CHAPTER 19

INTO THE SERPENT'S DEN

   So Boris ate his fill, though the only food were seeds; but there were many types of seeds and they were all done in a variety of ways: Roast Seed, Boiled seed, Fried Seed, Seed with Cranseedberry Sauce, Seed Salad, Seed Pie, Seed Cake, Seed Cookies, not to forget Seed Coffee and Apple Seeder, which Boris did, indeed, ingest quite a bit; subsequently, Boris was now feeling quite filled and happy as he opened his belt and sat back as he sipped his steaming Hot Seed-Latte.

   So with each and every Pigeon--within this huge and happy Nest--filled to the brim with food and drink, the illustrious Mister Walter Pigeon stood up, kissed his loving and precious wife, and addressed his large illustrious family, giving many thanks for many things, making many toasts to many Pigeons, and leading many Pigeons in many prayers.

    Finally, he turned to Boris and said for all to hear, "We now thank our dear new Friend, Boris for battling the snakes and beating them at their own game of so-called Telling the Truth."

   At this, Boris swiped a hand and bowed his head as if saying that it was nothing.

   Walter replied, "Oh, it was, indeed, a worthy deed, you did, indeed; for one must start small, with your small head, using it to learn, however late, no matter how little, to separate fake Catlans from the real. Kudos to you."

   "Thank you," said Boris.

   "Now as a treat to you all, and especially to our new dear friend, Boris, I will tell a tale that all of you know so well and that goes by the name of 'The Little Boy, Don Boris Quixote, Who Entered the Den of Serpents and Lived to Tell About It!' "

   And with that everyone cheered and Boris was glad  that the hero of the story just happened to be named Boris, a very curious happenstance. Oh, well, he thought, he might as well sit back and enjoy the story.

   Walter commenced and Boris noted that Walter was such a good story teller that it seemed like he was right there in the midst of the story; and in a little while, he even believed he was there, being the hero and doing the things therein; perhaps, thought Boris, I am really doing these things and Walter is simply narrating things in a play-by-play fashion; or perhaps, Walter has a memory that works both ways, and he is now relating a story that will happen to me in the future. Perhaps, perhaps.

     Anywhichway, these are the words that he heard:

In a fair Time, long, long ago;

In a fair Land, far, far away;

There lived that fabulous boy-o,

Lord Don Boris Quixote.

He did travel on that fair steed,

The horse, with horn in head, gilded;

That Mythic beast shone like gold mead,

So named, grandly, Brunnenhilded.

Beside, a-times, the fair Soldier;

Riding upon dumb ass burro,

Was, there, the Knight's loyal squire,

So named, humbly, simply, Walto.

Cradling in his mighty strong arm,

Was the ever hard Lance, Fargo;

In his gold belt so close at hand,

Was the ever sharp sword, Dargo.

Armor, so bright, so hard, he wears:

Breastplate protects a heart so true;

Helmed Head surrounds a mind that dares;

Bright Boot upholds, in faith, man new.

You think, falsely, that all they do,

Was to battle, staunchly, windmills;

But naught can be more wrong, you know;

They march to much amend past bills.

O Tweedletown, that's now their goal;

Along the way good folk gather;

To aid duo in task so holy;

Only, they can act, together.

Elect, they now, Tweedles Pro-Egg;

Numbers, numbers, is all the rage;

Must folk on stand many a-leg;

In this New World of the New Age.

Boris enters the gate of much power;

And trots gaily up steps so grand;

And so enters the House, the Tower;

Where much to do is want for Land.

Kingdoms, threefold, hallow the ground:

The House of Tweed does make all Bills;

The House of White, those Bills, makes do;

The House of Robes, same Bills, sifts through.

Boris now takes the Chair, House Chief;

For now leads he Pro-Egg Party,

Numbers, numbers, they have received;

Slim now they have majority!

Party of Egg now floors a Bill,

To change Cat's Claws, the Bill of Rights,

Worded in way to save in Land,

Many Egg-Pigeon, many dark frights.

The Bill is passed after much pain;

But Lo! White King vetoes it twice;

Hi Lo! As quick it's floored a-twain;

And these vetoes now melt like ice.

Now there's a law to aid all Egg;

It's carved in stone, now leave it 'lone;

But let us not count our dear Pigeons,

Before Hatches all Eggs at Home.

But now the House of Robe in steps,

And rules, sifting Egg Amendment:

'Dancing, not with, Parent, good steps;'

'Alas! Oh, no! Now Bills end's meant!'

Party of Egg shouts much: Unfair!

Party of Snake shouts back: It's Law!

They shout, and shout, and shout, and shout;

Until they are so Blue in face;

Until they are so Red at mouth.

The folk now march on House of Robe;

Madder than mad, truer than true;

Oh what, O what, do you just think,

They are all now planning to do?

Boris yells out: Not that, don't do;

Because if you really let go,

Oh no, there will be much ado,

And many a-head will throb oh so!

But oh, what shall we do, dear Knight,

Oh what shall, oh what can, we do,

To fight this dark evil, this blight,

All our options, have failed, so true?

O yes! One more option exists,

I shall challenge the black Dark Knight;

With the aid of my shining white steed,

To one-on-one combative fight.

So the ultimatums were sent,

So the deadly answers were were got,

So the dire match times were ordered,

So the good death of one was sought.

Boris travels to field of death;

Right now on route most straight on moor,

Thereby he falls into that mire,

So called by all next to death's door.

Naught aught can stop hero so true,

He so struggles, he prays ditties;

Until ejects he out of mud,

And now rides slow, tired, dirty.

He ons field of combat mortal,

To much laughing, joking, slapping,

And to snaky, slithy hissing;

This is naught aught but norm happing.

Digs deep mighty heeled hooves, boy's steed;

Steamy hot smoke, erupt, nostrils;
Glints not, in sun, spike sharp, so true;

Drips, back, deathly oily tendrils.

Deathly Lancepoint so high held up;

Helm shut, clanks fate's finality,

Fearless footpads set sternly in stirrup,

Black breath echoes metallicly.

Through slit in Helm, hero espies

Other, also, rides Unicorn;

This steed's  beauty in shines all eyes,

All White, all pure: seems not earth born.

Tother's Un'corn hops so spritely,

His Steed is so, indeed, mighty ;

Knight on Back is big as Night,

'Oh God! this now will be some fight!'

Deathly Duo lowly bow heads,

To land's own Chief Tweedle, the King;

The flags are dropped, the hands are flopped,

Two mills of death t'other now fling.

Hero's hard Lance can't find its mark,

Opponent shifts and sways so stark;

Black Knight easy does find his mark,

Bang! Thud! Pain! Pain! haa, haa! Hark, Hark!

Wobble, Wobble, the land tumbles!

Falling, Falling, much mud flying!

Oh no! so dead! Thud! Fall! Bang! Clang!

The horse, the boy, now both dying.

Roots grasp bodies mercurical;

Tendrils now grip the boy, the horse;

Now sucked below for burial;

Naught aught standing of Land's True Course.

Slithy serpents cheer loud and long,

Vile Egg Stealers have won the day;

'Now! No stopping us' is the slogan,'

'We feed on all with no delay!'

But don't you cheer you snakes too soon,

For there's a mighty surprise, to boot;

The earth rattles, the ground buckles;

The seed of death has took some root!

Out of ground, a mighty Roar did blare;

And shook all snakes, till they despair of their hair;

The ground did 'plode, the ground did whirl;

The winds pick up, and the storm did swirl!

Empty Debty was shook, he seat was took;

He did indeed fall in the blink of a look;

He hit the ground, but he did not bound;

But broke in many places, all in the round!

His peices went here, they went there;

Oh, they went everywhere!

And out of his innards popped many a snake;

He really was nothing but a big fat fake!

But was this the end of our dear economy?

No dear folk, do no despair of such disharmony;

For Empty's pieces were sown as seeds;

To sprout as flowers that now fulfill all needs!

Then a Mighty Lion did stir the air;

And with Boris in toe, did ascend the pair;

They rose high and grand, till peak did reach;

On point so chill, he placed young peach.

And there the Lion did transmorgraphy,

Until a Kingly Man, all good people could espy!

He shone, and shone, and shone and shone;

Until all folk below were tanned and done.

Then in a blink of eye, he 's out of sight;

But not from mind, but not from spirit bright;

For he's there, and there, and there, and there;

Until one must say: Hey! He's everywhere!

The boy did wince, the boy did blink;

Where the heck am I, I'm in the pink;

Oh, boy, O boy, O boy, O boy;

Here we go 'gain, oh what a stink.

Around me look, exclaimed said boy;

Is here my family, all neat and hoy;

I think I'm back, on feet, on Crest:

In Town, In Cell! The West, the Best!

***

And as Boris heard these words--or was it that he said them or had he just acted them out--well, anywhichway, Boris now found himself back in the prison sitting on the bench with little Anya sleeping beside him with her head on his now all but bloodless arm, and with his parents also sleeping nicely in their cells.

"Yes! " thought Boris," Catlan was found--at least he found me; or maybe he was always around, and I just had to realize he was always there--and he brought me back to my family, my pa, my ma, my dear sis!"

The wind had calmed down outside and the rain had transformed into softly falling snow coating all things outside with an even coat of pure white snow. And with that, Boris fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

   A few hours later, Boris awake when the sun streaked through one side window, showing the whole town blanketed with a very thick coat of snow--somewhat unusual for the northwest U.S. at this time of year (but not for this town nestled in the bosom of God's hills.) Nothing moved outside in this sleepy town made even sleepier by the fact that it was Thankgiving Day morning, and indeed, Boris had a lot to be thankful for, but we will get into that later.

    Anya was already awake and helping the groggy Deputy Hempty make coffee. Steaming cinnamon buns were also at the desk--which Boris later found out were delivered by Hempty's girlfriend, Purdey-Sue Pigeon, who just stepped out of the Chick's room, adjusting her hair into a nest at the back of her head and flashing the fleshy Hempty a big, warm smile. 

    Looking at the cells, he noticed that the door for his parent's cell were open and that  his parents were now finishing dressing and were on their way to join the festivities at the coffee table.

    The other couple were a jolly couple--possibly local actors--who seemed to strut about their cells constantly bobbing their heads.  The husband still seemed a little groggy.

   Their door was not open, but they had easy access to it key.

    Behind this couple were three of their offspring: one bracing boy about Boris's age and two giggling girls--one about Anya's age and one who apparently was the twin of the boy; this familiar family now joined the group around the fireplace, as it were.

     His ma approached him and said, "Oh, good, the little sleepy head is finally awake. No, no. Don't bother washing or changing; you look good enough, even for a cute little teen girl."

    "Oh, ma! I wasn't looking at her. Well, maybe. Anyway, good morning. I do so love you," and with that he gave his ma a long, hard hug.

    "Now, what was that for?" said his smiling mother, "you are never so affectionate.  But I like it."

    "Perhaps, it's the day," responded Boris to his ma's mild confusion.

    Then he gave his Pa a long hard warm handshake, but then thought this wasn't enough, and so he hugged him too.

    "I think my son is finally becoming a man."

    "Huh? Why do you say that?"

    "Oh, son, don't you know that a real man isn't afraid to shed a few tears or hug a few friends."

    "Yes, I guess, you are right."

    "Only guess."

    "No, you are completely right as usual, Father."

    "That's better," said his father, flashing his son a warm, fatherly smile.

    At that, little, eight year old Anya, ran up to her brother and hugged him hard around the knees, "Ya, I can join in too.  Am I a big woman, now, Ma?"

    "Ah, for me you will always be my little girl."

    "Oooo!" was all that Anya could say in a happy, cooing fashion.

    "Now, my son," said his Pa, "I want you to meet some of our bunch that were arrested with us; I am not sure if you got their names yesterday.  This is Walter and Wilma Pigeon."

     "What! Huh!" is all that the flabbergasted Boris could say.

    "What, son?!" exclaimed a worried father, "It looks like you have seen a ghost."

    "Oh, I am allright, for the only ghost in my life is the Holy Ghost."

   And with that, they all burst into a roar of laughter.

   Then Mister Walter Pigeon said, "And I hope that you listen to every word that He speaks to you."

     "Oh, I do, I most certainly so, Sir Walter."

    "Oh, I am Sir Walter, now. I think that becomes me," he said now strutting about as, what else, a Pigeon.

    "Oh stop," said his wife, "Or you'll be soon getting an inflated head... but, oh, what a nice, dear head you do, indeed, have," she added as she kissed him on that nice beak of a nose of his.

    Then Walter guided his son forward and said, "And Boris, this is my good son, Walter, Jr., or simply called Walto!"

    "Oh, Walto! Nice to meet you."

    "Oh, I like you sir. I am your obedient and willing servant."

    "Huh?"

    "And I will call you, Don Boris Quixote," said Walto addressing Boris."

     "Don Quixote? huh?!"

     "Oh, I just noticed the book that you were reading. It's still on the bench."

    "Oh."

    "And if that's not too much to bear, I like to offer another quixoticism: Boris, meet my twin sister, Dulcinea."

    "Dulcinea!?"

    "Yes, My pa is a fan of Cervantes, too."

    And Boris turned to Dulcinea, and noticed that she indeed was some beauty, at least, in spirit, for she flashed a long big smile at him. Then she giggled and taking little Anya's hand in hers she hurried them both to the bun table where they joined Dulcinea's little sister Dorothea. 

    Arriving at the coffee table, Dulcinea then proclaimed for all to hear, "Coffee's ready" and started pouring cups for adults and juice for the children, and one especially brimming cup for Boris which she handed over personally to him.

   Then a few other Pigeons flew in to join in the fun, creating their own little coop of merriment.

    All joined in and after some merriment and many laughs, Walter--who was a personage of some respect in this town--gave many thanks and made many toasts and lead many prayers.

    Finally Deputy Hempty, arm and arm with his beau, waddled up to the front and said, "it seems that all the roads are blocked and that I will have to sadly inform you, dear Harte Family, that it may be some days before you can have your conference with my chief and the many federal, state and local agents that he has invited here for his little swa-ray, as they say in good ole Paree. But do not be glum, for you can stay with the Pigeons in their Bird's Nest, as they call it, and wait there in nice comfort and ease. 

    "In addition, this conference to be held in a few days," continued Hempty in manner as if he, too, had a backwards memory that could remember the future, "will be sans any paperwork concerning any of the so-called felons involved in said terrorist act, for the roof of said prison house leaked last night with water falling, of all places, right on top of said documents that are all now totally despoiled. I swear that I had nothing to do with it, and I take it as a sign from Up Top that they don't want said parties prosecuted. Now with, all documents gone, said chief and agents will have a hard time telling who from whom and which from what.  I do believe that all the felons involved in said eggregious acts were of the Pigeon family, were they not?"

    "Yes, I can definitely confirm that," said Walter.

     And as Walter said that, four personages--looking a lot like a geeky, birdy version of the Harte family--walked in the front door.  The two parents came a little closer and smiled at us.

   Just as the door closed, one had a glimpse of a run down camper that was a geeky, birdy version of the Harte's sleek, modern RV.

    "Oh, no, no!" My pa interrupted, "You can't do that! I know what you are trying to do, and you Pigeons can't all take the blame for what our family did."

    "Wait, a minute, dear Mister Harte," interpolated Walter. "You, sir, are known nationwide as a organizer of pro-life demonstrations--all peaceful mind you--and it is you that the federal agents are, no doubt, after to make a lesson of. We local Pigeons, though constant protesters, have not, as of yet, hit the nationwide radar, and the officials will be little interested in us. 

    "But what of my duplicate family there--shades of Invasion of the Pod Snatchers, here, ha," continued Mr. Harte's protests.

    Hempty answered this objection, "Clem  and Barbie Sue Pigeon and their children were, indeed, present at the demonstration, and, therefore, I am warranted to arrest them and place them in jail. Anyway, they have already been arrested and placed under house arrest. I'm now merely moving around the prisoners for efficiency's sake."

    "But your Chief has already identified me?"  added Mr. Harte.

   "He only believed that you filled the description of one nationwide pro-life organizer; but he wasn't sure, and that's one of the reasons he's calling in the big guns."

    "I still protest," repeated Mr. Harte, but now in a milder tone. "This can't be legal...and...our dear Deputy, and others,  will get into trouble..."

    "Don't worry about me, Sir Harte," responded Dempty, "but you don't realize that my Chief simply commanded me to arrest all protesters I could find and place some in the jail cells and some under house arrest at respectable citizens homes throughout the town: so if you stay at one of the Pigeons' places--which consist of half the town--then I will be doing none other than what my chief commanded me. And if you slip away quietly into the middle of the night to places unknown, then none will be blamed: not the house guards, for although they have been sworn in as official deputies and have signed for the prisoners--with said signed forms anyway lost--nobody could really fault these amateurs--legally or morally--for not giving the highest priority in their busy lives to guarding their dangerous charges; nor anybody in this office, for all documents indicating who was at the demonstration, have been despoiled and we can't track who was where."

     "OK, but won't you all, especially Dempty, have to lie? The last time I looked, that was a sin."

     "We can be as vague as we want. Didn't our Lord say we must be as peaceful as doves and as sneaky as those snakes, or something to that effect. In addition, didn't our Lord also say to give to Ceasar what is Ceasar's and to God what is God's, and so I am definitely not giving to Ceasar what is God's property, namely the Harte Family."

     "I agree, But still I shouldn't fly, for I have, indeed, broken some laws."

    Hempty objected, "From my honest, unbiased perspective, I can say that you have broken no laws, earthly or divine."

    "But I must obey my superiors, the state, who ordered me into jail."

   "Then obey and go to the Pigeon's household."

     "Where I must stay."

    "No, the only things that I have been explicitly commanded to do is  'one, charge said demonstrators according to said documents; and, two, place them in jail or said households.'  Command one is nullified since said documents have been despoiled. That only leaves command two, which you can fulfill by going to the Pigeon household; what is done from there is not in my orders."

    "But aren't you dutybound to fulfill the more weighty things of justice rather than the letter of the law."

     Hempty smirked as he responded, "I am fulfilling the spirit by submitting to the letter."

     "Ha, I am beginning to see, ha," smirked Mr. Harte.

    Boris didn't get it at that point, but later he finally got it after he thought things through.

   Then Hempty said,  "If you still have some qualms about the whole thing, then stay in town for a whole month until the New Year's. Surely if no one has come to formally charge you by that time, then surely you have no reason to stay."

   "That makes sense," replied Mister Harte.

   But then Hempty said, "You still seem a little trouble Mr. Harte."

   Now Mr. Harte made his final objection, and it was a doozy, demonstrating in its presentation, his love for his new found friends, "But won't the Pigeons be, well, persecuted in ways legal and non-legal."

    Wilma interjected, "Don't worry about us; no one can keep us Pigeons down: we'll be flying free as birds all the days of our lives!" With that, Wilma pointed to some funny posters on a nearby wall.

     And with that, all burst into a large roar of laughter.

     Then Wilma added, "May the Lord bless us and keep up and always surround us.  Amen!"

     And all said, "Amen."

**************

   Editor's note: The poem below was written by Boris a few days later--in the Pigeon household--the writing of which was assigned to Boris by his Father with the purpose of summarizing what he had learned in his dream of One-World-Land; it is dedicated to one Dulcinea Pigeon. Note that he had many fun times with the Pigeon Family and Walto--and Dulcinea, who was a very fullsome person: a healthy, joyous Tom-boy, but showing, nevertheless, many good womanly qualities--riding bikes or ski-doos all about the hallowed byways of Pigeon Nest Hills until the New Year when the Hartes had to leave.

Long has paled the sunny sky;

Dogmas fade and memories die;

Autumn frosts have slain July.

A Bark, beneath a dark sky

Lingering onward sleepily

In a night in January--

Ever they haunt us, phantomwise,

Serpent's moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children many that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a slithy tale to hear--

In the One-World-Land, babes, lie,

Sleeping as the days go by,

Dreaming in their warm wombs, die.

Ever struggling in the brier--

Lingering in the muddy mire--

Night, what is it, but night-mire!

However, those of light

Have escaped the night

And ever Hope for the everlasting,

Always Loving Might!

Amen.

***

   Editor's second note: Join the Harte Family for further adventures in the heart of beautiful British Columbia, in the next installment of  The Bayern Boys called

A Twist On Oliver.