Chant

By Rick Henry

BlazeVOX [books]
Buffalo, New York

Chant by Rick Henry

Copyright 2008 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Cover design: "Nudge" (watercolor) by Dana Henry First Edition ISBN: 1-934289-79-5 ISBN 13: 978-1-934289-79-2 Library of Congress Number: 2008938105 BlazeVOX [books] 14 Tremaine Ave Kenmore, NY 14217 Editor@blazevox.org

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Mode I

A stood naked, looking out the small window of his room,

out at the rows and rows of grapes that were wet with the morning mist. Beyond he could not see, for the mist was thick, though it was breaking up in patches, and he could tell the day would be hot. Though the sun had barely begun to rise, it was already warm. He turned from the window; his attention moved to the room, a cot, a chair, a basin, and a small wardrobe. In the wardrobe was the robe, freshly washed the day before, freshly scented with rose hips. He removed it from the wardrobe and lay it on the cot. He dressed. In a small mirror, he studied his face, the growing creases that deepened every year, and combed his beard. His eyes told him nothing. When he finished dressing, he moved to the robe, running his fingers over the fine weave, delicately inspecting the worn spots that faded before his eyes. He put the robe on, perhaps for the last time in a long time, he thought, not that it mattered. Time would tell. He straightened the collar in the mirror, smoothed the wrinkles, puffed out his chest, and left the room, coming out on the balcony to the courtyard. The mist was heavy and he could barely see the well, let alone the church across the yard. Tomorrow, he thought, things would be simpler; and he could spend all his time in the vineyard. He descended the steps from the balcony and

moved across the yard, past the well, where he paused for a moment to drink from the ladle that hung from the wooden peg, and headed for the kitchen to make sure the preparations were running smoothly.

as she whipped the batter to the proper consistency. She wore a t-shirt and circles of sweat appeared under her arms. The kitchen was hot. The pig was roasting over the fire in the corner and had been for most of the night. The stones at the bottom of the massive fireplace glowed with the heat. She had been up every hour during the night to turn the pig and she was tired. The batter was too wet. She poured a handful of flour into the bowl and resumed her beating. For her, it was the busiest day of the year, and, while the rest relaxed and enjoyed the festival, she prepared the food. It evened out, she thought, when the harvest came in, everyone else worked long hours, and when the fish were running, they all worked the nets. But once, she would like to spend the festival without the worry of the kitchen. Of course, if she got the bean, she would spend the next festival at the head of the table without having to worry that the pig was turned properly. She chopped the onions and wiped a tear from her cheek with her apron. A walked in. Is there water for tea? he asked. She nodded toward the pot that hung next to the fire. He took a mug from the pegboard and poured the water for himself, crushing a rose hip into a strainer. She dumped the onions into the bowl and began to stir once again. Is the cake ready? he asked.

G leaned over the table, her arm swinging around in circles

Almost. She dropped a bean in the batter and poured the cake into a pan. He sat at the table, steam rising from his mug, and she saw that he looked older. Does the robe do that? she wondered and put it out of her head. If age came with the robe, she wasnt sure that she wanted it. She put the pan with the batter into the oven and began cutting up the vegetables for the stew. It is going to be hot. Before she could answer, they heard the bell tolling from the tower above the church.

F climbed the steps to the top of the wall and walked carefully

to the tower in the northeast corner. From there, he could see through the clearing mist the dock where the boats were moored. The sun was rising above the mist, hiding the power of the sea. He could smell the salt water and inhaled, drawing sustenance from both the salt and the water. He would not go out in the boat today and he felt as though he were betraying the trust he had with the sea. He leaned over the edge of the wall and gazed into the depths as they cleared of mist. The water just beyond the docks was dark blue and deep, some of the best lobster water around with cliffs dropping from the wall to the bottom of the sea. Further out and to the south, it was shallower, greener. Further still, the mist was turning into a white cloudbank. The robe was nothing, he thought. It held no power, it could not hold power greater than the sea. The robe was there when they arrived, tossed in the corner of the church, used by the rats as a nest. But who could explain the good fortune of B when he wore it that first year and grew turnips as big as his head and four mares foaled. And who could

explain why he wanted it so badly. He had nothing against A. He had done well with the robe, prospered, was fair, arrogant as well, but he had been arrogant before the robe. He thought at times it would be best to do away with the honorary title, to destroy the robe. He shivered at the thought, though the sun was warm on his face, and returned once again to the power of the sea, the life it held, its power over death in that first year before the harvest when all they had to eat was its bounty. He had kept them alive, rowing out in his boat every day, returning with lobsters, flounder, and cod. All of them had hurried down to the dock when they saw him coming in; theyd tossed him lines and peered anxiously into the bottom of his boat to see what their dinner would be.They were fabulous meals, garnished with seaweed C collected, and wild herbs that E found. The sea was their life those first few months. The sun rose and a gull cast a momentary shadow over his eyes. Down at the dock, the water lapped softly. Further out, the buoys that marked his traps bobbed. He let his gaze go further and further, out to the cloudbank. His knuckles tensed on the wall as he saw a shadow of a boat appear, disappear, and then become solid. It drifted closer and he could see a body lying in the bottom. He hurried along the wall to the tower in the southeast corner and then to the church where he rang the bell.Then, he descended to the courtyard and ran toward the dock.

As tea still steamed, but he had left with the tolling of the bell. Carrots, celery, onions, all lay in heaps about the table as she finished with the turnips. Stuck in the kitchen, as she

G was quickly cutting the last of the vegetables for the stew.

was, she always missed the excitement, the birth of a calf, the discovery of a cave in the cliffs. She tossed the vegetables into the pot and swung it on the huge iron arm closer to the fire. It was the cake that held her here and she resented it. From the door of the kitchen, she could hear the excited voices from down by the sea and looked quickly about her. She checked the cake, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried out of the kitchen through the courtyard and out the gate under the northeast tower. Their voices were coming closer and, on the path down to the dock, she met with the rest of them. A called orders to clear the extra room and bring blankets. He was walking backwards, holding a mans feet, while B came up from behind with the mans shoulders. C, E, and G were talking at the same time, while, below, F put the oars away. The man they carried was blonde and bearded. Is he dead? Four answers came at once. He was unconscious. Half dead. Looked awful. G thought he looked peaceful, as if in sleep, and she backed along the path and made room for them to pass. To the bedroom, A called, but G interposed. Take him to the kitchen where he will be warm. They obeyed and stumbled through the courtyard under the weight while C and E ran to get a mattress. G cleared a corner by the fireplace and they set him down. Once C and E returned, they slid him onto the mattress. The women fussed over him, wiping his brow with hot wet clothes while A stood uncomfortably over them. G looked up and caught his eye. He looked annoyed. She realized she had usurped his power on his last day. F stood in the doorway, a smirk on his face. When there was nothing more that could be done, A spoke.

Im sure we all have things to do. The room cleared. G was left alone with the unconscious man. She checked the cake. She turned the pig and stirred the stew. Then she returned to the body that lay near the fire, bathed him softly, and pressed fresh water to his lips. B poked his head in at one point and she brushed him away, telling him to get the festival started. She returned to fixing the meal, but her eyes moved constantly to the prostrate form.

fingers moved automatically over the strings and he watched as the others danced. E joined him at the well, her flute in her hand, and he changed the tune so she could play along. A danced with C. He was stiff and awkward under the robe. F was forced to cover a smile. His rescue had been ignored, it was nothing, really, anyways, he had just rowed out and towed the boat in, but As power had been slapped in the face in front of everyone. He laughed as they skipped high in the air and landed on the worn stones of the courtyard. B danced by himself, clapping his hands in time to the music, spinning occasionally, and drinking wine, which spilled from his cup with each skip. A tired and B took his place, dancing with C, and F picked up the beat. The flute played faster and faster in his ear and his fingers flew. They reached a crescendo and stopped as B fell helplessly to the ground. Everyone laughed and F saw A coming towards them with two glasses of wine.

F pulled out his guitar and sat on the edge of the well. His

Be careful. I saved the best for the festival, he said. I can tell, said F as he watched B stumble to his feet. He raised his glass to his lips and tasted the sweetness. It was good. A returned to the table and F struck up the next tune. Es flute was hot on his heels. A isnt really such a bad person, F thought. Its a pity the robe went to his head.

played counterpoint, then melody, wrapping her notes in and out of those that flowed from the strings. The music and the wine ran together, spurring her to more daring counterpoints and faster melodies as her fingers hopped from stop to stop. F laughed and she looked to see B falling again. A sat at the table, slapping his hand in time to the music, while C spun wildly without her partner. E tapped her foot faster and faster once again until she was breathless and nodded to F for the end. She finished with a flourish and practically gasped between sips of wine. F shook out his fingers next to her. I thought youd like to know I thought your rescue was brilliant, she said during the lull. F turned to her. I hope it was in time. He strummed idly across the strings. She nodded and raised the flute to her lips again and again they were off. They played and played until G finally came out of the kitchen to set up the dinner. E broke off and went to help while F continued playing. How is he? she asked G as they placed the plates around the table. He is stirring, G said. And they went into the kitchen to finish the preparations. E could see he was already better. Color was returning to his cheeks and he tossed occasionally

E felt the rhythm of the guitar dancing in her soul as she

as they pulled the pig out of the fire and set it on a giant platter. The stew went into a huge bowl. The cake was steaming on the table. G went to the man from time to time, pressing water to his lips, until, finally, he opened his eyes. As E walked out with the stew, she called to everyone that the man was up, and, as proof, he appeared in the doorway with G behind him.

pressure against his lips. He drank, slowly at first, and then gulped at the fresh water. Slowly now, a voice came to him, you dont want to drown. He opened his eyes and saw a woman bending over him. Long black hair was tied up in a bun, which settled on the top of her head. Her smile was friendly and he could smell a meal in preparation. He sat up, but the room tilted. He closed his eyes until it passed. He felt his strength returning and quickly rose, to the surprise of the woman. Im ok, he said. She wiped his brow again with the hot cloth and he brushed her away. My boat? he asked. Its safe. He walked to the door and squinted into the sun. The dizziness returned. He leaned against the doorframe and saw the table set for a banquet. He found himself seated, next to the

D thought he heard music playing far away and felt moist

woman from the kitchen and the guitar player. Everyone began to chant, their voices blending awkwardly as they searched for a common note. The guitar player held fast with his, even though the majority of the others found other ways through the music. He listened hard for words that were recognizable, but there were none that he could discern. The chant continued while the food cooled in front of them. Finally, they finished and the man in the robe began to serve the meal. What were you singing? D asked the woman next to him. Names, she said. Names? he asked. Whose names? I dont know. We found them in a book we discovered in the church. They ate. Forks and knives scraped against the plates, which were continuously passed down to the man in the robe to be filled again and again. Finally, they began to push their plates to the center of the table and lean back in their chairs. Their bellies were bloated. A tapped his glass with a spoon to get their attention and asked D for a recital of how he came to be with them. Faces turned expectantly and he squirmed uncomfortably for a moment until the woman next to him urged him to speak under her breath. He began his story. My home is the boat, he said. It has always been,always meaning as long as I can remember.There was a time when I was small, very small, that I lived on land. Where it was, I cannot say, but all my memories are of the boat. My father and I left the land and traveled, in the beginning, staying close to land, stopping occasionally to search for food and water, but always returning to the boat. For years we traveled, meeting people sometimes, strange people who

wore feathers, others who wore gold. Sometimes they would give us gifts of food, clothing, hooks for fishing. Other times they would chase us away, hurling rocks and sticks. We traveled that way for years, the two of us, until a few years ago, when my father was ill. It was difficult to manage the boat by myself and to take care of him, so I brought it into land. There we stayed for some time. I would hunt during the day and return at night to ease his fevers and comfort him. He died anyways. It is difficult to tell exactly why, but I returned to the sea, in the boat, alone. But he was still with me. I felt it. When the storms got bad, I would always find the course that allowed me to escape with the least amount of damage. Before my father died, he told me we were looking for a kingdom where all was right. How he said we would know when we arrived, he didnt say, but it would be there in the heart. I didnt know what he meant, but I continued looking, stopping at land, occasionally, sometimes floating out to the middle of the sea, for he didnt say that the kingdom was on land, nor did he say it was at sea. I searched everywhere. But he is with me, or at least he was until the last storm. It blew for two solid weeks. I had no idea where I was, all my time was spent navigating through the swells and bailing the water that poured over the sides. My strength began to fail and I spent more and more time bailing, letting the waves take me where they would. There was no food, I used that up early and the water I tried to collect from the storm was polluted with the salt from the sea. I grew weaker and weaker until it was all I could do to bail out the water each morning and watch it rise throughout the day. My father was gone. I could feel it. The storm finally passed and the days grew hot. The stars had changed. I drifted. I threw a hook over the side with

a small piece of bait, but caught nothing. Eventually I passed out and didnt awaken until I was here in your kitchen. He looked up at the faces around him. That is all. The sun was low over the west wall and A clapped his hands and called for more wine. It is nearly time, he said. The woman next to D rose and went into the kitchen while each cup was filled with wine. She returned with a cake, which she placed in front of A. Once she was seated, they began to chant again and D listened carefully to see if he could recognize the names. He couldnt. When they finished, they raised their glasses and the guitar player offered a toast to the man in the robe. They drank, draining their glasses in one swallow. It was sweet, sweeter than anything he had ever tasted before. Then the man in the robe cut the cake and handed a piece to each of them. D watched as they ate carefully, chewing slowly, moving the cake around in their mouths. He tasted his. It was good and he chewed. He could feel the tension mount as each person watched out of the corner of their eyes their neighbors. D chewed until his teeth struck something hard and he discretely put his finger into his mouth to remove the obstruction. It was a bean. He dropped it on his plate. The woman next to him let out a cry. The stranger! The stranger got the bean! The guitar player cried foul and others clapped their hands. At the head of the table, A looked uncomfortable, but he again rapped his spoon on his glass for order. It is done, he said. And once again they fell to chanting and when they were done, the glasses were filled and G led him to the head of the table. A removed his robe and draped it across his shoulders. Again they chanted and when they finished, A

proclaimed D Ordinate and everyone drained their glasses. D was confused, but withheld it for a more opportune time. He joined the festivities, drinking wine, dancing, and drinking more and more as the night grew later and later until one by one, they fell asleep as they stood, glasses clinking on the smooth stones of the courtyard. They slept.