew feathers and danced the Crane Dance just as they did in ancient Crete, just as Theseus did for Ariadne. Still no response. Even being ignored would be something; the Elf-Lady was as entirely oblivious to Eliot as if he was not and never had been there. So he was fain to abandon this puzzling encounter and carry on.

Over and over the meadows he went, the music growing fainter all the time. No change of scenery occurred, and especially he could discover no information or directions as to how to get to this elusive Dragon's Cave (he naturally assumed it lived in a Cave). Then he came upon a most peculiar sight. It was the door of a Georgian town house, with the lintel around it and the steps in front, but that was all - nothing else besides, no house, it was not the door to anything visible, just a door and a bit of its surround standing in the middle of a field. He was even more puzzled when he came up next to it, then went round it and found out there was nothing behind it either - the back of the door was just a grey rectangle, entirely featureless. Having no other ideas though he decided to walk up the steps in front of it and try ringing the bell he could see - and he did so.

After thirty seconds or so Eliot was somewhat suprised to hear the padding sound of approaching bare feet from behind the door; and then it swung open to reveal a Toad stood upright on its hind legs, slightly taller than a man, with a shirt, tie and suit jacket on but nothing else. The Toad did not offer any greeting or remark, merely stared at Eliot with a malicious hostility it did not attempt to conceal - it was also evidently somewhat drunk. Eliot found it all very off-putting, but he had to begin somehow . . . .

"Er . . . . ah . . . . hello . . . . er . . . ."

The Toad still did not say anything. Its squiffy bulging eyes really were unpleasant ! and I'm sure you would have disliked them just as much as Eliot did.

" . . . . er . . . . ah . . . . I was wondering . . . . if you would be so kind . . . . can I ask you if you could give me any hints as to how I might possibly . . . . er . . . . find a Dragon I believe is rather well known round these parts (delightful country you have !), or his Cave ?"

"Can you ? Can you ? " was the disconcerting reply.

"Yes, can I ?"

"Can you ? You can."

Eliot caught the point.

"May I ?"

"May you ? May you ?"

"Yes, may I ?"

"You may not", said the Toad bluntly. "You can, but you may not. I don't know anyway, but even if I did I wouldn't tell you. I don't like cut of your gib - no,damme - not one bit."

Having delivered himself of this, the Toad proceeded to scrutinise Eliot at his leisure, merely uttering a few 'hmmmph's' under his boozy breath. Eliot was extremely uncomfortable, but also rooted to the spot. At length the Toad was kind enough to disclose his conclusions:

"No - not one bit. After a thorough appraisal, sir, it is my decide opinion that you", and suddenly he shouted at the top of his voice, with his eyes bulging cholerically, veins popping and flushed cheeks reddening even more - "ARE AN IMPORTUNATE RASCAL !"

"I'm s-s-s-s-s-sorry if I disturbed you", stammered Eliot.

"DISTURBED ? DISTURBED ?" screamed the Toad, quite beside itself. "You did more than dis-turb me, sir, you INCOMMODED ME !!! In the most flagrant manner ! With the coolness of a fiend ! You abandoned wretch. Now be off", here he started poking and tapping Eliot with a rolled umbrella which he had produced from who knows where, "or I'll call a Constable."

Eliot couldn't see how or where he could actually get one from, but being heartily sick of the Toad's inexplicable over-reaction, and also the poking, he withdrew.

"That's it !" shouted the Toad, shaking his fist as a valedictory gesture. "Off with you, sir, and never have the impertinence - I may say, the infernal impertinence - to present yourself here again."

Eliot was only too happy to comply. He went on his way through the meadows, unable to make sense of either of these strange encounters: both the Elf-Lady and the Toad seemed to be reacting to some private version of events of their own, which they superimposed on whoever came across them; Eliot was merely the occasion for their inner bias revealing itself. That was the substance of his reflections as he went on his way.

Twilight was coming on, and a sharp breeze from the east was making Eliot shiver a little; he was tired, disorientated, hungry, not sure of his way and uncertain where to find shelter or food; altogether a most disagreeable condition. Things were looking bleak; Eliot was definitely flagging. Now the meadows were sometimes bounded by streams or rivers, and Eliot was approaching a particularly wide swift-flowing river as the darkness thickened and the cold intensified. Gradually he realised that a large figure was standing motionless with his back to him on the river bank, looking either across or into the water; the figure had been hard to spot before because it was as I said unmoving, and because it was wearing an all-enveloping camouflage cloak. Eliot felt a mingled surge of hope and thrill of fear; the figure was beyond question Standalf the White !



WHAT IS THE MAGUS DOING, STANDING SO STILL THERE ALL ALONE AS DARKNESS FALLS ? HOW WILL HE REACT TO ELIOT'S APPROACH ? AND WILL HE HAVE ANY ADVICE AS TO HOW TO FIND THE DRAGON?



STAND BY FOR PART 4 !

2. In Which You Become Stearns . . . Eliot Stearns

! ! ! KA - ZAM ! ! !

A flash of light, a whiff of phosphorous, and you are in the process of becoming someone else - an abrupt and unheralded transformation. When it is complete, you will experience these adventures through the eyes of our Protagonist, in fact they will become his adventures.

You feel a bit peaky as everything pulses slowly on and off into negative around you, like a cheap special effect in a particularly poor and deservedly forgotten episode of Doctor Who, known only to the most rarefied of the most obsessive devotees. Involuntarily you tip your head back and clench your teeth, and the ground also tips this way and that as in an earthquake. You throw your arms in front of your face to protect yourself - a futile gesture. You tingle all over, you feel something scanning through your memory like a computer searching through files to erase them - you feel your long-familiar and cherished personality melting away like a dab of butter in a hot frying pan - your limbs change, getting thinner and lengthening, becoming masculine if you are a woman - suddenly everything is still, the process is over, light normal, ground level, and you tentatively explore your new body and personality to find out who or what you have become. A werewolf ? The Incredible Hulk ? George Clooney ? Robert Plant c. 1974 ?

Suddenly it clicks and you know. You have become Stearns . . . . . Eliot Stearns - elongated, balding intellectually, dressed in tweeds and brogues. You - henceforth he - are famous for among other things waving a coffee spoon in a threatening manner, which is thrilling to ladies of a certain disposition. He also is often seen and pictured with a literary-minded spinster draped adoringly on each arm - the only drawback with them is they do rather tend to come and go, talking of Michaelangelo - which however good that painter is, and his merit does not require my reinforcement - can get insufferably tedious. 'What about Giovanni Bellini ?' Stearns sometimes inwardly protests, but noblesse oblige . . . . every station in life has its drawbacks. He has indeed become philosophical, almost Senecan, but whether that infamous gap between precept and practice which bedevils so many issuers of advice - the Max Stirner problem as we call it in Our Mythology - is a feature of our Hero - as it definitely was for Seneca, Rousseau, Francis Bacon, [insert your favourite example here, then nod sagely, content in the excercise of your erudition] - which will have to be left for this Tale to reveal.

Eliot was in front of the Mushroom, with the Matt-a-pillar on top, who was only intermittently curious at the shenanigans just described and seemed as ever to have a significant part of his attention focussed on inner voices. Whether Eliot could be said 'still' to be there is a question not easy to resolve, because although he had not moved, nevertheless he was until a few moments ago someone else i.e. you. However that may be, he was in front of the Mushroom and the Jukebox.

"How are you feeling ?" said the Matt-a-pillar.

"I'm growing old, I'm growing old . . . ."

"Yes ?"

"I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled."

"Nasty ! Well, no doubt you'll feel better in a minute. How are all your faculties ? It's most important that they're in tip-top condition before you go any further."

"I don't know, I really don't know," said Eliot. "How could we test them ?"

"Well, the best and most infallible way, a diagnostic tool found across all cultures and epochs of humanity, like the belief in goats - "

Eliot wasn't quite sure he'd heard that right, but since he wasn't sure about the state of his faculties either, or the state of his judgement, he let it pass.

" - is to recite something from the classics - something you've always known, and is very widely known."

"Mmmm. Do you think so ?"

The Matt-a-pillar disdained to reply, but his expression said quite clearly "I have stated it, therefore it is the case." You can see he was not overburdened with humility when it came to his opinions, I'm afraid - it was one of his qualities which he felt fitted him so well for Pope. (His plans for the Church when he was enthroned were well-prepared and terrifying/sacrilegious or hilarious/long overdue depending on your point of view; but the exact details of them are another thing which will have to be left to this Tale to reveal.)

Eliot had an idea for something to recite. He said:

"How about 'Atlantic City' ?"

"Capital !" said the Matt-a-pillar. "A superb piece - just the thing," then added pointedly,"he's a far better poet than you, you know - it's just that people get stuck on categories, 'high'/'low' culture, think they must stick with one or the other, terrible shame, miss out on so much. Anyway, if you're going to recite some of the Boss, there's someone nearby who I think should join us - "

The Matt-a-pillar made a gesture towards a copse of trees nearby, and - Eliot found this distinctly unnerving - one of them detached itself, approached, and stood next to the Mushroom unmoving, giving Eliot a chance to study the new arrival, whatever it was.

It was an extremely tall figure, 6'4 at least, completely covered in a cloak of camouflage material with a large hood - Eliot could not see its feet or hands, if it had any. But it did certainly have hands, because they emerged and pulled back the hood, revealing a striking face, long blonde hair like a Viking or an Angel, and two particularly remarkable features: two tendrils grew out of its or rather his mouth, one on either side, which reminded Eliot of medieval carved representations of the Green Man (which was quite appropriate because the figure was in fact among many other things the Green Man); the other feature was the eyes - as Eliot looked at them they were an ordinary if bright blue, but suddenly the figure tipped its head back slightly, smiled in a not altogether reassuring manner, and his eyes, the whole eye socket, became completely green like the Sea, one seemed to see waves and currents passing across them, they were infinite, menacingly indifferent, one could imagine sailing on them endlessly in pursuit of some splendid and elusive goal, some Hesperides. Then the figure tipped his head forward again and the efect disappeared.

"You're no doubt wandering who this is, " said the Matt-a-pillar to Eliot, and went on before he had a chance to reply one way or another, "This is Standalf the Magus, and among his many other talents, attributes and ritual taboos he is one of the foremost authorities on Bruce Springsteen in Jukeland - in fact in the known and unknown Universe."

Standalf said nothing to this but merely smiled in acknowledgement.

"It is most fortunate that he is here to hear you recite because his opinion is held to be decisive, and is sought and treasured by even the most learned in these matters, somewhat as if he was a top rabbi or imam . . ."

Eliot was vivibly more and more nervous.

" . . . Not that this should put you off," added the Matt-a-pillar maliciously, then sharply, "Well - in your own time . . . "

Standalf's alert silence was even more intimidating than the Matt-a-pillar's rudeness. Eliot felt four glittering eyes upon him, and was not at all sure about the wisdom or efficacy of this course, but plainly he was tied to the stake, so -

"Come, come," said the Matt-a-pillar. "'Atlantic City', as promised - "

- Eliot began -

Well they put up a chicken house in Philly last night

Yeah, they moved in the chicken too

Out on the boardwalk they're looking forward to their eggs

Gonna see what that chicken can do

Can't get no eggs from out of state

And the co-op has completely run out

Gonna be some omelettes a-sizzlin' if that chicken comes through

And scrambled eggs as well for anyone else who's about

Chorus: Oh, baby ! - Every chicken flies, baby, that's a fact
Maybe every one that flies some day comes back
Make your parody close, make your parody witty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City !

When he had finished Eliot felt the unvoiced contempt of his auditors quite as strongly as if it had actually been spoken.

"That is not quite right, I'm afraid, " he apologised.

"It's nonsense from beginning to end," stated the Matt-a-pillar flatly. "Heresy by thought, word and deed. You are evidently a man of unsound mind."

There was an awkward pause. Standalf, though obviously disgusted, still said nothing. Then the Matt-a-pillar made one of his curious abrupt transitions, as if all that had happened up to that point was forgotten entirely, as if it had not happened.

"Have you ever seen a Bardic riddling contest ?" he asked Eliot cordially, who was mightily relieved to be cleared of his difficulty so easily, and willingly replied,

"No - but I would like to. How could I see such a thing ?" which was a big fat fib because he didn't really know what one was.

"It's the easiest thing in the world," said the Matt-a-pillar, glancing across at Standalf who met his look and smiled conspiratorially. "We'll give you a demonstration, a friendly so to speak."

And abruptly they began shouting lines at each other, first the Matt-a-pillar, then Standalf, as if it was a well-rehearsed game; and this is what they shouted :

What is the Spirit that grows in the Leaves ?

What is the Spirit that grows in the Grass ?

What is the Force when a lover's chest Heaves ?

What is the Force in a beautiful Arse ?



What's so Delicious that resides in the Face ?

What's so Delicious that vibrates in the Voice ?

What is the Knowledge beyond Time and Space ?

What is the X-ness beyond all Choice ?



All is Contingent, that's all we can Know

Though we can Dress up that Insight a Million Ways

Understanding resides in the Flow

And then they shouted the last line in unison -

The Less a man knows, the More he says !

Standalf reached over and slapped the Matt-a-pillar on the back, and they both collapsed into delighted laughter, clearly extremely pleased with themselves; although Eliot felt that their rhymes, while vigorous and zestful, were painfully old-fashioned. He bridled inside. Had they not heard of Modernism in this strange realm of Jukeland ? Could anyone really be so backward ? But he merely observed,

"If it was a contest - who won ?"

"Well, it was a friendly," said the Matt-a-pillar, out of the corner of his mouth, both because he was lighting yet another thick cigarette and because he was still chortling, as indeed was his cohort.

"The thing to bear in mind is, I know his, " indicating Standalf, "secret name. Obviously I'm not going to tell you what it is, but observe - "

And he bent over and whispered in Standalf's ear. A look of understanding passed between them, and Standalf nodded and smiled. But whether the Matt-a-pillar really did know Standalf's secret name, or whether the Magus was content to humour his friend's strange quirk that he thought that he did, neither Eliot, nor I, nor you, will ever know !

TO BE CONTINUED.

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR DRAGONS, BEAUTIFUL MAIDENS TIED TO ROCKS, MUSCLY PROTAGONISTS, FRACTIOUS GODS, RUNAWAY TRAINS, BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATES, A HEROIC LAST STAND . . . . ALL THE USUAL IN SHORT . . . . THOUGH UNFORTUNATELY THIS TRAIL IS UNRELIABLE AND NONE OF THE FOREGOING MAY OCCUR . . . . IT MIGHT IN FACT FEATURE A MIDDLE-AGED MAN IN SLIPPERS SAT CALMLY READING THE PAPER, WITH A MINUTE DESCRIPTION OF THE PERFECTLY ORDINARY ROOM HE'S SAT IN . . . . ONE OF THOSE POINTLESS LITERARY EXCERCISES WHERE YOU THINK AS YOU'RE READING 'SURELY THERE MUST BE SOME POINT TO THIS', BUT IF YOU'RE BRAVE OR FOOLISH ENOUGH TO STICK WITH IT, YOU FIND OUT THAT THERE ISN'T . . . . YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO TUNE IN NEXT TIME AND SEE !