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© Elizabeth Jane Andreoli 1997

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A long way away from Eggstone Farm was an island. It was a curious sort of island because it wasn't on any of the maps. It had no jetty, no telephone, and no shops, and every time it thought perhaps a sailor might have seen it, as... See more » A long way away from Eggstone Farm was an island. It was a curious sort of island because it wasn't on any of the maps. It had no jetty, no telephone, and no shops, and every time it thought perhaps a sailor might have seen it, as a faint shadow against a distant horizon, it picked itself up, and drifted serenely away on the Trade Winds until it felt it was safe once more. On the island lived two old men, a cow, six chickens and a large quantity of vegetables. They passed their days gardening and poring over a lot of very old documents which they referred to as the Ancient Lore. They had a sturdy wooden boat in which, on rare occasions, they sailed to the mainland to buy tea, without which the younger of the two men swore he could not face the mornings. This was a secret source of irritation to the older one, who managed very well on fruit juice and pure spring water, but being a kind sort of chap, he kept his feelings to himself. This being the only possible source of disharmony between them, they got along extremely well together. In fact they had shared the island for hundreds of years, so by this time they were very old indeed and quite exceptionally wise. Most of their home was taken up with a vast library. It was like no library ever seen before. Apart from shelf upon shelf stacked high with ancient books in every language known to Man, there were tea-chests of tattered sticks, glass urns of leaves, preserved in glycerine, and great heaps of unusually shaped stones. Francis and George knew that there was a language to be learned from every single living thing on earth, and it seemed a waste to restrict themselves to the writings of men. Many of the earth's greatest prophets had been dolphins, who left their words traced in great ripples across the sea bed, so that the course of the tide resonated through them, and sighed their message in surf on distant shores. The snakes of the desert were also great sand-writers, and left a wealth of knowledge about their lives and rituals traced on the high dunes of the Sahara. Barnacles were great seekers after symmetry, and lived their lives arranged in careful patterns which they believed to represent the world, and the Great Dry Beyond. Other beasts had less to say, but seemed to spend their lives saying it. Rabbits were great gossips, and chewed chatty letters to each other on every inch of the heathland turf. Caterpillars carved terse and beautiful poems on the edges of leaves, musing upon the strange transition from grub to butterfly. Unfortunately, being greedy creatures, they often demolished their best work before it could be preserved. Francis' love of animals made him a natural student. He put his knowledge to good use in the vegetable plot. Various carefully worded signs pointed the garden pests to a couple of rows of plants at the far end. These were theirs to eat, provided that they left the others alone. The system worked very well, and if George thought a good strong insect spray would do the job more easily, he was wise enough to keep his feelings to himself. George was not a great scholar. He enjoyed reading Francis' translations, and dabbled in a spot of learning now and again, but mainly spent his time gazing out to sea. For the first time in a long, long life, George felt old and useless. There was no purpose left for him. He was not a man who could keep himself going, day by day, on a mass of little jobs - chalking up tiny achievements for himself like a hamster counting the revolutions of its wheel. George was a man who needed a Quest. Some grand, all- embracing Errand of life and death. He had been a hero in his time, one way and another, and had had rewards heaped upon his head. Now he knew what happened to heroes. They grew old, foolish and bored. People forgot them. Where were the crowds now? Where were the beautiful maidens, grasping at the bridle of his horse, with parted lips and eyes alight with adoration? Where were the firelit feasts - the heady cups of wine? All was vanished, leaving only an old, old man on a diet of tea, spring water and See less »

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From the list : Cool Sites by vgoddess

Either freaky or cool. I'd have to read it.

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© Elizabeth Jane Andreoli 1997

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