Metanoia Page 6

  The Librarian announced in a foreign tongue, “Your Highness Dame Régence?” He paused before he added, “I present a prince human for your inspection.”

  I bowed In convivial acknowledgment. All eyes turned my direction. The fairies opened a path for my approach when Her Highness beckoned me. The winged creatures assessed my physique with one another as I stood before the female abatwaian.

  After the Regent had looked me over, she waved her ebony hands to shush away the entourage and left Plucole as our intermediary.

  No sooner did the ferrish closed the massive doors, “你是一位良好的王子的人类标本 (You are a fine prince human specimen),” Dame Régence commented.

  Taken aback that she spoke in my mother-tongue, I conceded, “感谢您, 殿下 Dame Régence (Thank you, Your Highness Dame Régence).”

  “You are indeed a polite prince human.” She adjured, “I have a personal request for you.”

  I replied courteously, “是的, 殿下, 我怎样的服务? (Yes, Your Highness, how can I be of service?)”

  “Tell your earthling compatriots not to tamper with our kind. We will retaliate if they continue to destroy our habitations,” she behested.

  Since I did not understand her demands, I remained silent. She glared at me for a response before she vociferated, “Return to your world and tell your kind to be respectful. If they mess with us, there’ll be consequences!”

  She shook me violently.

  “I’ll summon you again,” she concluded.

  Mid 2014

  David’s Message to Me

  Thank you for your speedy response. I’m honored to share my harem experiences with you and Andy. I hope our discussions will be beneficial to your readers. I am delighted to connect with like-minded individuals of similar backgrounds and experiences.

  I will forward a questionnaire to the both of you. Hopefully, this will scintillate our discussions.

  I forwarded a copy of this email to Mr. Finckenstein. I’m a man of action – a go-getter, so to speak. LOL!

  On this note, I bid you well and take care of your handsome self.

  Sincerely,

  David

  Mythical Beings (Chapter Eight)

  “Dreams are often most profound when they seem the craziest.”

  Sigmund Freud

  October 1968

  Hotel Casablanca - Acapulco, Mexico

  After Supercal’s win in all six races, the sheik did his best to persuade his pal, Tad to move on; yet, he kicked up a storm, accusing the Olympic organizers of favoritism towards the British team. Although Dr. Fahrib was despondent with the outcome, he proved to be a winner in accepting Murashshahaan’s loss.

  Mrs. Swarovski, the ‘merry widow’ did her best to comfort the athlete but to no avail. Mario managed to drag the disgruntled Tad aboard the Ship, that flew our entourage to the ancient port of Hammamet, Tunisia, for our cruise around the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, before we ended in Tangier, Morocco; while the Count left for Milan for a photography assignment.

  The morning before our Acapulco departure I met Andrea at the hotel swimming pool. After her regular titter tatter, she said hesitantly, “I know it’s none of my business, but I’m curious….” She paused.

  I stared at her wondering what she was about to disclose.

  She resumed hesitantly, “Is Tad into men?”

  Caught off guard by her question, my mind ruminated to how I should respond without revealing my Master’s private life.

  I replied, “You should consult him directly. He can answer your query himself.”

  She commented with uncertainty. “I think your patriarch swings both ways. Don’t you?”

  I did not answer.

  She resumed, “Are you one of his lovers?”

  I did not expect such a direct question, so I fumbled for an appropriate reply when Andy showed.

  Saved by my Valet, I chirped, “Here is my lover.”

  I gripped a befuddled Andy, who was clueless about my statement.

  “Señor Victor wants to see you,” my chaperone conveyed.

  This provided me with an excuse to leave Mrs. Swarovski in Andy’s company, thereby leaving her question unanswered.

  By the time, I bid au revoir to the merry widow; she had invited my chaperone and me to Paris, for the unveiling of the Swarovski Haute Couture fashion presentation.

  Conversation with Señor Victor Angel Triqueros

  My ex-tutor was having tea in the hotel lounge when he delved straight to the point.

  “Curt told me you saw mermaids and sirens in these waters. Is that true?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me what transpired,” he pressed.

  I related my sightings to the Señor.

  “Young, although many don’t believe the existence of water nymphs, I beg to differ.

  “In my experience, mermaids and sirens sightings are often indications of temptations, deceptions, distractions and destructions in one’s path. Sirens are lost souls that lure the ingenuous into disasters.

  “Be heedful of your emotions young man, it may lead to disappointments if you’re not vigilant,” Triqueros advised.

  Victor stared at me unflinchingly before he resumed, “Did you hear their songs?”

  “I didn’t hear singing but heard faint doleful whistling noises, as if someone was wailing or pining for lost love. It sounded otherworldly,” I declared.

  “Siren songs are omens of trapped feelings, fatal passions, and self-destruction - the emotional side of your identity.

  “Are you having mixed feelings about someone?” the erudite scholar queried.

  I nodded and kept quiet.

  “Who?” the Señor questioned.

  He waited for my promulgation with concern. I did not answer.

  “Young, I’d forewarned you about falling for those we serve. Have you forgotten my cautionary advice?” he asserted.

  I was afraid to look him in the eye, so I lowered my head.

  “Does your Valet know this?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why didn’t you discuss your poignancy with your chaperone? He’s here to guide you through your turmoil.”

  “I’m afraid he’ll be angry with me,” I answered sheepishly.

  Triqueros held my hands and counseled, “You may not understand your siren encounters are connected to your dark inner seductive and sensual forces.

  “Having any kind of relationship with these water minds often end in separation, sadness, despair and in the worst case - death.”

  He paused before he resumed, “Are you having problems with Andy?”

  “No,” I assured.

  The professor continued, “Is your lover falling for another?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Are you unhappy with the E.R.O.S. programme? Or are you undergoing erotic frustrations?” Victor pressed.

  Under my ex-tutor’s intensive scrutiny, I had little choice but to confide my masochistic concupiscence to him.

  As soon as I finished relating my unusual experience, Victor cautioned. “Young, you are playing a dangerous game. The outcome will not be pretty and is treacherous.

  “I strongly advise you to have a heart-to-heart talk with your Valet, the sooner, the better.

  “You, boy, never fail to surprise and amaze me with your erotic innuendos.” These were the professor’s parting words before we bid each other farewell.

  The Señor departed with his Assalamu Alaikum household students to Sharjah, while Tad, Sheik Fahrib, Prince P, Herr Eberhardt, Andy and I headed towards the northern peninsula of Cap Bon; where Tad’s luxury yacht, Sindbad awaited our arrival.

  Third Week of June 1968

  Bassenthwaite Lake, English Lake District

  My beloved woke me from my vivid praeternatural dream. I rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes.

  “Was someone hammering you violently? You were kicking and rolling around in your sleep. Did you have a nightmare?

  “We s
hould head back to Fay Haven for dinner. It’s getting late. Auntie Mary leaves for France tomorrow afternoon. I promised to be back early to assist her with dinner preparations. Let’s go,” he stipulated.

  Conversation with Aunty Mary

  I had a chance to talk with the artist while Andy was busy setting the dinner table.

  “How was your outing?” Mary inquired.

  I uttered, “I’ve something to ask you, Auntie Mary.”

  “What is on your mind, young man?”

  I lowered my voice and said beguilingly, “I believe I entered a sprite kingdom at Bassenthwaite Lake.”

  Without looking away from her chore, she commented, “Did you really. Tell me everything.”

  “I didn’t tell Andy about my spritely encounter. He may think me nutty,” I muttered abashedly.

  She said smilingly, “I’m sure he’ll not think you silly. Since he was a child, I’d told him fairy stories. I’m sure he’ll understand your experience.”

  I did not repeat my lover’s praeternatural skepticism since I had no desire to quell the spiritualist’s esteem.

  I commented, “Andy is a man of science, and sprite encounters are not scientifically proven. He has a hard time comprehending their existence.”

  “Don’t be silly. Andy is an open-minded adult. He’ll respect your experience. After all, you’re his cherished beau, and he loves you very much.”

  “Shall we discuss your encounters over dinner?” the female remarked enthusiastically.

  Dinner Deliberation

  Andy expressed over dinner, “Aunty Mary, I’m sad you’re going to France tomorrow. I enjoy catching up with you. I hope we can see each other more often.”

  “My darlings, you’re welcome at Fay Haven anytime. Are you sure you want to be with an old lady like me? The both of you have busy lives,” Mary responded jokingly.

  “You’re always welcome at my humble abode if you want to see more of fay kingdoms,” she added before she directed her gaze at me. “Our ‘fairy’ prince here, has something to enlighten us.”

  Andy glanced at me surreptitiously. I stalled since I did not know how to begin.

  I finally blurted, “I had an unusual dream at Bassenthwaite Lake.” I peeked at my Valet for his reaction. He stared at me expediently.

  “A ferrish invited me to a place named Ferrisabatwa,” I announced.

  “You met a Ferrish? This is exciting!” Mary exclaimed.

  The duo looked at me intently as I related my Ferrisabatwaian experience.

  As soon as I finished, the illustrator commented, “Young, Ferrishyn (the plural of Ferrish), originates from the Isle of Man. They are known by various names such as Sleih Beggy (Little Folk), Mooinger Veggy (Small Ones), Guillyn Veggey (Lil’ Fellas or Little Boys) and Sithichean (Peaceful Ones). They’re a part of the Trooping faery clan.

  “Like your description, they are approximately three inches in height. Although, some can grow to a foot tall. They have dark wavy hair and dark complexions.

  “They are also horse thieves and are often blamed for the kidnapping of human babies and replace them with Leanamh Tacharan, a baby-like fairy.”

  I chirped, “That must be the reason Plucole was suspicious of me when we met. He thought I’m after him for stealing horses and babies.”

  Mary resumed, “That could be the reason. I’m not surprised you walked through water to get to their lodgings because that’s where they like to live. They can’t bear the artificial light, silver, horseshoes, salt, hearth fire ashes, and yellow flowers, except Brooms.”

  “Why are they not repelled by Brooms?” I questioned.

  “Broom blossoms have magical properties. These flowers are used in purification and protection spells against poltergeists,” the illustrator explained.

  Before she could continue, I interjected, “What are poltergeists?”

  “Poltergeists are supernatural beings that manifest itself by making loud rapping noises to create disorder,” Andy interposed.

  “Excellent, nephew,” Mary praised. “Throw Broom in the air to raise the winds. Burn Broom and bury the ashes to calm the winds. The penetrating smell of broom can tame wild horses and dogs.”

  I asked scrupulously, “What does Broom smell like? Is this the flower that Ferrishyn use to steal horses with?”

  Mary explained, “Broom smells nothing like one would expect of a flower. It has a top-note of lime, hay and dry tobacco, followed by a dense woody, nutty and heady old leaves with an under-note of fermented fruits.”

  “Are Ferrishyn malevolent?” my lover asked.

  “I wouldn’t describe them as malicious. Ferrishyn is artfully sly, clever and mischievous and they know how to play the parties to their advantage,” the lady advised. “Evidently Plucole recognizes Young as beneficial to his kingdom’s cause. That’s the reason, he invited you to their realm.

  “It is also possible that he and the Regent want Young to convey to humankind the dangers of worldwide deforestation.”

  I exclaimed, “How can I be of use to their cause when I know nothing about ecological issues?”

  The spiritualist contemplated before she spoke, “At this juncture, I wouldn’t worry about your role. Let’s wait to see if you’re summoned again. For now, my boy, enjoy your vacation with your handsome beau.

  “I’ll introduce you to my friend, Professor Frederick Thomason tomorrow morning. He’s a botanist and a fairy expert. You can ask him for guidance if you reencounter praeternatural beings. He lives in the village of Keswick, not far from Bassenthwaite Lake.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Mary. I would definitely like to meet him.” I welcomed the news exuberantly. Incredulous Andy was not pleased to be dragged in for a visit.

  My chaperone remarked indifferently, “Can you tell me about Abatwaians?”

  Aware of my lover’s skepticism of fairy existence, the novelist answered carefully, “Frederick is erudite in both science and the mystical. My darling nephew, you’ll find his viewpoint perspicacious and insightful. Hear him with an open mind. I’m sure you’ll gain much to what he has to say.”

  My guardian scrutinized his aunt before he replied, “Auntie, you know I will listen to his explanation if it bears heuristic provenance.”

  “Superb! Now, back to your question: Astride his stead, he sits majestically; chest puffed, shoulders back and head held proudly. He is of the Abatwa and will look down on you even though his stead is an ant, and his height is matched with that of a fat pea. Some would group him within the faery realm, but Abatwaians are proud little warriors. I will caution to ever call an Abatwa small,” our sprite expert pronounced.

  My lover chuckled at his auntie’s delivery. She resumed, “Abatwaians are of the Zulu tribe, with the exception that they are tiny, and ride on ants. They also like to camouflage under tall blades of grass. It is widely believed that when the Zulu nature spirit Vash’Nok wept, and his tears touched the ground; they erupted into Abatwaians.”

  Andy could not contain himself. He burst out in laughter. His auntie silenced his outburst before she continued, “Abatwaians live in underground tunnels deep in the soil. Their subterranean homes are lavishly decorated with seed mosaics and paintings to echo their haughty nature. They are nomadic and do not inhabit these homes forever.”

  I chirped spiritedly, “That explains why there were so many anthills around Ferrisabatwa. I bet hidden passageway must be aplenty in and around the fortress.”

  Mary nodded in agreement. She added, “Hunting is Abatwaians primary food source. An entire tribe can fit atop a horse with each astride behind another - from the horse’s neck to its tail. This is their hunting mode of transportation. The tribe will devour every morsel of their kill before they proceed to the next. In between hunts, they forage seeds to satisfy their hunger.

  “They use tiny spears and poison arrows to hunt and for self-defense. If their ant mounds are disturbed or destroyed, they will use their weapons against the enemy. Although their weaponries can kill sma
ll game, it is inadequate to kill humans. If a person is inflicted, the victim can get boils in the areas where he or she has been struck. There are cases, where it can be fatal.

  “Although Abatwaians are generally peaceful and relatively shy, they are easily offended; especially when you consider them tiny. One has to be careful when crossing paths with Abatwaians.”

  I injected, “That’s the warning Plucole gave me when I encountered General Nkosi Sfiso and his army.”

  “Plucole is correct. My advice to you, Young, is to stroke their plump egos and tell them that their stature is ginormous, and they are visible from long distances.

  “Not everyone has the privilege to meet an Abatwa or a tribe of Abatwaians. They predominantly manifest to magicians, pregnant women, and young children. They will reveal themselves to humans on special occasions, and to share intimate knowledge of their land with the chosen individual. Like they did with Young,” our fairy expert appraised.

  Andy questioned, “Why do they reveal themselves to pregnant women?”

  “To grant her knowledge of her fetus gender,” the artist propagated and added, “My darlings, Abatwaians are small, brave and proud warriors. Like most mythical beings, Abatwaians are reality-based. When the Nguni tribe migrated from Central Africa to what is now the region of Kwa-Zulu Natal in South Africa, they became a part of the Zulu clan.

  “After they encountered the indigenous short San people who relied on venomous bows and arrows to catch game; they were reminded of the Batwa tribe in Central Africa. These little warriors are dilation of the Batwa tribe.”

  “How did they come to ride on ants?” my lover enquired.

  “That, I’m not certain. What is irrefutable is; when you come across an anthill, you may want to think twice about disrupting its inhabitants, lest you find Abatwaian weapons flying your direction.” Aunty Mary ended our discussion with this cautionary advice before she gave us goodnight kisses on our cheeks.