User:JohnB/Fanfiction/A Visit to Pelagiad

Somehow I knew she was going to be there when I entered the Halfway Tavern in Pelagiad. She was sitting by a window with a cup of herbal tea and reading a book.

“Ah, now here's a woman to my heart—with her nose in a book and not poking an I-phone,” I jested.

“JohnB!” Arowhena exclaimed dropping the book on the table and jumping up to give me a tight hug and a smooch on the cheek.

“So what brings you here?” she asked as we sat down.

"Just to see how you're getting along in my story. What are you reading?"

“The Book and the Stone.”

“Ah! How do you like it?”

“Very much! It's interesting how everything fits together like a grand puzzle.”

“Well, that's because when something gets added or changed in one part of the story, it's going to have an effect somewhere else, so I have to search through and add it to wherever it is pertinent. With you that wasn't so easy because you aren't such a central character like Vaezbrub, so I had to include you with the captain whenever possible to let the reader know you're still a part of his life.

“And please don't ask why I made you who you are. Only Samuel Butler can take credit for that. I guess I can take credit for giving you those emerald-green eyes and stunning good looks. To be perfectly honest, I never read Erewhon and so haven't a clue how you're supposed to look.”

“Oh? Then how did you know about me? And why did you bother to include us Cymri at all?”

“I knew of the book Erewhon and looked it up in Wikipedia to see if it was possible to add Erewhon as a province of Asantia. The connection it has with machines was a no-brainer for including Dwemer constructs in the story. So there was the steam centurion crashing through the trees and a female voice calling out for help. I suddenly balked. Throwing in a damsel in distress makes a story kind of low-brow and the butt of parody. (cf. Sir Launcelot in Monty Python and the Holy Grail: "The thing is I thought your son was a lady.")

I had to give you a background story and a name, so I returned to Wikipedia and found that Arowhena is the girl who falls in love and runs away with the hero. I thought, 'Bingo! At long last--a love interest for the captain!' From there everything fell into place, and I was very satisfied with the outcome. The Erewhon story itself was superfluous in my story because I like to keep things simple. So, what do you think of your new role?”

“I love it! That said, I'm not very happy with being married to a man without a name. The effect is like the old TV title, 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir'. Could you do something about that?”

“Yes, I'll take care of it for you.

"As to why there are Cymri in the story, my mother is a Morris, which comes from a Welsh personal name "Meurig" from the Latin "Mauritius" ("Maurice" in French). My family is chock-full of Czechs on both sides, so I gave them a tip of the hat as well.

"Anyway, it's a beautiful day today. Let's walk to that hill near the fort. I want to see the windmill I put there.”

We strolled arm-in-arm up the windswept hill and leaned on the rail fence that enclosed the mill to survey the countryside below.

“A lot of these trees, flowers, and grass, and of course Castle Vianden over there, were not here when I first arrived in Vvardenfell. I worked some digital sorcery to turn this place into paradise. Oh, I love this area! And this windmill—isn't it grand?!” The sails rotated merrily above our heads.

“It's only a windmill,” she shrugged.

“'It's only a windmill,' she says. Really, is that all you see?” I raised a hand toward the mill and declaimed, “Young lady, behold—renewable energy! In Vvardenfell, of all places!”

Her laughter was as lovely as her emerald-green eyes.

“What's so funny?”

“It's not so much what you say as how you say it.”

"You're very kind to say so. It's the panorama of life that I can draw from in telling my stories. I couldn't have written The Book and the Stone when I was 24. I'd been back from a 10-month trek through Europe, which young people back then did to reorient their lives, and I was trying to turn the diary I'd kept into the Great American Novel. It wasn't going well. A story needs to fulfill six requirements: explain who, what, when, where, how, and above all, why?

"Who: all about me; What: a travelogue-cum-adventure story; When: 1973-74; Where: all over the place; How: planes, trains, and automobiles (hitchhiking); Why: your guess is as good as mine. After all, as they say: A young fool who's sent out to roam, exceeds a fool who stays at home. And that manuscript became the bane of my existence because it didn't show my improvement in any way.

"I finally rolled it up into a tube, wrapped it all around with duct tape, and pitched it into a dumpster.

"My priorities were also messed up. I was trying to get a Yugoslav girl to like me more. Diana (pronounced DEE-ana) was sharp, athletic, charming, and wildly attractive. Actually, she didn't have green eyes, but she seems to have transmogrified into you, except that I gave you Neil Young's "Heart of Gold". She had not a single romantic bone in her body, but I pined for her nonetheless. It rankled me the way guys flocked around her at the graduate dorm parties. She liked me, but I could tell that she also pitied me because she loved being the center of their attentions and was unapologetic about it.

"There was one incident that still stands out in my memory. Whenever I invited her out to do something, a particular dorm-mate somehow wormed his way in turning it into a three-some, and I couldn't tell if it was by design, since I hadn't told him, but he found out nevertheless. I suppose Diana somehow felt safer with him than she did with me. I guess guys who hankered after her body were easier to fend off, but when a guy truly likes a girl, what can happen other than that she loses her autonomy? This was Yumiya's problem as well.

"Anyway, her field was anthropology, and she told the two of us that we could come with her to visit the Hopi reservation in Northern Arizona. We needed him because he had a car. So we drove all the way up there, sleeping in the car somewhere along the way because Arizona is a lot bigger than it appears on the map. We finally arrived at the Third Pueblo, and that was an adventure I will never forget!

"A clapboard Mennonite prayer house outside the pueblo showed efforts by White men to modify their religious beliefs some time in the previous century, but it looked unused now that the Hopi have pushed back and reclaimed their native beliefs. Diana warned us that if there's anyone the Hopi dislike it's a nosy anthropologist, so don't act like one. Many native Americans have asked the White men, "How would you like it if we came and excavated Evergreen Cemetery to study your burial practices?" Therefore, many native mummies and burial artifacts were returned to them by the University of Arizona.

"Not long after we arrived, there was the big rain dance, in which male members of the tribe put on kachina masks and stamp in unison to the beat of the drum and the jangling of ankle bells. And suddenly there was a clap of thunder, and people sitting along the rooftops of the pueblo scurried for shelter from the brief downpour. The village chieftain then thanked the dancers, and the festival began.

"The highlight of the festival, unfortunately, was a soccer game--the Hopi tribe vs. the White Boys. I tried graciously to back out, but they were very insistent as they grabbed both my arms and escorted me into the game. My partner was clueless, so I told him just to hang loose and see what happens. We were outnumbered, and they were all over us. The crowd laughed and cheered every time we took a spill. Not only that, they defended the ball by suddenly picking it up and changing its position. All protest was futile.

"'What's wrong, white boy?! Can't take it?!' one of them asked me.

"Now I was pissed off.

"'What do we do?' my partner asked tremulously, hoping there was some way to shorten this ordeal.

"'They're cheating like sin, so I'm going to do the same!' I responded angrily.

"When the ball finally came my way, I picked it up, ran like a quarterback to their side, and smashed it across the goal.

"A cheer went up. This was precisely what the crowd wanted to see--a white boy meeting them on their own terms--and I was presented with a home-baked pumpkin pie that I presented to Diana. She was beside herself with joy while my rival looked on in defeat. That felt really good!

"Anyway, I thought if I could only get her away from this rival! She liked the idea of a train trip to Mexico City, and together we climbed the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan; however, she was strangely indifferent to everything we experienced while I was reveling in the sights, sounds, and smells of that fascinating city. What should have been a Grand Tour for us ended up driving home how little we could stand each other.

"After a cooling off period, I informed her that I was headed for the antipodes, probably for good. I had dinner at her place, after which she gave me a copy of Reischauer's The Japanese, showed me the door, and I never saw or heard from her again."

"Were you able to recoup the loss?"

"Oh, definitely! In fact today (May 17) is my 37th wedding anniversary. I gave milady two red roses and a bar of olive soap from Aleppo. We still love each other very much."

"Congratulations!"

Arowhena's stomach suddenly let out a loud rumble.

“Oya-oya! That must be you because it certainly wasn't me.”

“Sorry," she said bashfully, “I'm feeding two right now.”

“Really?!” I guffawed for joy. “That's fantastic!”

“And if you keep your promise to name the captain, I'll name the little one John.”

“And if it's a girl?”

“Johanna.”

“Splendid! It's a deal! Let's go back to the tavern for dinner and a toast. Flin for me and chamomile tea for you--or maybe pickles and ice cream?”

She laughed and biffed me playfully on the shoulder as we returned arm-in-arm to the tavern.

"Maurice is a lucky guy!" I thought to myself. "May their offspring be many!"

(Soon after this was written, the captain became Maurice Delamer.)