The One – Song 9: Darkness Rising, Segment 1

Originally published November 04, 2019...

With this post, we start a new Song, “Darkness Rising.” It’s complete with nasty characters, a faithful dog, and a new teacher. This is segment 1 of 5 – a rather long Song, but hopefully, worth the space. At the beginning our main character (MC) runs into the first person that has appeared since Hart took off. Is the MC, at this point, in a good space to make decisions? Judge for yourself. 

This segment brings up considerations of dangers feared and real that come with new territory. Without much experience, the MC has few skills to distinguish help from hurt when it comes to others on this journey. The Song’s title, “Darkness Rising,” foreshadows difficulties to come. But just what is this “darkness”? In whose heart does it reside? More than one heart? As the Song progresses in its 5 segments, you will have plenty of opportunity to answer these questions, take away the changes in the MC

Please dive into the first segment of “Darkness Rising.” And let me know what you think. 

                    “Do you make a habit of talking to yourself?”

                                    a deep voice questions from close behind me. 

                    I nearly fall off the pier in panic

                    as I skitter around to see who’s there

                    I crane my neck as I turn toward a man

                                                conjured from the void looking straight at me

                                    Barrel chest, muscled arms, black-bearded face

                                                hands twitching as if flicking off a flea

                                    Whoever this is, I can see a cost

                                                accruing to me if I engage him

                                                but I am drawn into the black eyes’ force

                                                peering from beneath bushy brows like mouths

                                                teeth stained yellow from disease or smoking

                                    I quickly stand up and straighten my clothes

                                                measure my height beneath his bulbous nose

                                                that crinkles as if smelling something rank

                                                but does not shy away from me one step

                                    Those eyes. . . if I look into them, I’m jinxed

                                                but I do look up into them and feel

                                                deeply read down to my very marrow

                                    Yet, a welcome seeps through as well – a trap?

                                    I know I must engage and answer that

                                    “I travel alone, so I get used to

                                                talking to myself. I mean, who knows why?

                                    “I see now,” says the man with raised eyebrows

                                    and I believe he does but can’t say how    

                                    “You travel alone, eh? He queries next

                                    “Yes, my voyage takes me here, there, and back

                                    “And alone you say,” he repeats and coughs

                                    “Yes. Yes, alone though I would rather not 

                                    “Well, we can remedy that old black knot.”

                                    Asudden, I feel the trap’s steel jaws spring 

                                                I step back and nearly fall off the pier

                                    He strides toward me and grabs my wheeling arm

                                    Part of me wants to fall into the sea

                                                rather than let this predator touch me

                                                but instinct wins and I grab for his arm

                                    I know instantly that I’ve come to harm

                                                and the next path’s turning lies before me

                                    “Whoa-ho, little friend. Almost lost you there.”

                                    “Uh, thanks. These are the only clothes I have.”

                                    “Oh? Why is that? he asks me, peering down

                                                over the edge of the high dock to see

                                                what else may have dropped besides nearly me

                                    “Come. Where’s your gear? he asks looking around

                                    “If it’s not here, surely it must be found.”        

                                    “Nope,” I say and start walking toward the land

                                    “All I have’s what you see,” I say shrugging

                                                my shoulders, raising up my empty hands

                                    “No job? No work? Nothing at all? he asks

                                    “That’s right. I’m as free as they come.” I smile

                                    “No problem. You can stay with us awhile.”

                                    At that, I feel the trap bite down harder

                                    The hair on the back of my neck rises 

                                    My skin grows cold and my stomach churns gray

                                    I had better add to my story now

                                                so I don’t appear conjured from nowhere

                                    “I had a small boat, and I tied her up

                                                and went to town to get some provisions

                                                Someone made off with her while I was gone”

                                    “That was pretty careless of you, wasn’t it?”

                                    “Yes, I’m young and haven’t learned not to trust”

                                    “That’s a skill well-learned early, don’t you think?”

                                    It seems odd that I’ve lied and can’t be trusted!

                                    I suspect he knows I’m false anyway

                                                but doesn’t mind for reasons of his own

                                    “Yes,” I say. “Quite stupid of me truly,

                                                but here I am at the mercy of things”

                                    “So, I offer a place to rest your bones.”

                                    So, I take stock of things and say, “Yes. Thanks.”

                                    With those words, together we walk away                    

                                    This bearded man prattles about himself,

                                                the town, and the tall, harbored ships moored there

                                    I follow along, a pace behind him

                                                half listening, half dreaming, alone, adrift

                                    Why should he take such an interest in me?

                                    Why am I following like a dog on a leash?

                                    Soon, he stops and he scans me up and down

                                    I feel like he’s stripping off my thin clothes 

                                    “Are you hungry? Should we get something to eat?”

                                    “Sure. Okay.” I answer with wariness

                                                feeling like a surely caught, willing fish 

                                                in a deep-sea net, shortly to vanish

                                    We pass shops and pubs, and I wonder why

                                    Then we enter streets of taller houses

                                                each door painted ashen – around them flies

                                    We open one door, gray as all the rest

                                                and mount the stairs, passing women, children,

                                                the occasional man, drunk and listing

                                                youngsters playing, a few practice smoking 

                                                ageless hooded eyes with fleeting glances

                                    We climb creaking stairs to the topmost floor

                                    We walk into a small, high-ceilinged room

                                    At one window, a silver-haired woman

                                    A boy with a blue bowl sits on her right 

                                                snapping green beans’ ends into the basin

                                    Neither greets us or stops to ask my name

                                    I keep silent, back to the door, watching

                                                and waiting for whatever will come next

                                    From around a corner a spotted dog

                                                scampers toward me panting hard in greeting

                                                licks my fingers, looks up with shining eyes

                                                then sneezes loudly and paws his wet nose

                                    The man says to me, “That would be O’Gill.

                                                He appears to think you will be friendly

                                                but he’s always looking for a handout”

                                    I kneel down to rub O’Gill’s ears and snout

                                    He snorts and wags his fluffy tail for me

                                    This is the first time since Hart left that I

                                                feel my heart lift up and the darkness flee

                                    The woman continues with her sewing

                                                and the silent boy with his bean snapping

                                                He is younger than I am, but not much

                                    “You can sleep there, says the man, pointing toward

                                                a rumpled mattress in a small corner

                                    The bearded man rustles through rough blankets

                                    Neither the woman nor the boy seems fazed  

                                                nor questions why I might be joining them

                                    Suddenly, I want to sleep forever

                                    I shuffle to the corner and mumble

                                                something as I fall beyond exhausted 

                                                on the moldy mattress on the bare floor

                                    I do not rise when I smell food cooking

                                                nor when I hear the three of them go out

                                    O’Gill has snuggled up with me, his chin

                                                resting, silky breath on my outstretched arm

                                                paws crossed and twitching in a dog-time dream

                                    At night, I dream of a spiraling snake

                                                swirling in the marshes of a green lake

                                    Yellow eyes clamped on me like wolf on prey

                                                and long fangs dripping poison pooled in gray

                                    I wake with a start – black scales on my chest

                                                as if it’s me disturbing my own rest

                                    Closing my eyes, I slip down the snake’s throat

                                                deep through its lungs to the red-Hart boat

                                                that nods fore and aft on a swelling sea

                                    A figure steers her but it is not me

                                    O’Gill peeks out from over the gunwale

                                    He wakes up snorfling and licking my face

                                    This dog will not let me have any rest

                                    Somehow, I don’t mind and ruffle his coat

                                                warm and white, but dirty under the spots

                                    I push myself up and shuffle around

                                                two rooms, stained walls, one window, and a stove

                                    Before, I hadn’t noticed piles of things

                                                an odd assortment, stacked in rumpled rings

                                                very like a dragon’s hoard without gold,

                                                but a few rings and gems that could be sold

                                                 - silk, statues, tapestries and silver rings

                                    Suddenly, it comes to me that this odd

                                                assortment cannot be honestly got

                                                nor come by in fair trade or in barter

                                    Thieves! Thieves live here! It must be so, I say

                                                under breath and now O’Gill shrinks away

                                                            his soft growling has purpose and intent

                                    I can’t think long on this revelation

                                                but rather kneel beside O’Gill, ruffling

                                                            his ears and shoulders, when his tone alters

                                                            to a gentle whine and a muted sigh

                                                            as he rolls over, front paws kneading air

                                    I scratch his belly and start to forget

                                                my discovery, then pull up sharply

                                                seeing my dilemma – the reason why

                                                            I’ve been taken in – an unkind motive 

                                                            reminiscent of the river woman

                                    In truth, a smell abounds that’s much like hers

                                                and it’s not O’Gill’s permeating here

                                                            but rather an odd conglomeration

                                                            of things long in the sea, washed up no doubt

                                                            clothing worn but not cleaned, pieces of wood,

                                                            fish not kept well, and the musk of women

                                    What to do now? Run? Hide? Plan an assault?

                                    But where to go and how to find safety?

                                    How conceal myself? What weapon to use?

                                    Every thought a dead end, trap, or nonsense

                                    Fear and sweat rise together, stewing hot,

                                                putrid in all my crannies and my clefts

                                    O’Gill snorts fiercely making his statement

                                                about the blatant damp of my terror

                                    As I’m on the edge of moving somewhere

                                                just to move, the door swings out and open

                                    The three stride in noisily carrying

                                                bulging bags, clothing draped around their necks

                                    More ill-gotten goods, no doubt, I assess

                                    “Ho-ha!” roars the man. “A thief among us!”

                                    But his rumbling laugh tells me he’s jesting

                                    “No! He’s one of us – a very fellow!”

                                    “How can you know that?” I say offended

                                    “Oh, he’s one of us all right,” says the crone

                                    “I knew it from the start,” chimes in the boy

                                                who is near my age but seems somehow old

                                    After all, what do I know, new to all?

                                    I may be all wrong about this booty 

                                    It may be some kind of work they all do

                                    “Come, come now,” says the man placing his hands

                                                on my shoulders, tilts my head up, looks straight

                                                into my eyes, confident, yet searching

                                    “Tell us your name at least. My name is Skitch.

                                    Mim’s this old woman’s name– she’s my mother.”

                                    He pats her arm quite affectionately

                                    “And this little wretch is Nivel, at least

                                                we think so for it’s what he has told us

                                    He came to us much as you did, thrown up

                                                by the big river with lack of parents

                                    He says they drowned while he floated away

                                                on a coffin lid – they could not reach it

                                                to save themselves; that’s what he has told us.”

                                    Strangely, Nivel smiles at this as if he

                                                has heard some pleasantry or ripe gossip

                                    I look at him, and he looks towards a wall

                                    A silence, and I see what’s expected

Background:

If you’ve ever been in a strange city, somewhat out of luck, you may be able to identify with our main character. Someone offers help. Despite suspicions, you accept. What are your expectations? What is the helpful person’s motive?

I have had my share of new city experiences. When I worked for the consulting firm, Price Waterhouse, I flew to as many as 3 cities per week. It could be disorienting. The one thing they had in common was the danger of crossing the wrong person(s)’ path. As a woman alone, I had to be on guard 24/7. (I had not yet earned my three black belts.) Sometimes, the clients themselves brought unexpected dangers. I have also traveled extensively in many countries. Talk about new territory. In many places, one can offend (or worse) without even attempting to, through words and behaviors. Even English-speaking countries such as Canada and Australia have their own customs and etiquette. So, have pity on the MC, young and ignorant in the world’s ways. Consider the following explorations, if you like.

Exploration 1: Despite misgivings, the main character decides to go with the large man who approaches at the beginning of this Song. What is the MC’s motivation for going with him?

Exploration 2: The main character speaks/thinks of lies and trust. What is your current opinion of the trustworthiness and honesty of the MC?

Exploration 3: What are your impressions of O’Gill? What part may he play going forward?