The only question.:
"The places I have seen inside and out the confines of my brain.
The memories I visit from time to time and time again.
I must examine and discuss. I must release and explain.
The recollections saved, recorded, written and sustained,
by electric constant in the wires do these words remain.
If one day such power should fail and darkness fall.
If not page of writing lasts that tells the tales of tall.
If by chance an illness take me so I can't recall.
Or my days reach the last number in the count and stall.
What monument could possibly do justice to the wonder of it all?"
February 03, 2011
July 04, 2010
The Twisted Track.
This story is pretty much how it appeared in the dream I had but I have added detail to the background to set the scene. I spoke about it with several people and it seems to represent something personal that will, unfortunately for you, remain personal to me alone. If you are a dream interpreter, feel free to leave comment. Along with the rhino house, I have never been able to move it far from the front of my mind.
In the late 19th century, modernisation in Patagonia hit a snag. Industry was growing on the eastern ports and demanded faster, more reliable transport for the raw materials it needed to keep Europe in luxury goods. The central lowlands were surrounded by impassible objects on all sides. To the east, south and west, mountains, dry and arid rose sheer and reproachful of all who would seek to cross them. In the north, the lowlands drained into swamp and jungle. Disease and death hunted those who entered without knowledge and skill. Life had carried on in these regions at it's own pace for thousands of years unchanged by the hand of progress much to the disappointment of those who would make money. A meeting of investors from Europe and statesman was held in Buenos Aires to assess the situation. It was decided that the great South American plains needed a railroad but what it needed more was someone to build it.
An advertisement calling for engineers was posted in the respectable newspapers of all major east and west coast American cities, and they were not disappointed. Over 200 replies were received, from Washington to San Fransisco making need of a whole department to deal with them. Chinese families, Irish farmers, even Clondyke panners and Newfoundland Whalers stood forward to answer the call of cold hard cash. After 6 months of meetings, telegrams, bribes and 2 shootings. The decision was taken to commission 2 brothers from Kentucky by the names of Hogarth and Kenneth Hoyden.
The Hoydens had joined the army in their late teens and shown an aptitude for solving problems. In 5 years they were heading up the construction of bridges and road building around Fort Colorado and Ringgold in Texas. Their first railroad was constructed for the Hudson Bay trading company in the Northwest territories. Some said that the military training had given the brothers a sense of discipline that they instilled in their workforce. Many of the men who worked for them had been ex soldiers and engineers operating cannons and heavy guns. They had knowledge and experience of establishing supply chains, using local knowledge and, most importantly, working with large quantities of explosives. Many of the devices they used had been designed and patented by Hogarth.
Hogarth was a pragmatist, taking time to look at the environment around him, using local materials and labour. Hogarth's philosophical approach to every task meant that costs could be kept to a minimum. He stood a clear 5 inches taller than his brother, his jaw was longer in his clean kept features, he dressed conservatively and almost never smiled except politely when a lady gave him a compliment. In 1874 he had impressed his Hudson Bay guides by listening to the Inuits living in the area and identifying local sources of food for workers. As well as building the railroad, Hogarth had established local economies, town halls and trading posts, improving the lives of almost all of the local communities as he would see it.
Kenneth or "King Ken." as many who worked for him called him was a people man, a man of words and politics. Shorter than his brother, he used wit and charm to get most of what was needed to get any job done. He kept a well groomed Blondie moustache and wore his hair much longer than his brother, (although he usually sported a Boss of the plains.) Kenneth was as comfortable drinking with the men as he was drinking with the investors. He presented the motivation, negotiation and uncompromising ambition. Building through inhabited areas often meant bribes and politics Hogarth had no interest in. Kenneth was the oil on Hogarth's wheels of progress sweeping indigenous populations into the arms of the rapidly approaching modern world.
Hogarth's shrewd business practice and Kenneth's politics had meant that out of the 33 projects they had completed for the HBTC, they had never ran over budget. This and Kenneth's shared interest in poker with the business representatives of Patagonia meant that there was only ever one choice that would be made. In the autumn of 1877 the brothers were starting to prepare for their biggest job yet, a trans-Patagonian railroad network.
Switching location from the northern to southern hemisphere was a long a drawn out task. Hogarth insisted on spending several months in the area travelling and reviewing the landscape before any work began. In the meantime Kenneth stayed in Buenos Aires arranging the delivery of supplies, men and equipment and providing hospitality for all of the investors. This long time apart from one another was to prove the downfall of a 15 year partnership. Some blamed it on change of climate. Hogarth had suffered from altitude sickness, and the dry inland climate, very different from the damp and icy northern landscape he had spent many years coming to know made him clumsy in the eyes of the local guides. Climbing and short steep slope to join them for a better view of a river system, he stumbled, lost his balance and twisted his ankle which never recovered fully. Some blamed it on Kenneth's lack of brotherly temperance, being left with the rogues of Buenos Aires for a prolonged time without Hogarth's words of wisdom. He was alone and doing what he knew best, entertaining the money.
Kenneth had received the news whilst attending a dinner party at the President's palace. He saw the story as an opportunity to show the courage and determination they both shared to assist this young great nation in it's transformation. With embellishment, he drew a picture of his brother which guaranteed his return as the heroic adventurer, conquering the unknown territories of the wilderness for the good of all mankind. Kenneth was a changed man also. He now saw that a man could be bought in Patagonia at a fraction of the cost of machinery and knowledge. The land was rife with natural resources, rich farmland and colonial money. Without consent, he had already invested in shipping and was pouring the profits into lobbying and powerful relationships.
By the time spring of 1878 came both Hogarth and Kenneth were changed men. Hogarth returned to Buenos Aires. Now he walked with a slow, dignified limp tempered with an ornate Mahogany cane sent as a gift from the President daughter, concerned at Kenneth's stories of his heroic brother. Hogarth was not happy with the attention his brother had brought him. He was more interested in organising the mule trains and equipment needed for the task. It was obvious there was something not quite right with the two men. Hogarth who usually breakfasted with his younger brother ate alone in his room and Kenneth was never awake before nine in the morning.
The split happened in July when base camp was established in the central plains. Kenneth had been insistent that the railroad should be built heading into Buenos Aires to maximise the publicity. Hogarth reluctantly commissioned supplies to be routed to a central base. He had already started a logging operation to provide timbers from the northern jungles and the cleared land supported cattle to feed workers on the line. Kenneth had assembled a massive workforce, promising completion quicker. Farms had been emptied and whole families moved to assemble a small city in the plains. With workers came merchants, bartenders, prostitution, and thieves. In the plains, Kenneth was the law and the newly formed Patagonian Railroad Company weaved his web of control.
2 days before the operation was ready to start, the argument started. Kenneth was unhappy at the cost of all of the mining equipment Hogarth wanted to ship in. He felt that the job could be done cheaper with labour, pick axes and shovels. Hogarth had wanted to take the railroad through a valley to the east reducing the amount of labour needed. Kenneth wanted a tunnel reducing travel time to the coast. The arguments raged into the small hours of the night. Kenneth took to drinking and eventually they decided to split their efforts. A bet was wagered that Kenneth could reach the east coast using cheap labour quicker than Hogarth's machinery. They said some things they probably both regretted but both now angry and confused at the others inability to see their own perspective, set out the very next morning to achieve their goals.
In September of 1879, Kenneth heard via the supply chain that Hogarth was ahead by two miles of track. Kenneth could not understand how Hogarth had done this. He had manipulated the flow of resources so that his eastern efforts took the most support, but Hogarth was finding new solutions, acquiring new supplies and labour everyday. He had finally received the support of the guides and staff he used while Kenneth felt smaller amongst the foremen with each hour that passed. When they finally reached the mountains, He had handed over almost all of the running to a loud and red faced American called Charles Wayne. Wayne used brute force to keep the men working. Every day there were stories of people leaving, heading back over the mountains to the city and the ports. Kenneth was now using capital from the shipping ventures to finance more men, more supplies to try and keep ahead of his brother.
Hogarth was aware of the money that Kenneth was spending and sent legal letters to the banks to stop him from exceeding set amounts but Kenneth had friends in the banks, knew where to ask a favour and apply pressure to get what he wanted; what he needed to prove his point to his older brother. The problem was that it wasn't working. Wayne had found the remains of an old mine that he was pretty sure they could use to begin tunnelling for the passage through the east coast. There were already ventilation shafts and the tunnels all ran horizontally into the mountain. The problems started after two months. Heavy rain had marked the beginning of the winter, and the digging became treacherous for all involved. There were local stories of ancient curses on the mine. The workers demanded more money, lives were lost and the newspaper reporters who sent back new stories over the mountains every day now started to bring doubt to the investors in Buenos Aires.
Hogarth had used valleys, widening them where he needed to, building bridges where the water ran too fast and generally making good use of his surroundings. Now acclimatised to the altitudes, he forces his way over and through the mountains to reach the pacific in record time. When he rode the train into the Newly completed Santiago on the 8th of March in 1880, he sent word to his brother that he was returning to help him finish the final stages. The journey across the mountains took him a week by train, he could already see how the coal yards and stations were starting to transform the landscape but in some places he saw how grasses had grown up around the track and the wild had returned. Once he had passed the mid point of their work, it became worse. In some places, tracks had been stolen by bandits, they had to defend themselves several times against poor and angry locals. There was much resentment of the line. No word came back from his brother.
In the central plains, many of the workers had settled on the new farms created by the land clearance. Here there were water shortages, epidemics and communities scared of roaming bandits. There was no word of his brother, only orders from Wayne for food and liquor. Only when he reached the entrance to the tunnels did he receive the news that Kenneth was severely ill. Several weeks earlier, Kenneth had been drinking again, he spent the night with a prostitute who had arrived with the supply chain from over the mountains. She had disappeared shortly after but Kenneth had started to suffer from a fever. As the rains started, he lay in a tent outside the tunnel entrance and slowly but surely slipped into a coma. An old woman who had taken pity on him had stayed by his bedside when all others had deserted him.
Hogarth wrote to the investors explaining as diplomatically as he could his brothers lack of progress. He discovered that Kenneth had given Wayne direct access to the accounts and to Hogarth's surprise, he found that Kenneth had started debts all over the area to keep things going. Men were leaving the site, stealing what they could, He found Wayne had embezzled a small fortune from selling alcohol to the local villages. Bandits demanded protection money and the banks were in the process of seizing the shipping company Kenneth had started several years earlier.
Hogarth, settling his brothers affairs as best he could, left the Patagonian Railroad unfinished and returned home to his native Kentucky where he hoped to aid his brother's recovery. They took up residency on the family farm where after months of brain fever, Kenneth finally regained a semblance of his former condition. Hogarth waited patiently while his brother came to terms with the loss of feeling in his legs. He sat with him through nights of self pity and loathing, listening to Kenneth blame everyone for his downfall until, in 1882, Kenneth was taken under the wing of the local church. He became a preacher, travelling from town to town selling bibles for the cause.
Hogarth must have felt he had done all he could for his brother. He invested what little remained of his money in a small grocery shop and married a German lady named Analiese. They had 3 children, all boys. He never spoke of his life before the shop, of his achievements because he could never think of them that way. When Hogarth thought of the strange lands had crossed and conquered. When he thought of the mountains and the rivers he had crossed, all he could see was the day he had left his younger brother half dead.
In the late 19th century, modernisation in Patagonia hit a snag. Industry was growing on the eastern ports and demanded faster, more reliable transport for the raw materials it needed to keep Europe in luxury goods. The central lowlands were surrounded by impassible objects on all sides. To the east, south and west, mountains, dry and arid rose sheer and reproachful of all who would seek to cross them. In the north, the lowlands drained into swamp and jungle. Disease and death hunted those who entered without knowledge and skill. Life had carried on in these regions at it's own pace for thousands of years unchanged by the hand of progress much to the disappointment of those who would make money. A meeting of investors from Europe and statesman was held in Buenos Aires to assess the situation. It was decided that the great South American plains needed a railroad but what it needed more was someone to build it.
An advertisement calling for engineers was posted in the respectable newspapers of all major east and west coast American cities, and they were not disappointed. Over 200 replies were received, from Washington to San Fransisco making need of a whole department to deal with them. Chinese families, Irish farmers, even Clondyke panners and Newfoundland Whalers stood forward to answer the call of cold hard cash. After 6 months of meetings, telegrams, bribes and 2 shootings. The decision was taken to commission 2 brothers from Kentucky by the names of Hogarth and Kenneth Hoyden.
The Hoydens had joined the army in their late teens and shown an aptitude for solving problems. In 5 years they were heading up the construction of bridges and road building around Fort Colorado and Ringgold in Texas. Their first railroad was constructed for the Hudson Bay trading company in the Northwest territories. Some said that the military training had given the brothers a sense of discipline that they instilled in their workforce. Many of the men who worked for them had been ex soldiers and engineers operating cannons and heavy guns. They had knowledge and experience of establishing supply chains, using local knowledge and, most importantly, working with large quantities of explosives. Many of the devices they used had been designed and patented by Hogarth.
Hogarth was a pragmatist, taking time to look at the environment around him, using local materials and labour. Hogarth's philosophical approach to every task meant that costs could be kept to a minimum. He stood a clear 5 inches taller than his brother, his jaw was longer in his clean kept features, he dressed conservatively and almost never smiled except politely when a lady gave him a compliment. In 1874 he had impressed his Hudson Bay guides by listening to the Inuits living in the area and identifying local sources of food for workers. As well as building the railroad, Hogarth had established local economies, town halls and trading posts, improving the lives of almost all of the local communities as he would see it.
Kenneth or "King Ken." as many who worked for him called him was a people man, a man of words and politics. Shorter than his brother, he used wit and charm to get most of what was needed to get any job done. He kept a well groomed Blondie moustache and wore his hair much longer than his brother, (although he usually sported a Boss of the plains.) Kenneth was as comfortable drinking with the men as he was drinking with the investors. He presented the motivation, negotiation and uncompromising ambition. Building through inhabited areas often meant bribes and politics Hogarth had no interest in. Kenneth was the oil on Hogarth's wheels of progress sweeping indigenous populations into the arms of the rapidly approaching modern world.
Hogarth's shrewd business practice and Kenneth's politics had meant that out of the 33 projects they had completed for the HBTC, they had never ran over budget. This and Kenneth's shared interest in poker with the business representatives of Patagonia meant that there was only ever one choice that would be made. In the autumn of 1877 the brothers were starting to prepare for their biggest job yet, a trans-Patagonian railroad network.
Switching location from the northern to southern hemisphere was a long a drawn out task. Hogarth insisted on spending several months in the area travelling and reviewing the landscape before any work began. In the meantime Kenneth stayed in Buenos Aires arranging the delivery of supplies, men and equipment and providing hospitality for all of the investors. This long time apart from one another was to prove the downfall of a 15 year partnership. Some blamed it on change of climate. Hogarth had suffered from altitude sickness, and the dry inland climate, very different from the damp and icy northern landscape he had spent many years coming to know made him clumsy in the eyes of the local guides. Climbing and short steep slope to join them for a better view of a river system, he stumbled, lost his balance and twisted his ankle which never recovered fully. Some blamed it on Kenneth's lack of brotherly temperance, being left with the rogues of Buenos Aires for a prolonged time without Hogarth's words of wisdom. He was alone and doing what he knew best, entertaining the money.
Kenneth had received the news whilst attending a dinner party at the President's palace. He saw the story as an opportunity to show the courage and determination they both shared to assist this young great nation in it's transformation. With embellishment, he drew a picture of his brother which guaranteed his return as the heroic adventurer, conquering the unknown territories of the wilderness for the good of all mankind. Kenneth was a changed man also. He now saw that a man could be bought in Patagonia at a fraction of the cost of machinery and knowledge. The land was rife with natural resources, rich farmland and colonial money. Without consent, he had already invested in shipping and was pouring the profits into lobbying and powerful relationships.
By the time spring of 1878 came both Hogarth and Kenneth were changed men. Hogarth returned to Buenos Aires. Now he walked with a slow, dignified limp tempered with an ornate Mahogany cane sent as a gift from the President daughter, concerned at Kenneth's stories of his heroic brother. Hogarth was not happy with the attention his brother had brought him. He was more interested in organising the mule trains and equipment needed for the task. It was obvious there was something not quite right with the two men. Hogarth who usually breakfasted with his younger brother ate alone in his room and Kenneth was never awake before nine in the morning.
The split happened in July when base camp was established in the central plains. Kenneth had been insistent that the railroad should be built heading into Buenos Aires to maximise the publicity. Hogarth reluctantly commissioned supplies to be routed to a central base. He had already started a logging operation to provide timbers from the northern jungles and the cleared land supported cattle to feed workers on the line. Kenneth had assembled a massive workforce, promising completion quicker. Farms had been emptied and whole families moved to assemble a small city in the plains. With workers came merchants, bartenders, prostitution, and thieves. In the plains, Kenneth was the law and the newly formed Patagonian Railroad Company weaved his web of control.
2 days before the operation was ready to start, the argument started. Kenneth was unhappy at the cost of all of the mining equipment Hogarth wanted to ship in. He felt that the job could be done cheaper with labour, pick axes and shovels. Hogarth had wanted to take the railroad through a valley to the east reducing the amount of labour needed. Kenneth wanted a tunnel reducing travel time to the coast. The arguments raged into the small hours of the night. Kenneth took to drinking and eventually they decided to split their efforts. A bet was wagered that Kenneth could reach the east coast using cheap labour quicker than Hogarth's machinery. They said some things they probably both regretted but both now angry and confused at the others inability to see their own perspective, set out the very next morning to achieve their goals.
In September of 1879, Kenneth heard via the supply chain that Hogarth was ahead by two miles of track. Kenneth could not understand how Hogarth had done this. He had manipulated the flow of resources so that his eastern efforts took the most support, but Hogarth was finding new solutions, acquiring new supplies and labour everyday. He had finally received the support of the guides and staff he used while Kenneth felt smaller amongst the foremen with each hour that passed. When they finally reached the mountains, He had handed over almost all of the running to a loud and red faced American called Charles Wayne. Wayne used brute force to keep the men working. Every day there were stories of people leaving, heading back over the mountains to the city and the ports. Kenneth was now using capital from the shipping ventures to finance more men, more supplies to try and keep ahead of his brother.
Hogarth was aware of the money that Kenneth was spending and sent legal letters to the banks to stop him from exceeding set amounts but Kenneth had friends in the banks, knew where to ask a favour and apply pressure to get what he wanted; what he needed to prove his point to his older brother. The problem was that it wasn't working. Wayne had found the remains of an old mine that he was pretty sure they could use to begin tunnelling for the passage through the east coast. There were already ventilation shafts and the tunnels all ran horizontally into the mountain. The problems started after two months. Heavy rain had marked the beginning of the winter, and the digging became treacherous for all involved. There were local stories of ancient curses on the mine. The workers demanded more money, lives were lost and the newspaper reporters who sent back new stories over the mountains every day now started to bring doubt to the investors in Buenos Aires.
Hogarth had used valleys, widening them where he needed to, building bridges where the water ran too fast and generally making good use of his surroundings. Now acclimatised to the altitudes, he forces his way over and through the mountains to reach the pacific in record time. When he rode the train into the Newly completed Santiago on the 8th of March in 1880, he sent word to his brother that he was returning to help him finish the final stages. The journey across the mountains took him a week by train, he could already see how the coal yards and stations were starting to transform the landscape but in some places he saw how grasses had grown up around the track and the wild had returned. Once he had passed the mid point of their work, it became worse. In some places, tracks had been stolen by bandits, they had to defend themselves several times against poor and angry locals. There was much resentment of the line. No word came back from his brother.
In the central plains, many of the workers had settled on the new farms created by the land clearance. Here there were water shortages, epidemics and communities scared of roaming bandits. There was no word of his brother, only orders from Wayne for food and liquor. Only when he reached the entrance to the tunnels did he receive the news that Kenneth was severely ill. Several weeks earlier, Kenneth had been drinking again, he spent the night with a prostitute who had arrived with the supply chain from over the mountains. She had disappeared shortly after but Kenneth had started to suffer from a fever. As the rains started, he lay in a tent outside the tunnel entrance and slowly but surely slipped into a coma. An old woman who had taken pity on him had stayed by his bedside when all others had deserted him.
Hogarth wrote to the investors explaining as diplomatically as he could his brothers lack of progress. He discovered that Kenneth had given Wayne direct access to the accounts and to Hogarth's surprise, he found that Kenneth had started debts all over the area to keep things going. Men were leaving the site, stealing what they could, He found Wayne had embezzled a small fortune from selling alcohol to the local villages. Bandits demanded protection money and the banks were in the process of seizing the shipping company Kenneth had started several years earlier.
Hogarth, settling his brothers affairs as best he could, left the Patagonian Railroad unfinished and returned home to his native Kentucky where he hoped to aid his brother's recovery. They took up residency on the family farm where after months of brain fever, Kenneth finally regained a semblance of his former condition. Hogarth waited patiently while his brother came to terms with the loss of feeling in his legs. He sat with him through nights of self pity and loathing, listening to Kenneth blame everyone for his downfall until, in 1882, Kenneth was taken under the wing of the local church. He became a preacher, travelling from town to town selling bibles for the cause.
Hogarth must have felt he had done all he could for his brother. He invested what little remained of his money in a small grocery shop and married a German lady named Analiese. They had 3 children, all boys. He never spoke of his life before the shop, of his achievements because he could never think of them that way. When Hogarth thought of the strange lands had crossed and conquered. When he thought of the mountains and the rivers he had crossed, all he could see was the day he had left his younger brother half dead.
May 16, 2010
Uncertain Moon
I know the moon must still be there.
I see it shyne behind the clouds.
But lest I see it ev'ry night.
It's shape I can begin to doubt.
May 06, 2010
The Rhino House
It was a Tuesday morning in early June when I was called to investigate a curious incident by the sea. A hotel had been thrown into disarray at five in the morning by what could only be described as a herd of stampeding Rhinos. Luckily most of the patrons had been asleep at the time on the first floor and above. Only the night porter had been injured and taken to the local hospital with a broken arm and bruising down his left side. Aside from shock and nerves, most of the guests and staff were in good health but the proprietor could not be found.
This incident in itself would seem curious enough to most if it wasn't for the fact that exactly seven minutes after the beasts had filled the ground floor spaces of the hotel causing countless damages, they had disappeared without any trace of exit or sound of retreat. Local inspectors were at a loss to find an answer to this strange outlandish problem and, hearing I had some expertise in the field, had sent a car immediately.
The large Edwardian building stood on the headland looking out over the sea and the beginnings of the estuary that ran inland to the south. It was a curiously shaped building. A courtyard greeted new arrivals but then led them around the building to a balcony overlooking the main patios and gardens where a huge set of glazed ironwork doors opened outwards. From the balcony, the walkway could be followed around the entire building still rising until level with the first floor. On the inland side of the hotel the walkway continued, running along the top of a wall which joined what seemed to be a working farm and windmill to the hotel. The wall, unbroken and towering nearly twelve feet high and at least six feet thick gave the whole arrangement a linear and military ambiance.
The hotel, dwarfing all of it's companion buildings stood four floors high. Wooden shutters painted blue opened out to welcome the warm afternoon summer sun and keep out the winter evenings. A central staircase with an enormous skylight gave a wonderful light to the building and inside the decoration was somewhat colonial and dated. Palms and ferns grew from tall containers that hinted at the far east. Guests came here for the peace and quiet and the wonderful views and walks that the hotel made available. I arrived on site in the late afternoon as some of the braver, long standing guests were having tea in the conservatory. All credit to the establishments amazing staff who, with the aid of drapes and table cloths, had brought some semblance of normality. Two uniformed policemen were on hand to give assurance to the guests and await the possible return of the owner.
The guests, a retired Army Officer, a widowed Baroness and a School Mistress were playing bridge with one of the sergeants. A large bottle of brandy stood on a serving trolley to one side, half emptied for medicinal purposes. They all stood when I entered, expecting news that would make sense of the night time surrealism. After introducing myself, I spoke to one side with the card playing sergeant first.
"It's not good sir. The way they describe it makes it sound like the end of the world. They all woke up around ten to five to hear thunder, but it just got louder until they heard the scream of the night porter. By that time the ground floor was full of Rhino's. The Major over there reckons on counting at least twenty five head sir. 'Says he wishes he had his old rifle, 'would have taken a couple of 'em out..."
I listened to the briefing from the young sergeant extracting the relevant and guessing the parts he forgot. Whilst I listened to the guests who added very little to the evidence, I kept thinking about the wall. I could not find any reason for it. Talking with Hotel staff did not help. I searched for clues that the farm and mill were part of an older sea fort but none of them had worked for longer than two seasons and had never heard any history.
As the late afternoon drew towards the evening, I decided it was time to investigate the farm and mill closer. I walked past the farm gates and spied an old woman sitting in a barn with no teeth. She beckoned to me to come forward and speak with her. Thinking I might find out a little more about the strange wall, I stepped forward as a number of geese emerged and surprised both of us. I smiled and the old lady showed me both of her remaining teeth, yellowed and soon to join their companions. Through lisps and mispronounced words, the woman quizzed me.
"Is he back yet?"
I assumed she meant the owner and shook my head.
"You'll be speaking to my husband then, he's up in the mill."
I was confused. I had no idea who this woman was and had not intended to speak with her husband. Perhaps she was being old fashioned. I gave her a puzzled look and enquired who her husband might be.
"He's the miller of course. Have you not wondered yet how we get those big sails to keep turning?"
She gestured vaguely towards a small door near the point where the mill and the wall joined. I hesitated and then, seeing sincerity in her eyes, walked towards it and entered. The door opened onto a small and confined spiral staircase which rose beyond the level of the wall and brought me out onto the flat roof of the mill. leaning against the rail, looking out towards the sea stood an old man in a slightly dishevelled tweed suit.
Standing next to him I looked out across the sea and forgetting my manners. Embarrassed, I asked if he was the miller and introduced myself. He smiled a completely toothless smile and gestured to the view.
"It's a grand one that view. Better than any you'll get from that monstrosity over there. I suppose you're here about last night. I wondered when one of you police folk were gonna get round to talking to me." He pulled out a pipe and began to stoke it with tobacco.
I suddenly became aware of how remarkably far from the ground I was and that I was standing on the top of a windmill and the circular roof was made of stone. The words of the old woman came back to me about the sails. They were turning very quickly and yet there was practically no wind.
Lighting his pipe he continued, "These Rhinos. I've never seen 'em myself, but the master of all this. He's been doing some strange things in the quiet seasons. Lots of digging and building when there's no one around. Last night I happen I saw him coming up this way. I stayed up some time but I never saw him come down again."
The sun was low in the afternoon sky and the Hotel would be serving an evening meal soon. I glanced at my pocket watch to see that it was only ten minutes from five. Then I felt it.
We both grabbed the rail as the whole of the circular roof began to turn. Somewhere a bell was ringing. Mechanisms were moving wildly and loudly beneath our feet. The Miller seemed shocked and afraid, his eyes searching wildly for an explanation, but we held on as we were turning from the east to the south. I didn't doubt that he also thought of the fate of the owner. Something beneath our feet came together with a loud crack and the roof came to a sudden halt. A rumbling started from the base of the windmill. It travelled invisibly along the length of the wall towards the Hotel.
As the motion of the roof stopped, the horror of what was happening hit me. Paralysed, I listened to the sound of smashing crockery and high pitched screams, men shouting and the angry snorting of huge beasts. My mind reeled to make sense of things as I noticed the young sergeant escaping through the main entrance, an enormous wound in his side, pain written clearly across his face. I could only imagine the scenes of carnage inside the building as we, the Miller and I, stood fixed to the spot watching. We were powerless to help.
I felt myself sobbing, my lungs dragging at the air trying desperately to breath. The ground below the rail, far away swam in my vision. Still I had no answers to this mystery beyond the mechanics of tragedy. Where was the owner? Why were Rhinos somehow powering a windmill?
Such are my memories of the Rhino House and the long walks along the shores It took to finally heal me of it's horrors.
May 05, 2010
La Zone Grise, a short history
Far out beyond the oceans, the beaches, the lowlands, villages, hills, mountains and the central plains where the tall grasses billow in the winds there is an unknown.
Any cartographer worth their salt will admit that where roads and trails and coastlines are traced meaningfully from generation to generation, within the interior all lines eventually become broken and dotted until there is nothing but a large vast... ...well nothing. When asking their elders about the space in the maps, they would be told simply that nobody has ever been there.
Extravagance, as seen in some of the royal maps, often adorned these lands with monsters and magic, and elaborate drawings of folk heroes slaying exotic beasts. Others, more practical for merchants and travellers, simply referred to the blank parts as, "La Zone Grise," and in some cases, "Blanc." This changed very little over the years. Those who entered the area to explore found nothing but a barren expanse, devoid of life and detail; flat, hot, and dry.
"Not even the wind spends much time this place," came reports from one eminent Italian explorer who set out to discover, what he described as, "The great forests of our childhood," with a team of six donkeys and three Abyssinian guides. After two weeks, he was discovered walking on a beach with no trousers, no donkeys, no guides and only a small piece of Salami. The lack of water driving him along the edges of the expanse southwards to the ocean.
After this failure, most proposed exploration was greeted with derision by society and no respectable citizens would raise the subject in public. Instead, a period of rejection descended with many simply referring to the area as, "La Gris," or in some cases, "La Terne." With the emergence of industry, attention was turned away from the interior and outward to trade countries beyond the seas. This for some was convenient during state dinners, but caused embarrassment when raised by traders who frequently asked what was on the other side of the lands. Most were dismissed with comments about goat herders and wild men. Ultimately, La Terne became the official title for the area replacing all previous terms and used often in the derogatory sense when criticising things of little interest.
It is surprising this abject place within a land that boasted rising citadels and modern ports along it's coasts existed until several months ago without so much of a mention in public. That is until someone walked into the capital claiming to have lived his life with a tribe of monks on the far side of La Terne. Speculation grew that now, with advanced technology, and equipment, it was possible to at last explore. Petitions for funding were hastily prepared and put to the banks and investors from other lands. La Terne became the next big thing.
Now there are thousands of pundits and speculators all prepared to entertain the public with articles in magazines and appearances on evening chat shows. Never before has so much interest in La Terne been seen. Traditionalists dismiss all mention of the place as fanciful youthfulness; a fad that will pass. Bureaucrats look to produce policy of governance over La Terne, fearing the creation of a haven for revolution.
La Terne has become the place of children's bedtime stories; a place that lovers throw casually into hopelessly promiscuous lines of prose. La Terne is the cry of the unions and the oppressed.
"La Terne! La Terne!"
"Ce qui est revele!"
Stocks on the markets have started to rise and fall simply due to the uncertainty. Security is increased to give everyday life the impression of calm, smooth continuity. A Garrison has been posted on the perimeters of La Terne in case an army marches out to disable and crush the machine. Authors have taken up the old names again referring to La Zone Grise. They say that instability and uncertainty has always been, and that people simply chose to ignore it.
There is no certainty of the future except that the uncertainty will continue and get worse. Only one thing can be said for sure...
Until the Cartographers can produce their maps and continue the roads and borderlines into La Zone Grise, there will be no peace here.
Any cartographer worth their salt will admit that where roads and trails and coastlines are traced meaningfully from generation to generation, within the interior all lines eventually become broken and dotted until there is nothing but a large vast... ...well nothing. When asking their elders about the space in the maps, they would be told simply that nobody has ever been there.
Extravagance, as seen in some of the royal maps, often adorned these lands with monsters and magic, and elaborate drawings of folk heroes slaying exotic beasts. Others, more practical for merchants and travellers, simply referred to the blank parts as, "La Zone Grise," and in some cases, "Blanc." This changed very little over the years. Those who entered the area to explore found nothing but a barren expanse, devoid of life and detail; flat, hot, and dry.
"Not even the wind spends much time this place," came reports from one eminent Italian explorer who set out to discover, what he described as, "The great forests of our childhood," with a team of six donkeys and three Abyssinian guides. After two weeks, he was discovered walking on a beach with no trousers, no donkeys, no guides and only a small piece of Salami. The lack of water driving him along the edges of the expanse southwards to the ocean.
After this failure, most proposed exploration was greeted with derision by society and no respectable citizens would raise the subject in public. Instead, a period of rejection descended with many simply referring to the area as, "La Gris," or in some cases, "La Terne." With the emergence of industry, attention was turned away from the interior and outward to trade countries beyond the seas. This for some was convenient during state dinners, but caused embarrassment when raised by traders who frequently asked what was on the other side of the lands. Most were dismissed with comments about goat herders and wild men. Ultimately, La Terne became the official title for the area replacing all previous terms and used often in the derogatory sense when criticising things of little interest.
It is surprising this abject place within a land that boasted rising citadels and modern ports along it's coasts existed until several months ago without so much of a mention in public. That is until someone walked into the capital claiming to have lived his life with a tribe of monks on the far side of La Terne. Speculation grew that now, with advanced technology, and equipment, it was possible to at last explore. Petitions for funding were hastily prepared and put to the banks and investors from other lands. La Terne became the next big thing.
Now there are thousands of pundits and speculators all prepared to entertain the public with articles in magazines and appearances on evening chat shows. Never before has so much interest in La Terne been seen. Traditionalists dismiss all mention of the place as fanciful youthfulness; a fad that will pass. Bureaucrats look to produce policy of governance over La Terne, fearing the creation of a haven for revolution.
La Terne has become the place of children's bedtime stories; a place that lovers throw casually into hopelessly promiscuous lines of prose. La Terne is the cry of the unions and the oppressed.
"La Terne! La Terne!"
"Ce qui est revele!"
Stocks on the markets have started to rise and fall simply due to the uncertainty. Security is increased to give everyday life the impression of calm, smooth continuity. A Garrison has been posted on the perimeters of La Terne in case an army marches out to disable and crush the machine. Authors have taken up the old names again referring to La Zone Grise. They say that instability and uncertainty has always been, and that people simply chose to ignore it.
There is no certainty of the future except that the uncertainty will continue and get worse. Only one thing can be said for sure...
Until the Cartographers can produce their maps and continue the roads and borderlines into La Zone Grise, there will be no peace here.
May 04, 2010
The Black Flag
It stands atop a small hill in the most desolate, dry part of nowhere. If anyone passes they see it hanging loosly from a white pole. They may wonder if it marks a water hole although the only thing that grows is the dust between the rocks. They may wonder if it marks treasure, but the hill is granite; smooth and untouched save the small flagpole shaped hole bored 16 inches into it. There is nothing; no reason for this flag to fly and yet here it stands.
There are no epiphanies to be found here. No truths or prophecies or enlightenments. Holy men may come and go in this wilderness but they will not find meaning, sustenance or strength from this flag.
It sways in the breezes that leave as quickly as they come. It drifts awake on moments noticing the air too late to play with it. There are no storms, no roaring, howling winds. This flag has never stood alert, pulled between nature and it's tether. Instead, it hangs it's head to the ground.
No purpose, no markings, no meaning. For some this is too much. Do you dare to linger in the blazing heat of the midday sun? Do you want more; to know what this could mean? Can you accept that ultimately it may lead to nothing...
...or are you one of those who refuse to accept the existence of nothing?
We shall see.
There are no epiphanies to be found here. No truths or prophecies or enlightenments. Holy men may come and go in this wilderness but they will not find meaning, sustenance or strength from this flag.
It sways in the breezes that leave as quickly as they come. It drifts awake on moments noticing the air too late to play with it. There are no storms, no roaring, howling winds. This flag has never stood alert, pulled between nature and it's tether. Instead, it hangs it's head to the ground.
No purpose, no markings, no meaning. For some this is too much. Do you dare to linger in the blazing heat of the midday sun? Do you want more; to know what this could mean? Can you accept that ultimately it may lead to nothing...
...or are you one of those who refuse to accept the existence of nothing?
We shall see.
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