The Tale of the Deathless Tomato
On Sunday, the adventurers returned from their sojourn in the Western Lands beyond the Tamar. Many Things had they performed, and great were the mountains of food and towering was the pile of empty bottles left after their carousing. Many are the tales that could be told, but for now, let me tell you the Tale of the Deathless Tomato.
Many were the bags that the adventurers brought back from the West to their island home beyond the sea. One bag, the smallest and the most battered, contained a pair of shoes and some DVDs and some books. It also contained a handful of small tomatoes, spurned by the rest of the assembled multitude. Since the adventurers believed that tomatoes were fragile things, prone to getting squished, they packed the tomatoes carefully in a small plastic box, and cushioned them with a soft leather pouch that contained their ancient ritual Cubes of Chance.
When they returned to their island home beyond the sea, the adventurers unpacked all bags. Protected by the ritual cubes, the small tomatoes had survived intact. Out came the books. Out came the DVDs and the great clomping pair of shoes, stained with the dust of many western lanes.
Beneath them all lay a small tomato! It was a strange tomato. It was not kin to the Tomatoes of the West, for they were round and it was egg-shaped, and they were smooth and it was fluted. How had it come into the adventurers’ bag? Was it a sign? A miracle? A warning?
Then the adventurers remembered that over a fortnight before, the same bag had also been used to bring home a handful of leftover tomatoes. These were the tomatoes that had gone to the magical place known as Arun-dell. Some of their fellows had been eaten around the camp-fire, but the few that remained had been brought back to the island home. To cushion them from the hazards of the journey, they had been carefully put into a leather tankard, carved with the protective magics of a Green Man. Sadly, the protective magics were not enough, and several tomatoes fell to the dark lower reaches of the bag. Most were rescued, but this one must have lain unseen, unmissed and unmourned.
But now the lost tomato of Arundell had been returned to them, and, lo, it was without blemish! Many were the heavy items that had been put on top of it during the two weeks of its incarceration, but it remained firm and unsquishy. Indeed, the newly-bought tomatoes of the West were more ripe and more squishy than the Deathless Tomato that had gone to Arundell and back; that had gone from the island beyond the sea to the Lands of the West, and then back to the island again.
“It is a miracle!” the adventurers exclaimed. “Truly this is a Deathless Tomato and it should be given great honour! Songs should be sung about it, and its image should be sold to the tabloids in exchange for much gold.” But they were hungry, and so they chopped it up and mixed it with tuna and mayonnaise, and ate it. And it was good.
Many were the bags that the adventurers brought back from the West to their island home beyond the sea. One bag, the smallest and the most battered, contained a pair of shoes and some DVDs and some books. It also contained a handful of small tomatoes, spurned by the rest of the assembled multitude. Since the adventurers believed that tomatoes were fragile things, prone to getting squished, they packed the tomatoes carefully in a small plastic box, and cushioned them with a soft leather pouch that contained their ancient ritual Cubes of Chance.
When they returned to their island home beyond the sea, the adventurers unpacked all bags. Protected by the ritual cubes, the small tomatoes had survived intact. Out came the books. Out came the DVDs and the great clomping pair of shoes, stained with the dust of many western lanes.
Beneath them all lay a small tomato! It was a strange tomato. It was not kin to the Tomatoes of the West, for they were round and it was egg-shaped, and they were smooth and it was fluted. How had it come into the adventurers’ bag? Was it a sign? A miracle? A warning?
Then the adventurers remembered that over a fortnight before, the same bag had also been used to bring home a handful of leftover tomatoes. These were the tomatoes that had gone to the magical place known as Arun-dell. Some of their fellows had been eaten around the camp-fire, but the few that remained had been brought back to the island home. To cushion them from the hazards of the journey, they had been carefully put into a leather tankard, carved with the protective magics of a Green Man. Sadly, the protective magics were not enough, and several tomatoes fell to the dark lower reaches of the bag. Most were rescued, but this one must have lain unseen, unmissed and unmourned.
But now the lost tomato of Arundell had been returned to them, and, lo, it was without blemish! Many were the heavy items that had been put on top of it during the two weeks of its incarceration, but it remained firm and unsquishy. Indeed, the newly-bought tomatoes of the West were more ripe and more squishy than the Deathless Tomato that had gone to Arundell and back; that had gone from the island beyond the sea to the Lands of the West, and then back to the island again.
“It is a miracle!” the adventurers exclaimed. “Truly this is a Deathless Tomato and it should be given great honour! Songs should be sung about it, and its image should be sold to the tabloids in exchange for much gold.” But they were hungry, and so they chopped it up and mixed it with tuna and mayonnaise, and ate it. And it was good.