Friday Fiction: King Korm (Part Three)

This was, in ordinary times, the auction block. Now it was hung with banners along the wall, banners representing the crown, the legions, and even some of the greater guilds. Below those was a row of chairs, and seated there was a line-up of well-dressed Morgs, some fidgeting with boredom, some sitting up straight with self-importance. Craning his neck over the murmuring crowd, Korm could identify a royal herald, several sergeants in their dark red cloaks, and even an ancient general in blue.

But what really caught his eye and made him grind his muzzle was when he recognized Sekk, one of the most popular and social Witnesses in the City, looking smooth and sleek and bestowing smarmy, benevolent glances left and right. He fumed for a few seconds, then set it by. Why should this occasion be any different from the rest of life?

Then the five minutes must have passed, for there was another clanging of bells. The Herald stood up and formally approached the podium. He paused, then knocked on the stand slowly, three times, looking left and right over the crowd with a solemn expression. The crowd went silent.

“Cadets of Morg City!” he announced. “I welcome you to the King’s Camp Service. It may interest you to know that you have been counted, and that this year there are nine hundred and forty-six of you, something of a record number. Look around you! For these are all now your brothers, now and for years to come. May you remember that with pride! I welcome you in the King’s name!”

Korm flinched as everyone around him suddenly roared in salute, holding up a clenched right claw to the sky. He belatedly raised his own fist, then held it up a second too long when the others lowered theirs’. Luckily no-one seemed to be paying him any attention.

“I introduce you to Colonel Drim, the Commandant of your Camp,” the Herald barked. “He will be your overseer, your chief, and your ultimate authority for the next nine months. From now on you have no mother, no father, no family; there is only Colonel Drim, and he speaks as your sole commander, under the Throne. Respect him, as you would the King.”

He stepped back from the podium.

“The Colonel will address you.”

And suddenly it seemed to Korm that Drim was abruptly there, as if by magic. He had certainly not noticed the golden-brown cape of a colonel sitting on the stage, but now it was impossible to take his eyes off the precise, erect figure that was marching up to the podium like an inexorable sunrise. The big Morg stopped and glared out at the crowd over his scarred muzzle. He didn’t move his head but appeared to take in the group in one intense scowl.

“I am Colonel Drim, of the Fourteenth Regiment.” His voice was a deep, low rasp that somehow reached and echoed off the farthest wall. “You will refer to me only as Commandant; that is my function for this exercise. Failure to address me properly will be the occasion for a demerit. A demerit will earn you a punishment; the most common punishment is a flogging. You have been warned.”

You could have heard a pin drop. There wasn’t even a shuffling of feet.

“Now, some of you might think Camp is a jolly vacation away from home, sleeping out under the stars and having some rough and tumble brawls like you had with your gangs back behind the tavern at home. Some of you with older brothers may know better. Well, let me tell you how it’s going to be, so you’ll have no further illusions about the matter.

“Camp Service is a serious matter. It will demand your entire attention. And it may very well save your life, the lives of your family, and in some drastic instances, perhaps the existence of the whole City. This is not an exaggeration.”

He looked down at them grimly.

“We live under constant threat from the North. The fact that there has not been a direct assault on the City in your lifetime only means that the likelihood of an attack grows greater and greater. And when Barek – and his Ogres – strike, there may not be much time to train and prepare.

“That is what Camp Service is about!” he bellowed, his armored fist crashing onto the podium. Even some of the sergeants behind him jumped. “So that you are not caught with your diapers down when Ogres come knocking at the City gate! So that you can be mobilized at a moment’s notice to meet any threat.”

His voice became grave and even again.

“There may even be some of you, after the training, who will want to join the regular army. If you do, I congratulate you. There is no nobler sacrifice for your country. But even if you don’t, you can never say that you weren’t prepared for when war came upon you and you had to go marching out.”

Drim cleared his throat. His flat gravelly voice did not change.

“Now I’m going to explain how all this works. War is of necessity a clash between at least two combatants. For the purposes of training, you will be divided into two groups, and each will be headed by a ‘King’. Most training you will receive together, but the exercise of that training will be a competition between ‘Kingdoms’. You will learn how to give commands and how to receive them. You will learn the consequences of your decisions.

“Do not be deceived. The position of King has many responsibilities and few joys. If you are chosen as King, the onus of your Kingdom’s success is on you. You will learn when to take advice and when to stand firm. If you are not chosen King, you will have to learn to follow orders, when to question orders, and how to approach your leaders with subtlety and tact.

“The successes of your Kingdom will be tallied and recorded. At the end of the training there will be one final battle, after which there will be only one with the title of King, and his will be the victory.”

He smiled bleakly.

“You might be asking yourself, what do we win? Well, that’s just it. You win. The King gets a small prize from the City, to celebrate with his subjects, but more important is the honor you will receive for your triumph, the bragging rights for your moment of glory. If you think that little enough …” He paused. “Think of how little it will feel if you don’t win.

“I ask you now to choose your Kings. His Majesty’s Herald shall explain the process.” 

Notes

Most of the illustrations I choose for these stories are only rough approximations, to give a little skin or general feeling to the tales. The marketplace would have been a lot bigger and barer than the picture I chose; General Ursus from Beneath the Planet of the Apes gives only a generic idea of how Colonel Drim seems. My hand is not as steady as it once was or I might have drawn pictures as I did in the old days; nowadays I have to try to make pictures only with words.

A Bit of Theology Thursday: A Pelican in Her Piety

Recently my nephew Kameron went on a tour to visit The Painted Churches. “The "Painted Churches" of Texas are a unique collection of churches, primarily built by Czech and German immigrants in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, that feature stunning, hand-painted interiors. These churches, often appearing unassuming from the outside, were built by immigrants seeking to recreate the look and feel of their homelands, particularly the Gothic structures they were familiar with.” He took many pictures which I was later able to explicate for him, from the Stations of the Cross to a peculiar bit of stained glass with a rather odd but once popular bit of religious imagery.

(Could be bewildering)

This was a representation of “a Pelican in her Piety”, a formerly widespread religious symbol, popularized and disseminated through a Second Century bestiary, the Physiologus and its successors. 

“The Physiologus is a strange hybrid of genres, … [it] is neither quite natural history nor entirely a collection of just-so-stories. … the Physiologus is the earliest known bestiary—compendium of beasts—that staple of medieval literature. Like many of its inheritors, the Physiologus contains information about a variety of animals, and in each case, a theological interpretation of it. It is difficult to appreciate how, for early Christians, the Bible and the natural world really did make up “two books” to be read and interpreted and mined for meaning. Concerning the pelican, the Physiologus says that

it is an exceeding lover of its young. If the pelican brings forth young and the little ones grow, they take to striking their parents in the face. The parents, however, hitting back kill their young ones and then, moved by compassion, they weep over them for three days, lamenting over those whom they killed. On the third day, their mother strikes her side and spills her own blood over their dead bodies (that is, of the chicks) and the blood itself awakens them from death.

It does not take a subtle mind to see how one might theologise this ornithological observation.”  - https://www.theschooloftheology.org/posts/essay/symbols-the-pelican-in-her-piety

Shakespeare refers to this legend in King Lear. In Act 3, Scene 4, Lear refers to his two daughters, Goneril and Regan, as "pelican daughters," implying that they are feeding off his lifeblood with their greed and cruelty. Shakespeare also uses the imagery in The Two Gentlemen of Verona and Henry VIII.

[A bit of a technical note: the Pelican, in wounding itself, is said in heraldry to be vulning, that is, making itself vulnerable.]

Wideo Wednesday: Get Up and Bar the Door

IT fell about the Martinmas time,

           And a gay time it was then,

           When our goodwife got puddings to make,

           And she’s boild them in the pan.

 275A.2     The wind sae cauld blew south and north,

           And blew into the floor;

           Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,

           ‘Gae out and bar the door.’

 275A.  My hand is in my hussyfskap,

           Goodman, as ye may see;

           An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,

           It’s no be barrd for me.’

 275A. They made a paction tween them twa,

           They made it firm and sure,

           That the first word whaeer shoud speak,

           Shoud rise and bar the door.

 275A.5     Then by there came two gentlemen,

           At twelve o clock at night,

           And they could neither see house nor hall,

           Nor coal nor candle-light.

 275A.6     ‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house,

           Or whether is it a poor?’

           But neer a word wad ane o them speak,

           For barring of the door.

 275A.7     And first they ate the white puddings,

           And then they ate the black;

           Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel,

           Yet neer a word she spake.

 275A.8     Then said the one unto the other,

           ‘Here, man, tak ye my knife;

           Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,

           And I’ll kiss the goodwife.’

 275A.9     ‘But there’s nae water in the house,

           And what shall we do than?’

           ‘What ails ye at the pudding-broo,

           That boils into the pan?’

 275A.10   O up then started our goodman,

           An angry man was he:

           ‘Will ye kiss my wife before my een,

           And scad me wi pudding-bree?’

 275A.11   Then up and started our goodwife,

           Gied three skips on the floor:

           ‘Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word,

           Get up and bar the door.’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbacJ_ngjeE

Items of a More Reasonable Nature from the Wish List

This final batch of books from the Wish List are at the same time more reasonable (especially reasonably priced; no book over $23) and also at the same time kind of superfluous. Much of the ancient literature is stuff that appeals to my smartypants side; whether I would actually read it is kind of a moot point, but I would be so happy to have them on hand, for reference and whatnot. There are two volumes that, until last night, were competing for my 'one book a month' resolution: Zero Gravity by Woody Allen and Borges: Collected Fictions. If I chose Woody I would have all five of his writing collections, but the clotted comedy of Mere Anarchy has kind of put me off his work for a bit, and there is only a hardcover available right now. Jorge Luis Borges is always a writer I've felt that I should be more into (what with all the fantasy and magical realism and whatnot), and having his collected fictions all in one place appeals to the completist in me. I was never that into him when I was reading Ficciones, though, although now that I'm older I might appreciate his work more. As it is, I can't decide on anything right now, so maybe I'll just let things slide until something really arouses my interest. 

Items from the Wish List: A Series of Series

I have two reasons I get complete DVD boxed sets of television series: to always have shows on hand when I feel the whim to watch them, and to always have them safely filed away so I don't feel I have to watch them whenever they're on. Both of these reasons are connected to what you might call the fugitive nature of some shows: not always being available, or not the right episode that you want to see. Comedy, mystery, science fiction, drama, sometimes all at the same time. Overwhelming if taken all together, the Wish List items may finally be acquired if pecked away at one at a time. But can I? Should I? Are these joys better 'taken on the wing'?

Pricey Items from the Wish List

I'm afraid all my good wishes to finish the LOTR chapter today came to naught; I couldn't even write a little section. Yesterday was a singularly unfortunate and 'off' day; I'm still recovering my spirits. But I still had the odd compulsion to make a list of stuff I wanted from my Amazon Wish List; it is the first of the month and I have no truly compelling item that I have knocking at the door. But these 'big ticket' items have been tickling my fancy for a while; there's just no really good reason to buy them (except for aesthetics, if you can call that a good reason) and prices are high.

Especially enticing but most unnecessary are those deluxe editions of Tolkien books, each with Tolkien's own illustrations; they are volumes of which I already have multiple copies. Would I even read them, or would I be too fearful of even besmirching them with my touch? But they are beautiful, and impressive, and a luxury that I would be hard-pressed to justify. 

More justifiable would be the Annotated editions, dripping as they are with various illustrations and scholarly notes. But it would be the third edition of The Annotated Alice that I've ever owned, each more intricate than the last. I already have adequate versions of The Arabian Nights and Hans Christian Andersen; the only book I really don't have is The Secret Garden, and my interest in that is kind of marginal.

I'll probably have several other Wish List inventories through the day, not all of books, but certainly all items that I either can't afford or can't justify, but I certainly would like to own. If it were just a matter of wishing.

Fools in April 2020

3/29/2020: Up at about 2:30 AM. Tried to get to sleep again, but no go. More obsessive straightening (I wouldn’t call it cleaning) and rearranging, and planning in my head what to do tomorrow. Prayers, Bible. Went to bed about 4 AM, setting the clock for 6:25 AM.

Got up, prayed rosary, and had Mass on EWTN. Andy called me in at 9:30 AM or so and I fried bacon and eggs and made pancakes. Cleaned up. About 12:45 they called me from shopping. I got up and got an apple, then started sorting the Writing Files. They needed it. Put Elf & Bear stuff together in order, and Alben stuff, and Gothenburg stuff, and AGODP stuff, and Ortha stuff. The diaries, poems, and dreams were in good enough shape. Sorted the rest into Ideas, Story Beginnings, Developed Stories, completed Stories. That leaves [sigh] the Drawings to work on. It’s now almost 5 PM.

Not too long after Susan came to me and asked me to start supper. I tried a new idea: cooking the hamburger in a baking dish then cutting it into square patties, and it was simple and worked a treat. Also fried onions and mushrooms together for the patties and made avocado dip and there were some very nicely spiced HEB Taco flavored tortilla chips. Andy had been mowing and doing other yardwork all day, and he began again after supper. Came out and watched Kenny reading more Jungle Book and came to his aid when he fell short of his time by reminding him there was a second Jungle Book. ‘Tis now 8:30 PM, and he should be back shortly to read Dracula. Which he did. As usual, there was an interruption as he froze before the end. Bah. Bed 10 PM.

 

3/30/2020: It was a cool night and I think having a thicker pillow to cushion my knees helped. Still alarming pains in the veins and general weakness, with some loss of stability when I get up, especially if it’s dark. Up about 4:30 AM, wrote some notes on “A Friend You Haven’t Met” (AFYHM). Dressed, prayers, Bible. Now 5:30 AM.

Wash at 9 AM, which I finished by 11 AM. Ramen at lunch. Made broccoli salad. John called and told me he was off work (paid) for a while. Amy was off as well (not paid). He told me that just before all this coronavirus started, Morgandy got a package direct from Wuhan, China, and they’ve been in dread of that for a while. Poor John. He seems particularly worried.

Supper fish rings and couscous. The drizzly rain of the day finally let up by evening. Rosary. Went in at 8 PM and made Kam supper, washed up, and retired for the night. Moved action figures from one bureau to another. Listened to Kenny reading The Second Jungle Book and then Dracula.

Had a strange reluctance all day after making the notes in the morning to write anything. The usual apprehension of not being able to match my conception with the actual incarnation. Well, tomorrow is another day. I hope.

 

3/31/3030: Up about 7:30 AM, showered, dressed, said my prayers and read my Bible. Watched Perry Mason face a gorilla.

That Good Old 1960's Gorilla

 

Translated a page, wrote a paragraph, went in, and boiled eggs and made chicken salad. Had ramen, with an egg and bread. Borrowed a mirror from Susan when they came home for lunch, and I buzzed my head. Kam has some school project on his plate; doesn’t want to work on it just yet but makes sure I stand ready to help him.

Sunny but cool all day. Watched some “House”. About 3:30 PM went in, grassed the dogs, fed the pets, stuffed the peppers, and shucked the corn. Brought the garbage bin in. Supper ready at 5:30 PM. Got a good block of writing in on AFYHM (4 pages) and some notes. Interrupted my flow to help Kam with his homework – a dreadful thing for a 56-year-old man to have to worry about. Went in and washed up, then returned home. Said Rosary, and now at 10:30 PM I’m ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow’s April Fool’s Day. Sheesh. I wouldn’t be surprised with the country being as paralyzed as it is if some fool still tried to flush a cherry bomb down the toilet of the world for the hell of it.

 

4/1/2020: Up about 6:30 AM, prayed, wrote a couple of pages of AFYHM, more prayers, Bible, than transposed a page of KK [King Korm] while I made some ramen. Now about 8 AM. Went in at 9 AM and made Kam his bacon and eggs. For some reason I’m particularly ravening this morning, so making some more ramen (with bacon grease, bread, and a leftover bell pepper cap) right away. Heard news of Rick and Morty new episodes come early May, so that’s a thing. Sunny, but a little cold this morning.

From e-mails to John: I got up fairly early when my brain juice was still pretty fresh and surprised myself by producing a few entire pages on the new story (tentatively titled "A Friend You Haven't Met" or AFYHM for short) in a sort of breeze. It was still getting things 'cranked up' but I found it so technically fascinating, even apart from what was happening, that I galumphed along until I found a good stopping place. There are still a few introductions to do, but the real action is immanent. So we'll see how that goes. Afterwards I translated a page of script to prose, and I vowed that I never would do bits in script again - unless I'm writing a script. It's not hard but it's irksome.

I was reminded of [a quote] this morning for some reason and posted it on Facebook. Here is the longer version of the anecdote:  

 

The story is told of Zusha, the great Chassidic master, who lay crying on his deathbed. His students asked him, "Rebbe, why are you so sad? After all the mitzvahs and good deeds you have done, you will surely get a great reward in heaven!"

"I'm afraid!" said Zusha. "Because when I get to heaven, I know God's not going to ask me 'Why weren't you more like Moses?' or 'Why weren't you more like King David?' But I'm afraid that God will ask 'Zusha, why weren't you more like Zusha?' And then what will I say?!"

Later: And here it is, almost evening. I spent the early afternoon starting to sort drawings, and it’s been so many years since I actually looked at them, that they were a sort of revelation. I'm making a special file of drawings by and of the family; there a quite a few by you in there. I've also started to gather, for the first time, all my "Last Drawings of the Year", starting from 1982. There are quite a few gaps, and I don't know if they are still misplaced, accidentally thrown away, or just never got drawn. As I say, there is much sorting yet to do. I'm also putting groups of drawings associated with specific writings together.

For supper, I brewed a prodigious pork stew that should last for at least two days. It contains pork roast, onions, celery, carrots, potatoes, and cabbage, and there is jalapeno cornbread on the side.  I'm dreading this evening, for Kam has computer homework to do, and guess who is assisting him? Gathering his attention and getting him to work is like herding cats.

And so: Kam and I worked on his stuff, and it wasn’t so bad, except that for one of his assignments a site he needed to reference was down. I finished going through the drawings, finding a few more last pictures, beat the folders into some kind of shape, and put them back. It was something of a revelation looking at them again with a distanced eye, but also with that inner knowledge of their place and origin in different times of my life. I could write a short biographical explanation about each of several 1000 pages! (That’s just a guess, as to number.) Listened to Yen reading Dracula (missed the first part of the evening, helping Kameron). 

Found an old drawing by Susan (she must have been about 7, she says) of the back yard at Loop Drive. A blast from the past, indeed. She also reminded me that I need to get in gear for SSI [Supplemental Security Income], a daunting prospect.

 

4/2/2020: Up about 5 AM, showered, dressed. Short prayers, but also Litany in Time of Plague. Caught up diary and looked at sites. Ready for longer prayers. Prayed, and did Rosary.

Family Medical Center: 303-5224. Appointment Monday, April 13, 10 AM. Well, that’s done.

Since Kameron had to be up to meet his pastor, he was ready to go ahead and do his homework after lunch. That’s out of the way.

I was ready to go in at 4 PM and grass the dogs when there was a sudden boom of thunder, and it began really raining. When it slows down, I’ll go in to heat the stew and take care of the pets.

Did so and went in about 7 PM to clean up. Got some Broccoli Salad and a new thing, Kameron’s miniature Jack-in-the-Box tacos. Watched Elijah play some world of Warcraft, then Yen reading Jungle Book and Dracula. Lost the connection about 10 PM. Wrote a page or so of AFYHM. Read some ghost stories.

Ready for bed, I guess. Having little stinging, shooting pains in my legs, abdomen, and now throat. Is this it? Is it coming on me? Now my hand. Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell, and lead all souls to Heaven.

 

4/3/2020: Up at 6 AM, still alive. Dressed, prayed, Bible.

From John:  It's been pretty weird.  I've been doing various chores, both inside and outside, when the weather has allowed; looks like we are in for a pretty rainy week ahead, so probably not a lot of lawn work will be in the offing for a while.  Reading, watching various things and trying not to think too much about the horrors sweeping the globe.  It just seems like a bottomless pit of shit, to be sure.  Do ya'll have any masks? It would probably be a good idea to wear one if you are heading into the Family Clinic- that place is kinda skeezy even in non-plague times. Ask Susan- they probably have them from the shop, for painting, etc. We are past the point of worrying about over-reacting to this now. We got our new washing machine delivered today, and boy, has that been great, being able to catch up on laundry. Not having one for last couple of weeks has certainly added to the stress- we could use the Loth's washer, and did a little, but the pain in the butt of ours crapping out right as society crumbled was pretty harsh. But now-luxury!

Made Kam eggs and bacon. Made myself ramen for breakfast. At lunch, ramen again, with an egg. About 3 PM started preparing the fried potatoes (peeling, getting the pan) and spent right up to 5:45 PM frying them. We had supper (fish, taters, broccoli salad); I said a rosary about 6:30 PM. No writing so far and I don’t know if I will. Day rainy, damp, and cold.

 

4/4/2020: What a blaugh day. Hard, heavy rain, and cold. Prayers, Bible. Ramen for breakfast, ramen for lunch, with the house closed up and didn’t see anyone until 4 PM, when I got Kam to do homework and I got leftover broccoli salad and (what else) ramen. Finished, went in, and got the leftover chicken salad. Watching “Targets” Boris Karloff, Peter Bogdanovich. I did write 3 new pages on AFYHM and sent the whole thing so far to John, in a fit of ennui. No kid’s reading from Yen tonight; Dracula later.

E-mail from John, as I sent him AFYHM so far: Ha! Okay, this is going to be fun! Just saw I had this a little while ago- I've been pretty much bumming around today, and finally checked in on the wide world.  We watched "Time Bandits " last night- I almost cried just from the sheer nostalgia it evoked. I watched "Brazil" a few nights back- that one is still the brilliant bummer I remembered, seeming more and more prescient every time I watch it again, which has been about once a decade these last few times. The idea of Roth and Korm on the loose in "Walnut Springs” is certainly tantalizing! I love the Monroe Engbrock and Danny Daniels references! Keep rolling, if the weather allows- that heavy gray is certainly a zap on one’s gumption.  I finished "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance " - an interesting philosophical examination which, strangely, but not unpleasantly, had more to do with Greek philosophy than Zen, although that does tie in, in the ineffable way it can tie in to anything else.  Send more when you can!

Notes

So the town of 'Walnut Springs' is based on my hometown of Seguin, Texas; indeed that used to be its name in the old days. 'A Friend You Haven't Met' (see elsewhere on this blog) was a strange little endeavor, a bit of fun to bring together the Bureau of Shadows with the Morg/Ortha stories; I had been writing so many of both then. The tale brings a lot of town lore into it as well, suitably fictionalized; it is indeed almost 'a love letter to a town'!

I remember what a struggle it was to get Kameron to settle down to his homework, to resist the temptation to just do it for him and be done with it! I'm pleased to say in the end he completed his work by himself; my input was mainly encouragement and guidance, and getting him to buckle down to it. I'm afraid he had some of my dilatory, last-minute nature. 

What a lot of cultural balloons we kept and keep in the air to help our spirits stay alive! Perry Mason, Dracula, The Jungle Book, Time Bandits, House, Boris Karloff, -- even Rick and Morty, to an extent! I remember how sad it was seeing certain resources sputtering out, certain shows discontinued, as the lights went out all over the world and we huddled around our campfires.

As you can see by my health panics and my recollection of Covid times, I have a tendency to pessimistic dramatics.