Unbidden Memory

It was a pleasantly warm night. Iago and Quasimodo were surrounded by the songs of crickets as they entered the clearing in the woods. "Finally," Iago muttered, "we can see the stars. Sometimes the leaves overhead are so thickly clustered that one has not even a hint that there is a sky above him."

"You're too easily irritated, my friend," said Quasimodo with a smile. "Whether you see it or not, there is always something above you. Besides, you can now see a plethora of stars shining over your weirdly-shaped pate, so what right have you to be annoyed?"

"Because it is the nature of the beast," Iago sighed. "And I did not expect there to be so many meteors scorching across the sky."

"A beautiful show, absolutely beautiful! How could one even such as you find it in your dark and bitter heart to not delight in this display?"

"Because they're falling stars. The very term 'falling stars' brings to mind so many metaphors, none happy. Sure, they seem so beautiful, their light rushing across the sky for such a short time. But that light means they are dying. We can only see their light because they are speeding toward their destruction. They are beautiful to us only in their moment of death."

"Well," replied Quasimodo, "they are visible to us only as they are dying. But that by no means entails they were not beautiful when we could not see them, when they were in darkness. A thing's beauty does not hinge on its being seen: hidden or revealed, a thing's beauty is inherent in itself, whether any mortal ever perceives it or not."

Iago rolled his eyes. "Please, old friend, don't go into another of your long-winded rhapsodies; just allow me to bask in my annoyance."

Quasimodo smiled. "You've been such an annoyance to me for such a long time that I would be petty not to allow you to wallow in it yourself for a moment." He then silently counted to ten and asked, "Now, what is all of this really about?"

Iago couldn't help but to return the smile. "Very well, since you insist. As I said, falling stars lend themselves to metaphors. They travel in their own course only to die in a burst of illumination. You will find it hard to believe, but once I was in love ... oh, so long ago, when I was oh-so-young. But, as so often happens, we drifted apart, like the stars. I wrote a poem about it. It is very, very bad because I wrote it when I was very, very young, but I still remember it to this day ... or this night. Especially on this night when there are so many falling stars. It goes like this:

"Like falling stars we drifted apart,
You in your world and I in my heart.
Like stars we drifted apart,
You with your world
And I
    Alone
        With my heart."

Quasimodo stared at his companion in the woods for a moment. Then, involuntarily, he began to laugh. Iago, eyebrows raised, started to say something, but suddenly found himself laughing, too. They laughed until they both fell on the ground. Quasimodo, staring into the sky, said, "It certainly is beautiful, isn't it?" Iago, smiling broadly, whispered, "Yes. it most certainly is!"

And serenaded by the crickets, they watched the stars until the sunrise.

Zinnia Dreams

There are people who can make the desert bloom and faded hearts to flower. Such people have a gift ... and such people are a gift.

Crossroads

The sunrise was now far behind him. His journey was drawing to its end. The sunset in front of him filled the sky. The memories of things behind him began fading and he found most of his thoughts now converging on the setting sun. Before they utterly slipped from memory he recalled some of the paths he had taken to reach this point; some of the paths and some of the people he had met as their journeys intersected with his. He remembered the many crossroads with their dangers, toils and snares, and the paths he wish he had taken and the ones he wish he had not; the happy paths he chanced upon and the unpleasant ones he was glad to exit. He thought how long his journey had been. Some of the people he met walked on journeys far too short, at least in his opinion; but that really wasn't his affair. He only knew the length of his travel felt sufficient to him, and now that he had reached this lone and final path, that was good enough. He had ascended this crag and tail as long as seemed proper. He recalled how gentle and easy the rise was at first, with the sunrise imbuing everything with a rosy glow. Later the ascent at times became rough, with clouds hiding the sun; but there was no obstacle he hadn't either surmounted or found some way around. And now he was approaching the apex of the crag, the end of his journey, and he assumed the precipice would be be overlooking an unimaginably steep and dizzying abyss. The very thought of that abyss disquieted him and he stood still, wavering. It was then, though, he thought he could just make out, still far in the distance at the edge of the precipice and silhouetted by the sunset, a figure, a figure with arms outstretched toward him. He studied the figure for some time. Then, with a shrug and a smile, he sloughed off the last memories of what lay behind him and continued upward on his way.

Humpty Dumpty, Again

For reasons obscure even to me, I occasionally become fixated on anthropomorphic eggs falling off walls. However, if memory serves, this is the first one where I attempted (not very successfully) to have the character look like he's actually starting to slip off the wall instead of being firmly ensconced atop it. The reason he seems either unaware of his plight or is indifferent to it is because it's hard to decipher the emotions of an egg. It's even harder to refrain from making puns about how hardboiled and scrambled his personality and thoughts must be, even though he is only a shell of his former self. Still, I'll refrain from writing such rotten puns, although the baser part of my nature keeps egging me on.

Victoria the Victorian

I confess this may not be much, but Kathy ambled by when I was drawing it and said she liked the eyes. Since the eyes had Kathy's "aye," I thought I would post the piece.

In Memory of Bazille

The companions reached the gully and paused. Quasimodo calculated its width and said, "With a little effort we should be able to clear it. Ready?" Receiving no reply, he studied the hill on the other side of the divide. "It's steep, but I don't think it's too steep. And it's ivy-covered. We should be able to scale our way up. Onward and upward, you know. So, again, are you ready, Iago?"

He was met by silence. Turning, he found Iago standing motionless as though at attention, staring intently at nothing.

Quasimodo sighed. "He's lost in reverie again," he thought, "and once he snaps out of it he'll be compelled to lecture me about something obvious that he thinks is a revelation. Ah well! There's nothing for it but to wait for him to come to himself."

Several minutes later Iago did indeed rouse himself as if from a trance and turned to his companion. "You know," he said, "my father was a poet, and I hold a very fine one, albeit I might be a tad prejudiced. He penned many a fine poem, but his greatest poem wasn't in words; it was when he held my hand. The most beautiful poem a man can compose is when he reaches out and holds another's hand. My poet-father gave me life, old friend, and, poetically speaking, if you will, so have you ... many, many times."

"Pardon?" Quasimodo asked in unfeigned amazement.

"I'm in earnest," Iago said. "These woods ... lost in these uncanny woods ... if I had been alone, without you ... I don't believe I'd be alive now. In a way, you have given me life, over and over. I ... I have taken a great deal from you, if you will, and I owe you a great deal."

Quasimodo stared at his companion, an indecipherable look on his face, and quietly replied, "You're wrong, you old scoundrel; it is I who owe you. You see, with a friend, it doesn't matter how much you give, you'll always end up taking more."

They stared awkwardly at each other, but only for a few seconds. Then, not speaking, for there was no reason to speak, they jumped the gully and ascended the hill.

The Understudy

They had been married for such a long time and she still loved him, not with youthful ardor but with something better; with the deep warmth of her soul. She thought, "We're two and yet one. And after being together all these years I'd be terribly lost without him, as if I'd only be half of me. How does the Good Book describe it? Oh yes! 'The two shall become one.' That's us, and that's not a bad thing!" She smiled and nestled her head on his shoulder. "Everything is so wonderful," she thought, "except ... "

"Dear?" she cooed. He grunted. "Dear," she said, "I know before we met that you worked in the government for a while."  "Hmm," he replied. "And you asked me to never ask you why you left the civil service. Still, we've been married so long, surely you can tell me now."

"Well," he sighed, a long, deep sigh, "well, I didn't quit. I ... I was fired."

"What?! How could that happen? Why would anyone ever let you go?"

He sighed again. "I'm afraid if I tell you that you ... well ... you might want a divorce."

Her eyes grew wide and she stared up at him in absolute amazement. "Honey! Don't be silly! How can you even think that?  I love you! I will never, never, never, ever want a divorce! You hear me?"

He hesitated. "All right, I'll tell you. You know how information is often leaked to the press by an anonymous source?"

"Sure, honey."

"Well, part of my job description was to be one of those unnamed sources. See, if we wanted information released but it would be inappropriate or awkward to release it officially, my job was to leak it to the press. Naturally, all this had to be coordinated with my superiors. You can understand that it was vitally important to keep them in the loop."

"Of course, dear."

"Well, one time ... the last time ... the information was so big, I was so excited, that I leaked it without seeking complete prior approval from above. Huge mistake! I caused a lot of damage by not keeping my superiors in the loop. Heads rolled, and one of them, of course, was mine."

"Oh," she cried, "my poor angel! My poor, poor angel!"

"Well," he said, "that was so long ago. Still, I guess it just goes to show that the old adage is true."

She stared into his face with sympathy and love. "What adage is that, my dear?"

He smiled at her and said, "That I should loop before I leak."

She kept her word. She did not file for divorce. Instead, one day weeks later, as they strolled hand in hand beneath a gorgeous blue sky, serenaded by the chirring of cicadas, she reached up, gently kissed his cheek, and shoved him over a cliff.