VINYL POETRY

Volume 9, November 2013

BIRDIE
Sam MartoneView Contributor’s Note

The Village of Stockenbarrel

When you return to the town with the tower towering beside it, give the circle of fire to the wealthy man. Impressed by the burns on your cheek, on your arms, rung around your ring finger, he will lend you his ship. He will tell you to search for the circle of water in the lagoon north of town. When you board the ship, the very same you woke up on when you were just a child, believe for a moment you will be able to explore the world unabated, traverse every ocean, but no, know this: you are still confined to this continent’s inland rivers, by rocky shoals preventing you from sailing out to sea. When you come to the great locked levee, that manmade wall between you and the world, disembark and head to the village just east of the river. When you enter the village, ignore the hot springs, ignore the temptation to pause your quest and just relax, for just a moment, and sink into yourself. When you pass the young woman kneeled by the graveside, ignore the color of her ribbonless hair, the way it reminds you of someone else, someone you knew a very long time ago. Do not talk to her. She will not listen. She is speaking to her mother. This is a private moment. Turn, turn away. When you manage to unhook yourself from the sound of her voice, find the northernmost house in the village. When you enter the house, the man who is ill in bed will call you over, will recognize you, will say you look just like your father. It’s the man who owned the inn your father took you to. It’s the father of the girl with the yellow ribbon in her hair. When she comes through the door, it’s her, the woman you saw at the gravesite, the girl you went ghost hunting with when you were a child. When she sees you, she will talk you into staying the night. When the world darkens, like a screen between scenes, she will tell you all that has happened in the years since she saw you last. When you wish for a voice to tell her everything, when you feel words balled like a fist in your throat, somehow, she will understand everything: about your father’s death, the ten years you spent imprisoned, the quest for the magic rings and the woman you must marry if you have any hope of winning the white shield, of getting any closer to saving the world. When you were children exploring haunted castles, you lost her in the dark even though she was right by your side. But now, even in the pitch dark of her home, you can sense her beside you, you feel like you could reach out and grab her voice like the sticky thread of a spider’s web. When she stops talking, listen to the gurgle of the hot springs. Reach out to touch her, just to make sure she is there. And then. And then. And then, day breaks. When she is making breakfast, talk to her father. When he confides in you that she is adopted, ignore the strangeness of this revelation. Do not question why he would tell you this, why now. And when you remember that nothing is said in this world without reason, even if the reason is unknown to the person who says it, think how her fostering must be significant, think there is something about her being an orphan, an orphan like you, that will matter, that will allow her to be more than you can imagine now. Tell her none of this. When she says she wants to keep you safe, when she says she will open the passage through the levee and then go with you to find the second magic ring, the circle of water, you will not be able to say no to her, even if you want to. When you answer No, she will act like you are joking. When you answer No, she will ask the same question again and again until you answer Yes, just like she did when she came to you in the middle of the night, put a hand over your mouth until you agreed to follow her to the haunted castle. You want to stay here with her forever, to disappear in the steam of the hot springs. You want “whens” to be “ifs,” you want to make a real choice, but there’s darkness seeping into the world, there is a journey to be gone on. When you answer Yes, give her a sturdy shield, a blade with a poison-dipped tip. Tie the yellow ribbon in her hair. Leave the village, walk back toward the boat. And when she swings her arm in such a way that it seems she might grab your hand. And when she says your name like it means something else, like it hangs unknowable and soft and far away like a moon behind clouds. And when she turns to look at you. And when she says your name. And when you wonder if she’s wondering what you’re thinking. And when she says your name. And when she says your name, again.