The Troll and his Scroll, Part 1 of 3

Absurd Existential Fantasy

ON THE SHIP

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“You brought your mother” said the captain, with approval.

“Yes, we–”.

“Please, sir. We don’t have much money”.

“Easy there, lady” the captain said, and chuckled. “Let us hear the children’s story. It is they who shall tell the tales when we are gone. And we all know that those who tell the best stories rule the world, right?”

The captain smirked, mouthing his pipe shaft. He looked at mother and puffed smoke from the corner of his mouth. My eyes darted back and forth between them.

A tug at my shirt.

“Tell him”.

I turned. Jess held my shirt in one hand while hugging mother’s leg with her other. Her mouth quivered at the corner.

“You tell him” I returned.

“I don’t know if I can pay rent this mo–”.

“No!” the captain snapped, then smiled. “No...”

Mother went silent.

“We did as you told” I said.

The captain’s eyes beamed at me with wonder. That’s the thing that helps me remember, I think. That one look of blazing excitement, expectation, a child’s gaze in a man’s eyes...

And so I told him how we had caught the subliminal signs in the TV-commercial which had caused much chaos and brought forth brilliance. I told of stealing the suggested book. I told of the craze in the library. I told of begging mother to read it at just the right timing, when the flutes were to play, which they did.

That’s how they pulled it off, you know. Not just for us. For everyone. They blew their magic toots at the reading of certain words in certain orders.

And so mother said that yes, we could go see the ship, and we – Jess and I – could hunt for treasure.

Before I yarned the captain – by the way, the only thing I regret omitting is that I punched another boy in the library – the crew murmured around us. When I finished, the crew was silent. They all shared that wild aspect of wonder with the captain. And beyond the ship’s railing, across the water, with Manhattan far behind her, stood the Statue of Liberty. She looked as unamused as ever. Today she looks happier though, as you know.

“Good lad” said the captain. “And now we’re all here. But tell me, did you hurt anyone for the key pages?”

“No, sir” I lied.

“Are you sure? One must, eh, we must” – he scanned his crew – “always tell the truth”.

Laughter erupted on the great, wooden ship. Bells jingled. Fingers snapped. Some of the crew members let their flutes rip. Mother pulled Jess and I closer.

I do wonder what would have happened had I told the whole truth...

Well, it doesn’t matter. I have no regrets. Regret is no factor when you lift treasure of this caliber.

The captain, having calmed the laughing crew, pulled from his baggy trousers a map. But he didn’t give it to me. He gave it to Jess.

“Do you know why she gets it and not you?” he asked me, releasing the map as Jess accepted it.

I shook my head.

“Because we don’t like liars around here”.

Once again, laughter rang, and bells jingled. The crowd’s dubious mirth was infectious. When my grin finally released, I noticed how tense I had been.

Mother tried to take the map from Jess. Jess pulled back so hard she slammed her arms into me, as well as her hands. And what were those little hands holding?

One piece of the treasure map.

Mother held the other.

Everyone around us went silent, as though a button switched them off. How Jess and mother reacted, I don’t know. I only had eyes for the captain.

If before his eyes had beamed wonder, now they were as two portals to a world of enchantment ineffable. His mien was one of mad delight. And the interesting thing about it – the very thing that made his amazement so apparent, I suppose – was his reservation.

“Nice” the captain said at last, nodding his head. “Very nice”. He passed his nod around, then came back and radiated his unspeakable joy – at me. “Now that’s a map. Are we ready to go?”

“Sir” my mother said. “I’m sorry, I–”.

“Sorry?” the captain said, and laughed. “Sorry for what, for a miracle? Why?”

When he asked why, his voice took on a strange quality. He sounded intrigued, sad, forgiving, mocking, teasing. He sounded as his enchanted eyes had looked a moment ago, if that makes any sense. I guess it doesn’t. But then, what does?

Mother said nothing. Somebody giggled. The captain shook his head.

“Come now” he said.

The change which had invested him was gone. He stepped forth and threw an arm around mother.

“Let’s leave the kids to their spectacles and miracles”.

His free hand, releasing the sword hilt at his hip, plucked the map piece from mother. He met no resistance. She was always a little slut, my mother.

But I guess lust wasn’t it. Not then. Not that early on her, well, voyage. She must have been confused into pieces, afraid of the strange captain, and yet hopeful that he could set our economy right, even if it meant letting her children go on a quest in the safe unknown. Poor thing.

The captain handed me the map piece mother had ripped from Jess. He gave us a firm, pepping nod. He led mother away.

“No” she said, though moving along and tossing her head around. “Maybe I can go instead?”

With a graceful spin, the captain let go of mother’s one side, and stepped around to hold her other. He whispered something into her ear. And then mother’s eyes, focused on me and my sister, turned huge with an emotion I have never been able to guess at.

She snapped her head around and, neck craned back, looked at the young captain by her side. And still the two of them kept moving.

A guard opened a creaking door. The captain entered fully. His hand extended from the darkness inside. Mother took it and vanished without a second glance. Giggles surfaced among the glorious, ridiculous crew.

The crew cut dazzling figures, each more extravagantly dressed than the next. Their outfits were a riot of mismatched fabrics, velvet and silk clashing with rough-spun linens, all in garish hues: emerald greens, sapphire blues, ruby reds. Many adorned themselves with capes embroidered with curious symbols. Several wore the bell-tipped hats of court jesters. Their sleeves puffed out in a ludicrous parody of nobility. Boys and girls alike flaunted knee-high boots whose leather shimmered in the autumn sun. Their belts bristled with quills rather than swords. Only the captain carried a sword. And now he was gone with our mother.

Jess and I fused our pieces of the map. It must have been made of some enchanted material. When we held the two skin-like pieces close, and saw the full picture, all we cared for was treasure hunting.

Exactly at the rent was the X. We each had one part of the symbol.

“Take it easy, kids” said a new voice.

How long did we look at the treasure map? I don’t know. But when we lifted our faces from it, the crew had scattered. Only one sailor remained to warn us of what awaited. He smirked.

“It’s friendly out there. Very, very friendly”.

“Is it?” said Jess, smiling.

“Yes. And therefore, you should take this”. The sailor gave me a vial. “It will make you fast”.

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IN THE PARK

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The oars slammed down on the thwart Jess sat on, and I blew on my sore hands as we drifted ashore. The dinghy thudded into the rocks beneath Liberty Walk; and with that relieving thud, the impressions I had blocked out during the arduous rowing returned: whoops, laughter, live acoustic music. Something like a festival had consumed the Park.

Eager for treasure and having worked no oars, Jess jumped out of the front, skipped over the rocks, and climbed the low iron railing. I remained for a while, catching my breath, suspicious of the joyous masses. 

“Come on, Bill. We are treasure hunters!”

“Keep it low”.

Tents thronged. Fiddles yelped. Folks danced. Folks jived. Folks hugged.

Some even lay on top of each other.

You would’ve thought the pirate ship to be the greatest attraction, but no. Most of the festive folks were gathered tightly out on the green grass, toward the inner part of the Park, moving huddled about like a flock of sheep under a dog’s command. Jess was already running towards them.

The party was magnetic. I would be a liar if I told you that I, who was the more reserved of us, didn’t also relent to the pull.

They welcomed us in, talking, pointing, raving . . . but all failing to explain the cause for their excitement. I got hold of Jess’ shoulder. She waded us through the flock.

I can see myself arriving at the front. My eyes burst open as though five dried grams of mushrooms were getting acquainted with my system. How old was I then, twelve or thirteen? I hadn’t touched the so-called Food of the Gods at that time. But I have since. And let me tell you, what I saw at the front of the flocked humans in Liberty Park that day was more enchanting than any vision I’ve ever had in trips.

The dog was before the flock, not behind. And it certainly was no dog...

It had a bald patch between its ears. The ears were half the size of its head. Brown hair covered its body. Three or four feet of swift stature, muscular, incredible, it had a tuft on its tail.  It held a scroll.

Loping and rushing intermittently, with many a ‘Ho’ and a ‘Hi’, the troll traversed the grass giggling like one insane. We – the amazed crowd – followed it like a kitten investigating its first lizard, profoundly curious and yet wary of the small creature. When the troll moved, we followed; and when it paused, we backed off.

This behavior of ours seemed to increase the troll’s levity. It darted away again, and we waggled along, everyone wanting to go but none wanting to go first. Then the troll somersaulted into a standing salutation, and we stopped too and even retreated, with a collective gasp.

The troll skipped away, performing its antics, giggles turning into shrieks of ecstasy; and the same thing repeated.

It was a loop of wonder.

The feeling of it was uncannily pleasant. I could never have put words on it then, though I can now. It seemed there was no fact in the world beyond the fact that all the world was a joke.

But I don’t know how I exited the wonderful back-and-forth, the loop. Perhaps it was that warm guardedness flaring up which an older brother has for his younger sister. Perhaps the troll kept us under spells and decided – for whatever reason – to lessen its grip on me. Perhaps it was a fluke. At any rate, I noticed there was no shoulder in my hand.

I had lost Jess in the crowd.

And yet I did it, like the fool who did it because he didn’t know it was impossible – I quit investigating the somersaulting troll and I withdrew from the hypnotizing attraction. I searched through the vacillating crowd for my vanished sister.

Five hundred people is quite a gathering. This must have been a thousand. More were joining, too; and judging by the aggregate engagement, the hairy thing had upped its antics, for the crowd swayed all the wider, like a roller coaster seat with loose bolts going increasingly out of control as the roller coaster engine, cranked up and racing at full speed, indefinitely accelerates.

I pushed through and out and staggered panting towards one of the event tents. A bearded man in oily overalls playing with his country band did so – played – standing on the big, leaning double bass that was his addition to the jaunty Americana. It was as much an eye-catching performance as an ear-catching, though it wasn’t as compelling a marvel as the coat-clad individual next to the tent, whose gesticulating arms exuded persuasion like magic. He also wore a respectful top hat. This powerful adult could help me find my sister.

But he had already found her. Jess stood listening before the talking man, in the tent’s shadow, eyes full of admiration.

“Jess!”

“And if you make the reservation today, airport transfer is included”.

“Jess, we have to–”.

The man turned and silenced me with his empty eyes.

“When the clock strikes midnight” he said. “This offer turns into a pumpkin”.

“Bill, listen”.

“Indeed, son” said the man, and adjusted his hat. “You’ll also want to visit Lucky Living Lodge, the most prestigious real estate in all of majestic Colorado. For an unbelievably low price, you’ll experience all the luxury and mystery a seasoned traveler like you could ever dream of – and more! For you are your sister here”.

“And for mother too” Jess added, skipping and clapping her hands.

“All-you-can-eat buffets. Exotic delicacies never heard of. And . . . the grand opening show is included in the price, three tickets valued at sixty-nine dollars each”.

“It’s a circus, Bill”.

“Just so. And it’s your price. Jess told me you are in a tight spot, what with father leaving and all that. Tragic. You have my condolences. Heated cabins with amazing views. Endless entertainment”.

“Whatever it is, we can’t afford it”.

“My boy” the man said, and touched my shoulder. “That’s exactly why you need it. This is where you come to recharge, and to get lavish inspirations – world-changing, lucrative ideas. You pay only to never again have to worry about money”.

The man in the coat, smiling with his mouth but not with his eyes, made a swift pointing of his finger, like ‘You know it’. Jess came up to me and shook my arm.

“We can borrow money” she said, as if everything was settled.

“I know many bankers” the coated man assured. “I will get you the best interest rates. And an exclusive skiing course. Just as I was saying”.

He ruffled Jess’ hair. She beamed.

In my swirling mind, where I saw myself relaxing in a warm bed, gazing out of a panoramic window at endless reigns of snow-topped spruce trees, a phrase echoed. It was my own words: ‘We still can’t afford it’. I wouldn’t have said that if I hadn’t been somewhat invested in the offer.

I clung to the intuition as if my life depended on it, which I guess it did. My sister surely had access to the same faculty, but – as they said in the times before the old times – alas! She was also prone to following whims.

“No” I said, and prayed Jess hadn’t said anything about our purpose. “No, sir. Thanks but no thanks”.

“Bill, this is our only chance. He said so twice”.

“The rooms are limited”.

He shrugged, as if questioning why I was ruining my family. He uprighted his hat again. It kept slanting.

“Jess” I said, looking my sister in the eyes. “This is exactly why mom has so little money. This is why we must...”

I looked at the man, who had produced a form – a document – that smelled of rose water, and which glimmered in the sun by way of its imprinted unicorns, as he extended it from the tent’s shade. Jess looked at it and exhaled in awe, as though she saw a real unicorn. I grabbed her with both my hands.

“It’s why we must help her. You know?”

“I usually don’t let children sign these things. But today, you may sign the important papers, Jess. Because you are also very, very important”.

“Jess, maybe there is something cool to explore in this park”.

“And later” the man said, eyeing me dangerously as Jess pulled free of my grasp and marveled at the form. “Later, you can sign it with mother again. That’s how your adventure begins – you having family fun, together”.

I snatched the form and ran.

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OUT OF BOUNDS

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The only time you can ignore a somersaulting troll is when a creepy man hustles your little sister. I even managed to look behind me. Obviously, I had to see if Jess had caught my bait.

She had. And I believe that says a lot about the hustler. He had clearly made an enormous impression on her, as she, running not to save anyone but only to sign the fraudulent form, still ran past the troll and its wave of admirers, as though it wasn’t there.

The coated hustler, however, came after us. And as I looked behind, the troll and the crowd was on the left, near the Walk and the water.

As I turned and continued, I heard – again from my left – giggles and wild peals of unearthly laughter. The troll had turned, and thereby swept the crowd along across the line of our chase.

I looked behind again, and made a coughing sound like a cheer getting stuck.

Jess was catching up with me as I slowed down, but there was no sign of the salesman. All that appeared in our wake was a wall of people pointing, screaming, and cheering. The tireless troll had made an arc, and came skipping in our direction, barring the way of our antagonist.

And on I went, moving forward, still not uncorking the vial which allegedly increased one’s speed.

“Hey” a meek voice groaned. “Bill, stop!”

Her troubled voice reassured me; her tone indicated she was bent on catching up. 

Jess repeatedly cried for me to stop, but I proceeded, passing bench after bench. It was kind of mean. It was also necessary.

My soccer practice did me a world of good. Easily faster than my little sister as I kept going, I ran or jogged along the Walk, past the restricted Liberty Island Bridge entrance, to the edge of the Park, where the promenade opens magnificently with water on either side and ahead of it the New York City skyline.

At the end of Liberty Walk, I did stop. Jess caught up with me dragging her feet. Her face glistened with sweat, and I assumed mine did the same. Her eyes were wet with tears.

I let her take the form. She inspected it as though she didn’t know what it was. Over the gentle cluck of waves hummed the city.

“Do you remember our purpose?”

She squeezed the unicorn-covered paper. She drew a sniffing breath. She looked around the little half-circle plaza, where elm trees with round canopies grew in an arc behind the benches and the lamp posts, and where we shouldn’t be.

I waved my piece of the map. “You still have yours, right?”

Jess groped inside her pockets. Her hands came out empty. She had the look of one who’s seen a ghost.

“You gotta be kidding me!”

Then light returned to her troubled face. She bent a knee. She lifted her heel out of her shoe.

And took out the other piece.

“I pretended to tie my shoe!”

I sighed. “Let’s sit”.

We sat on a bench at the arc’s midpoint. Out in the gentle blue waves, where sailboats drifted white and careless, loomed Ellis Island. Behind it and smaller than the Island’s water tower, the Statue of Liberty rose up facing away.

“What do you think mother is doing?” said Jess.

I wondered the same. But it seemed crucial that I change the subject. I had to kindle Jess’ treasure thirst.

“We’re on a quest, Jess” I said, as though it were a game. “We can’t look back. Show me your map piece”.

She took it out. We held them together. They completed the compelling X.

Jess giggled. “But we have to go back. It’s in the Park”.

“Yeah. Hey, could you find it with just your piece?”

She gasped. “What do you mean?”

“No, no, no. I’m just saying”.

“I guess I could”.

“Me too”.

I closed my eyes. All was dark. Our prospect, however, looked bright. Lots of people, chatting eagerly and many on the phone, were passing by. They were no doubt headed for Liberty Park to look at the hairy thing no human had witnessed before the strange fleet’s strange arrival.

On the news, they claimed the ships had come out of Bermuda.

“This time we know what we are up against” I said, looking seriously at my sister and once again mustering a playful tone.

“Won’t we need a shovel?”

My mouth dropped. I hadn’t thought about this.

“You’re probably right”.

“I saw one! By that tent”.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I saw a shovel”.

“So then it was . . . it wasn’t bad that you got hustled”.

“Let’s go get the shovel and dig”.

“Damn” I said, and almost missed that it was a bad word. “I think this is what it means. This is what it means to be on a quest”.

“Means what?”

I knew; and yet, there on the bench, I couldn’t say what I knew. But as I sit here and spin my old yarn, I can. Now I know and have the words.

Everything that happens, extraneous though it may seem at the time, needs to happen. Everything is unfolding as it should when we’re on a journey. And aren’t we lucky that all of life is precisely such a thing?

A journey...

A journey through life unfolding exactly as it should.

Everything belongs. Everything is perfect, since there is no alternative to the one moment. Perfect joy when it is joyous, and perfect misery when it is miserable.

And when we deny this fact, it is perfect denial. Perfect denial of perfect power. Perfect power used to create perfect, ironic, divine powerlessness...

But now I’m rambling. The show must go on.

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