Jousting at the Cross Roads, by Pat Darnell
March 23, 2008
In a bar once on regular Thursday-Girl’s-night-out,
a young chap who had been stilted by the girl-next-door several times in his life tells this story. His listener is a mature woman, widow, who had to say 'No' to suitors on a regular basis. The bar had gone quiet for a while, and she found the young man a good listener, after introductions.
She described her business: “I am a merchandiser representative for retail vendors all around Houston. I find it very rewarding. I remember the last part of the eighties, after my husband died, when I began to awake to the stimulation's of the world,” she said. “Before that there was no intellectual stimulation. I amaze myself now with the things I express openly. There was this block before, just routine, you know raising the kids and all, and then my husband's long fight with Sjogren's Syndrome.”
Richard, a regular Thursday night patron found she was easy to follow, honestly, while simultaneously an old story from childhood started to build up in the same area of his brain, adjacent to his temples, where his ears were recording his widow friend's speech.
“Now I have this job, and all these clients: I drive all over. And the traffic is getting so…” she couldn’t finish the sentence for want of the proper word. To describe the traffic on roads inside the Beltway was sort of like asking, “Where do they all come from?” Or, “Doesn’t anyone work during the day?”
The oft'-jilted man felt at ease and relayed his misery and fright of the outlying boulevards of Houston's suburban bedroom communities. She listened intently. “Fender benders, and silly, stupid road rage… non-stop, all day long,” he said. He too stayed on the road with his courier business. Unless he had to dispatch he also handled some of his older clients himself. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”
“And, they are filming us now!” she exclaimed. “If you are caught in the intersection after the lights turn red, well, I got a ticket in the mail!”
He nodded his head. He spied a booth opening up. “Can we sit over there in those booths, where it is quieter?” he suggested.
“No problem.” They moved and settled in and both realized this was beginning to be an unusual Thursday Girl’s-night-out for both of them. Both felt cozy, unhurried and relaxed, ready for conversation.
“My grandfather used to tell this story to us grand kids. It seemed like he had to tell us… like he was passing on the knowledge of something.”
“Oh?” She did not feign interest, she was truly curious and entertained; so instead she encouraged him to continue. “Like fables?” She was having a relaxing time, for the first time in many years of avoiding Thursday night men. She didn’t mind that the young man was obviously becoming absorbed with his own memories.
“Exactly,” he said. “Just this minute listening to you, I think I am realizing the true meaning of his old story. You see he was a man who sort of remained a child all his life. Even until his last years, at 89 he still held the Bible close to his face, reading, as if he were eating the pages.”
She thought to herself: “That is so true; the Bible is called Bread of life…” She remembered her late husband reading the Bible.
“Old Pop was a Methodist minister out of Martin, Tennessee. He was a tough man who had change of life experience at age fifty, after trying so hard all years before to make it on his own. He admired ‘self-made men’ of his generation. He used to go on rants about the TVA, and how it destroyed Tennessee. He always pointed at their ‘Idiot Box’ – the television – to condemn it as public enemy number one, unneeded distraction in his world. I think you get the picture?”
“What’s that again – TVA?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry that’s the Tennessee Valley Authority, started in the ‘30’s to… well you know post-depression, economic development,” he said. “Funny thing is it was humongous and is still a model for helping third-world places... like Iraq... get their economy up and running for the poor people.”
“Okay, so your grandfather told you the story of TVA?”
“Well, indirectly, but his story starts like this:” as he began to remember words his Old Pop had said, he looked very serious, and inanimate. She meanwhile took a long draw on her Manhattan Iced Tea, and signaled for a nother round.
“In days of knights on horseback, there were two roads of that era in 1500’s that were well traveled. One road was east-west, the other was north-south. Heading east the Grey Knight had taken the straight and flat road called via Richmondvillversterhaden, and the Black Knight was north bound on the ancient straight and flat road called Hillcroftenbiederflakenster. Mind you, the roads were so straight that crows could often be seen flying right down the middle of them.”
She giggled, "That's cute. Silly crows."
He smiled and continued: “You realize the Grey and Black Knights were headed directly toward each other at the intersection of these two grand roads. …From five miles away each could see the other’s dust created from each other’s often
errant entourage of roadies, walking behind, since their warlord masters lead them. It was a familiar sight on the roads of the time.”
“Store proprietors anticipated early Spring travelers. They looked for dust kicking up from dried out gravel roads, crows scanning grounds for winter whey and pieces of trash, hawks circling in pairs to drop on any returning robins exhausted, easy prey after their long migrations.”
"OOOOh," She thought of her own backyard full of robins pecking the ground for the fat earthworms.
“It seemed the Knights knew for the whole hour and a half they approached the crossroads that they would meet precisely at the intersection. However, neither slowed or sped up. The circus following them started making long distance threats at each other. Gestures were being thrown down at each other."
“A frightened shop keeper as spectator watched from the intersection where his general store and roadside attractions catered to travelers. The last mile or so up to the intersection is paved with stone. He listened intently to the ‘clip-clops’ that were as regular as heartbeats, of the knights’ enormous
Belgian Chestnut under Grey Knight, and
Belgian Black under Black Knight.
She thought of her dearly departed husband’s love for horses. “How he wanted to retire in Kentucky near the beautiful equestrian pastures,” she whispered to herself.
“What?”
“Oh?! Nothing really I was just remembering things about my late husband; he loved horses,” she said. “Please go on, you were saying about the horses…”
"I love horses too," he said, “It was like the two alert, competitive horses knew that their paces were identical, and they became more proud as their hoofs hit the cobbled stone. The beat was as frightening as a whale’s heartbeat is to Jonah.”
She giggled. Memory of her quiet childhood being disrupted by someone walking down asphalt roads of her neighborhood… her puppy tensing up for a moment as the surprise sound gave way to recognition; she could recall the feel of her puppy’s fur in her fingertips.
“The proprietor of the outpost, Richard Chainybarker, heard the processions and made sure he posed out front staid and at attention. At the same precise ‘clip’ all sound ceased at the intersection. It made all anxious to hear the last ‘clop.’”
“Neither of the two kings’ men was willing to move into the intersection,” he paused to catch up with the stream of words now invading his frontal lobe. His brow felt heavy.
He looked at his booth companion, but she looked deeply interested. He thought of ‘Old Pop sure knew things.’
He continued, “And of course the knights’ travel companions had to remain behind their lords, until instructed. Then with outstretched arm the Grey Knight pointed south. Then the Black Knight raised his arm to point west. There was a silent hum throughout all gathered.
"And the store keeper, Chainybarker, put his arms akimbo, hands on his apron strings. He became agitated and went back in his store to his wife: ‘They are at the crossroad; and there is no room in the roads for them to cross each other. For the Grey Knight wants to go south, and the Black Knight wants to go west!’”
“There they sat in afternoon sun, for two hours. Then as if by some knightly secret signal, each man dismounted his steed, with a great clattering of armor, and with much assistance from their seconds. They flipped open their face pieces revealing ignoble scowls and squinting. After making eye contact with each other, Grey and Black seemed satisfied to stand at ease. As the late afternoon turned to dusk, fires were started and sup prepared to the rear of each entourage.”
“Each knight then sat on a wooden stool provided him at side of his horse. They each removed sword and outer armor. Evening passed in utter peacefulness. Swords were drawn and laid to rest at the foot of each knight, as each group’s trumpeter blew mighty notes into the night, attracting bats and coyotes into the gathering.”
“Chainybarker sat with his wife at serving tables in his store, shivering and unable to sleep thinking about the outcome of this situation. He had never seen two nobles arrive exactly at the same moment at precisely the same spot, with intention of going the other’s way.”
“At first light next morning, knights put on their armor waist skirts, breast plates, and helmets removed last evening after vespers. All morning they stood with swords at front. Then after noon dinner they mounted their steeds only to sit at attention until the dusk of a second day."
“’A siege; I never thought of that,’ sighed Chainybarker. He and his wife had never experienced cordon. What would it mean if it lasted longer than time when supplies arrive from the west, and pilgrims traveling from the south?”
“Is that it? They just stopped there?” asked our nostalgic widow. “Is there any thing after the second day?”
“Yes, of course,” said the third generation Tennessean storyteller, “The same thing happened each day and night for a fortnight.”
“You're kidding. What’s a fortnight again?” she asked. He signaled another round to the waitress.
“I don’t remember either, but the time passed like continents crossing the crust of the earth. Generations of flies, gnats, and dandelions came and went. Babies were born amidst the entourages. And behind each of the unbending knights, stalled pilgrims, supply convoys, and other traveler traffic had piled up for ten miles. However, no one dared to countermand, nor pass without proper signaling.”
“Chainybarker was about to close up his establishment. He was completely sold out, and had no certainty of replenishment for stores. And besides the once pastoral countryside was now noisy and foul smelling. ‘We should just move back to Londonderry,’ he said to his wife.”
“As the flying bugs of summer began to hatch out, a squire from Grey Knight’s castle moved to the front of the line. He announced arrival of his lord’s three lances. On Black Knight’s side so too did his lances arrive. It turns out the intersection constituted a jousting arena, and protocols of rival governances sent lords a'leaping to find a solution that could satisfy both parliaments. And believe me, those bands of murmurers and grumblers take their own sweet time to meet.”
“You see, the two knights were half brothers, each returning to the other’s domain to take wives, who are half-sisters, bequeathed to insure the continued peaceful, safe and efficient passage of people and goods on these roads.”
“Wait,” she slipped out of hypnosis of the story. “Isn’t that…?”
“Incest? Uh, yeah… but that
is my Old Pop’s version, and I honor his words.”
“Remember the warlords had arrived at the intersection on their heavy war horses. Heavy horses that are
helpful giving devastating force to the rider's lance with its weight, as it is about twice as great as that of a traditional riding horse.
Inside the intersection, the knights would have to face and bypass each other in an unlikely tilting stance, so they had waited for signals, actions, gestures or fortune to end their stall at the intersection. Now with orders, for certain each needed first his lighter weight horse, because the charge would only be a quick canter to the center of the intersection.”
“Chainybarker recalls it this way: To Grey Knight the lord Patchalter said: ‘Your sister has signaled her impatience.’ This communication signaled the end of the divergence, as on the other side Sir Guy d' Vicente delivered a similar statement to his Black Knight.”
“Upon this, the lord Patchalter, marshal of the army, went up to the barriers, and said to Sir Guy d' Vicente, ‘Let your squire come forth: he has found one who will cheerfully deliver him; and we will afford him every security.’”
“The Black Knight was much rejoiced on hearing these words. He immediately armed himself, in which the lords assisted, in putting on the different pieces, and mounted him on his lighter horse, the
Charger which was his medium-weight horse bred and trained for agility and stamina.”
“Attended by two others, he came out into the intersection; and his varlets carried three lances, three battle-axes, and three daggers. He was much looked at by the Grey knight’s entourage, for they did not think any Southerner would have engaged body to body. There were besides to be three strokes with a sword, and with all other sorts of arms. Sir Guy d' Vicente had three brought with him for fear any should break.”
"Grey Knight mounted his fresh
Charger, and weighed his lance. At another silent knightly signal both riders reared their horses and proceeded to blunt each other until lances broke, or a knight fell. Grey Knight broke three of his while Black Knight fell once only to tie the contest, breaking only one of his lances. After the last jousting, they charged their horses at each other hacking at each other with their battle axes, then swords. Until exhausted they moved in close clutching the other's horse's mane and stabbed at each other with daggers."
"Between episodes there were long sag breaks bracketed by loud trumpet fanfares. Anyway you get the picture. It went on all day and into the dusk."
"...However something very interesting happened as the sky turned indigo.”
"As the sun sank below the horizon, a host of lightning bugs lit up the fields and roads, and began swirling around the intersection and exhausted warlords. Children and eunuchs started chasing the lantern lit insects, and all interest was lost in the fighting knights. Midst the glee, our two heroes stopped, circled each other twice and on the third pass they raised their hands in salute as they both proceeded on their way -- south for the Grey Knight; west for the Black Knight. The horses relieved as well swayed, in slow canters. Children circled around them, leaped in the air and tried to capture lightning bugs for themselves."
“What’s the matter?” he looked at her pensive visage.
“The story is so romantic!” she put a napkin to her eyes.
He reached over and put his arm around her, and slid up next to her, close. She stood her ground, and pushed back. His lips found hers and they had a good snogging, filling the booth with steam. He gave her a good once over with once jilted hands, as she returned the favor, unable to restrain from grabbing her young suitor.
They sat a long time red-faced, breathing deeply. Then he turned to her and asked, “Same time next Thursday?” She giggled.
“Yes!” she said. Then she quickly added, "Richard, please, tell me your name again?” as they readied to leave.
“Oh, Richard Chainybarker,” he replied, "Chainybarker, like the shop keeper."
"I thought so," she said;
“So, Richard Chainybarker the 25th, ...a moral to your family story
could be:
"Patient horseman and husband be
…If you’re joustin’
…down in Houston vicinities
"With your spit-fire hard hittin’ horse
"At cross-roads danger lurks in threes
…crossing foes’ lines
…times of the signs
…dark dusky skies
"Pay attention, you’ll stay alive
as Patience is virtue of thine's...
Thus: at cross-roads you’ll stay on course.”
Shocked and jarred, he exclaimed, “Where’d that come from?!”
She gave him a long hard look-over, up, and down: “I’ll tell you next Thursday,” she replied ever so softly. "Till then?"
Monday, due on Friday
