I am fated to journey hand in hand with my strange heroes
and to survey the surging immensity of life,
to survey it through the laughter that all can see
and through the tears unseen and unknown by anyone.
-Nicolai Gogol
Dead Souls
From there to here, from here to there,
Funny things are everywhere.
-Dr. Seuss
One Fish, Two Fish
Red Fish, Blue Fish
I
Jabberwock the Bandersnatch bided his time by pondering time. It was something he did quite often as it remained to him a mystery, a quandary, a perplexity—a concept that he continually tried to grasp and, which , just as his long, sharp, curved nails scratched its surface, would slip inexplicably, irrevocably and inexorably from his clasp. Kairos . . . chronos . . .
On this spring day in May, the perfume of wild flowers and the gentle sun on his head sent Jabberwock into one of his flights of fancy. And, today he meditated on time. Time flies when you’re having fun. Time is a great healer. What time is it? We have plenty of time. The hour is late. Time is short. If time is a continuous river then why does nearly everything age? After all, the moon continues to revolve around the earth as it revolves around the sun. It never changes its pattern. So why does anything age?
On the other hand, maybe time was and always had been. The moon had phases, and so, therefore, did the earth. Seasons changed, tides changed—everything broke down into smaller and smaller increments. Even time. The nanosecond! When on earth (or in the universe) would there be an all-consuming need to measure something by one-billionth of a second? The thought of that alone was enough to age you, Jabberwock considered with a grin. Nothing, it seemed, could exist in perpetuity.
Everything, even the very earth, aged. Except the Bandersnatch. He alone (or, at least at that moment, to the best of his knowledge) existed in defiance of time, of age, of realism. He was the very essence of surrealism. Even his eyes belied his reality, unreality. Never have eyes so pale nor so dark existed. Chameleon eyes changing with his thoughts, often reflecting his soul (aren’t eyes the mirror of, or the lamp, as the Messiah Christ said?) or his surroundings—the crystal clear water of a spring, the royal purple of violets, the heavenly green of grass . . .
So, Jabberwock bided his time—awaiting the arrival of the Princess Eluned, just as he had nearly every day for the past eleven years. Time had changed things. Golden balls had been tossed (though not indefinitely) aside for better, if not bigger, things; for far and perhaps lost horizons. The wise but mad John Ruskin said, “You may chisel a boy into shape, but you cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flower does.”
Jabberwock’s rose was beginning to bud. An exotic bloom existing on the edge of a most unusual forest, for it was the only forest that could claim a Bandersnatch as an inhabitant.
Eleven years. Eleven years since the Bandersnatch had first become acquainted with the princess. The Princess Eluned resided in a castle built of marble and quartz with a king and queen who had watched affectionately as their only child tossed a golden ball, not maliciously, into the forest. One day it had rolled silently across a carpet of moss softer and more richly green than the velvet cloak that swung from the Queen’s ivory shoulders . . . across the moss and into a clearing filled with flowers (none more lovely than the princess!) where it had bounced with a gentle dinggg! against a wonderful tabernacle of granite and quivered to a halt precisely in the center of a fairy ring of toadstools.
And, what could be more perfect for a child than to have her golden ball enchanted by fairies?
And this was how the young princess met the Bandersnatch. For, while standing in the center of the fairy ring, golden ball clasped in silky, plumpish, childish hands, eyes closed and imagining herself a fairy, Eluned had suddenly had the feeling she was being watched. Slowly, the thick-lashed eyes had trembled open and soon she was staring into a pair of sea green eyes every bit as deep and unfathomable as her own. For, of course, they were her own eyes reflected in the eyes of the Bandersnatch.
Her pouty lips, the color of which would make a rose blush, had parted in surprise, but not fear. The Princess was too self-contained, too independent to feel fear. Sorrow she felt deeply and often, but as protected as her father’s kingdom was, she had as yet no reason to experience fear. When she was older, she would yearn to discover all emotions but at the tender age of seven she did not realize there were a multitude, a legion, of emotions eager to clasp and caress, touch and tear, her heart.
“What are you?” she had finally spoken, and her voice had fallen like the song of a nightingale upon Jabberwock’s pointed and rather large ears. Jabberwock had smiled, revealing a formidable number of pointed and very crooked teeth.
The Princess had laughed and the Bandersnatch heard the songs of angels, “My what big teeth you have, Grandma.”
“A curse are these teeth,” a voice unexpectedly deep and rich as fresh-tilled earth had replied.
“No more a curse than my beauty.” Eluned was wise beyond her years—not unusual for an only and unspoiled child. For her parents, King Seraphim and Queen Ceridwen, agreed that their little princess should never be rejected by her peers on account of stinginess, greed, gluttony, jealousy or any other of the various personality flaws so often found in young princesses. Even so, it hurt them deeply that their tiny treasure reveled in sorrow. The death of a spider might send her to the depths of depression for days.
“She feels too much,” the Queen would say, placing her long and fragile hand over her heart.
“Must be from your side of the family.” The King would frown, but there was always a sparkle of mischief in his eyes for he knew full well it was his own grandmother reflected in his daughter’s sorrowful face.
The Bandersnatch had smiled again. He had heard of this little princess and her genuine love of everything natural. “Where are your friends?” he had asked, although he knew she had none.
“I have none.” She had replied seriously, lower lip caught between pearly white teeth, for this fact distressed her greatly.
“And why is that?”
“They’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid?”
“Of my beauty.” She had blushed and roses bloomed on her ivory cheeks.
“What about the Prince, Uriel?”
“Him especially! He won’t even deign to meet me.”
“That reminds me of a fairy tale,” Jabberwock had mused.
“Will you tell it to me?”
“Have a seat,” Jabberwock had invited her, indicating the fairy ring. The Princess crossed her legs and rested her chin upon the golden ball in her lap. The sun reflected a delightful gold into her complexion. Jabberwock, who was shaped rather like an oversize fox, had settled down, forepaws crossed.
“Do you suppose there really were dragons once?” Eluned had asked, hopefully, carelessly imprisoning a tendril of hair behind her ear.
“There are too many stories about the creatures for dragons not to have existed at some point. Don’t you agree?”
“And unicorns?”
“And mermaids.”
“What a wonderful time that must have been.”
“It’s easy to mourn the past,” Jabberwock had sighed.
“But it does no good,” Eluned had interjected. “I know. I know, but I see a long, boring life stretched ahead of me. I want . . .
“Knights in shining armor, dragons, unicorns and mermaids?”
“Yes,” she had nodded emphatically, raven curls bouncing around her shoulders.
“These creatures can disguise themselves,” he had warned. “Beware or you may miss them.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
She had mused on this, simultaneously wondering where the fairies went during the day. She was sure they were nocturnal. She liked that word. Nocturnal. She had tried it, aloud.
“Oh, definitely nocturnal,” Jabberwock agreed.
“So, how will my knight in shining armor disguise himself?”
Jabberwock had revealed his ragged teeth in a grin so broad it split his face. His eyes, reflecting the deeper green of the forest before him, caught the sunlight and refracted into a thousand spikes of shimmering light. It was like the sun breaking from behind a cloud and setting a cool green pool ablaze with fire.
“You know.” She had stated.
“Let’s just say that I have a vague idea.”
“More than vague.”
Jabberwock had continued to grin; then he stretched, skinny little rear end and bushy bottle brush tail raised high in the air. “I believe it is time for your lessons with Brother Columcille?”
Eluned had sighed, but she stood and stretched as well, an innocent and intriguing stretch, almost cat like in its suppleness. “Will I see you again?”
“I should hope so,” he had replied.
to be continued tomorrow...
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