The One – Song 7: Snakes & Dragons, Segment 3

Originally published August 26, 2019...

The three characters in this segment of Song 7 appear to be on three separate trajectories. Or are they? Intuitions, naivete, and appetite (or not) for adventure all play a significant role in the unfolding of the plot. Relationships form and dissolve. Knowledge, dare I say wisdom is shared, believed, and rejected out of hand. In short, the plot thickens, as the saying goes.

As you read, stay aware of motivations and desires, greed and honest caring. You may find this segment challenging in that none of these dynamics are particularly clear at this time. But wait. The next segment will make all things clear. The fourth and final segment will be posted on 9 September. Hold on to your oars!

We finish our gathering and start back

“Some plants and flowers make good medicine,”

            she tells me as we walk.  “Yarrow is good

                        for lots of things – stops bleeding, heals bruises,

                        burns, even arrow wounds.”  She glances at

                        me to check my reaction to the last

“Sounds good.  Show me some.”  I don’t take the bait

“There’s some soldier’s woundwort behind the shack.”

“I thought we were talking about yarrow.”

“Same thing. Different name. It’s called stanch weed, too.”

“This is complicated. A lot to learn.”

“All depends on how bad you need to know.”

Shortly, we see Hart sitting in the boat.

“Hart!” I call. “Look what we’ve got.” No response

“Give me those,” she says taking the green leaves

            from my bowled-out shirt. “Go see what is wrong.

            I’ll finish off the soup so we can eat.”

I walk down to the water, sit cross-legged

            on the pier and wait for Hart to speak first

Hart looks at me. I see tears welling up

            Hart looks away, “I hate it here.  Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to eat,” I coax quietly

            I’m torn between needing to take care of

            Hart and wanting to know more of the things

                        this strange woman knows of plants, bulbs, and weeds

ones that heal or kill, others that can feed

“This place is just plain bad. Can’t you see that?”

            Hart tries even harder to plead the case

“Just one night, Hart. We can go at sunrise.”

“You go on. I’ll stay in the boat. The fish

            smell here is perfume compared to her stink.”

“She’s not that bad. She knows all kinds of things 

            about which plants make good eating and which

            can heal, and others that are bad poison.”

“It’s the poison part that I’m afraid of.”

“I’m going in. I wish you’d come with me.”

Hart hunkers down, plants both feet, crosses arms

            “I’ll be here as long as I can stand it.”

I see it’s no use.  I turn, walk away

            but stubbornness has tainted this 

The shack door is open so I walk in

Soup bubbles and steams in a cast iron pot

            sitting atop a huge, blackened woodstove

I do not see the woman though the shack,

            a single room, has no way out the back

Dangling from the ceiling beams, dried flowers

            and plants tied in bunches swing gently caught

            in the breeze like a hundred hanging men

I reach and pluck a small dusty yellow

            blossom from a low-hanging bunch of flowers

I sniff it. It smells like dry hay. I bring

            it to my tongue, moisten it to heighten

            the sweet aroma of late summer fields

“How can you be sure it isn’t poison?”

            asks the woman suddenly behind me

I flinch in surprise but manage not to

            gasp or yelp like Hart. I breathe in and say

            “It smells like it would do me good. A flower

            couldn’t hurt or kill you, could it?” I ask

“Your nose is smart, but you’re weak for beauty

            that traps and kills you if you don’t watch out.

            In this case you’re safe. The flower’s chamomile,

            a sort of daisy, good for stomach aches.”

I pop the blossom in my mouth and chew

“So, maybe I just lied and poisoned you,”

             she whispers loudly and squints up her eyes

Although I flinch, I only say, “We’ll see

            now won’t we? Besides I think I trust you.”

            This I say to secure an antidote

                        if needed. “So, what are all these?” I point

                        to the bunches hanging from the ceiling

“It’s better to learn about them when they’re

            in the ground, and now there’s the soup to cook

            I was just out picking two final herbs – 

            thyme and savory, not deadly nightshade.”

She holds the sprigs up for my inspection

            then stands before the soup and breaks them in

“What else is in this soup?” I bend to sniff

“I bet you would rather make some guesses.”

“All right.” I peer inside the grease-grimed pot

“Fish for sure. No doubt right from this river.

I see potatoes. Where did they come from?”

“My cellar’s last ones from my autumn crop 

I spoon up a ladle. “There’s tomatoes.”

“Picked and dried right off my vines last year, too.”

“Do I see cut green beans bobbing in here?”

“A fresh early type grown right over there.”

            She points beyond where the fish are smoking

“Do I see parsley or is it nightshade?”

“The friendly kind,” she answers tasting broth

            “And look at this.” She pulls a heavy pan

            off a shelf higher up the woodstove stack

            “Cornbread made from corn meal I ground myself.”

“You must spend all your time preparing food.”

“Mostly I like being independent.

            If I can feed and heal myself I don’t

                        need much, if anything, from anyone

                        like you need your friend out there in that boat.”

“I don’t need anyone or anything,” 

I say before I think of how I do 

or what great fears make me say I do not

“You said you want to learn from me but Hart

            won’t let you stay. I can plainly see that.”

“No one runs my life or checks up on me.”

“So, you say, but I see something different.”

“Hart needs me because of that crippled leg.”

            I can’t believe these words come from my mouth

                        and I’m ashamed even as I speak them

“Oh, I see,” is all she says to my lies

“I’d better go and check on things out there.”

            I gaze out to where Hart sits in our boat

                        looking so alone and so miserable 

            I want to run out there and make amends

“Let’s eat,” the woman says lifting chipped bowls

            off wooden shelves and blowing dust away

We sit at an sturdy table slurping

            soup and dunking cornbread. Both are so good

            it isn’t hard to see how she stays fat

When I finish my third helping, I stare

            out the door toward Hart sitting in the same

            forlorn position of an hour ago

I’m on the edge of making excuses

            and leaving now my belly’s fat and full

She bangs a clear bottle on the table

“Here’s something special for dessert,” she purrs

            arching one eyebrow as she sits back down

“What is it?” I ask when I really mean

            to say thanks, and good-bye to run to Hart 

“This is the one thing I don’t make myself.

            I traded tons of fish for this bottle

            Not every drifter gets a taste of this.”

            She uncorks the long-necked bottle, pours two

            two large drinks, raises her mug toward our boat

            and says, “Here’s to all those who break our hearts.”

I hesitate, but salute toward the sun

            sinking into forest behind the shack

            and in that hushed instant before I drink

            I think of Jani, breaker of my heart

            I think of Hart, in the midst of breaking

Background

Young people who are out adventuring are bound to get what they are looking for – and not looking for. Some people who appear in their lives have agendas of their own. Where is a young person to turn for reliable advice? Can he/she trust personal judgment at this early stage of life? I am in my late sixties, and often when I meet and engage young people – even in their twenties – my heart goes out to them as they try to decipher right from wrong, worthy companions from bad, and most of all, what his/her roles in life would be best to follow. Elders may try to assist, but young people can be skeptical of them. On the other hand, mentors like the school teacher appear as well.

It is all very challenging, if not confusing. But does it ever end – this exploration of best/worst paths and the people we meet on the way?

Exploration 1: At the beginning of this segment, the woman acts as teacher to our protagonist. Do you have a sense of her motivations for doing so? By the end of the segment, are they any clearer?

Exploration 2: Should friends support each other and join in mutual activities, even if one party feels an interest in what’s going on, and the other party does not? Similarly, like Hart, should friends observe, comment, and advise when they believe things are going in a dangerous direction?

Exploration 3: Do you have any inkling of what will happen next?