"The Witch Doctor of Grand Thneed"
Chapter 1 - The Rainy Day Feast
While the people of Lumbidoor were as diverse as any small community, nothing said Lumban better than Feast-day. The reason for this being that it brought together their three favorite things in all the world: friends and family, food, and a story that ignited their imaginations and took them away to far-distant shores, where they swam the Mikeo Straight with two-headed Uddars or scaled chasms on the giant backs of rollikains or kissed moons. Compared to the union of these three things, even the fabled beauty of Lumbidoor could only pout in jealousy.
Lumbidoor (to explain in case the Reader has never had the pleasure of visiting) sat in the shadow of the great, snow-capped Kiminigor Mountain, where fields and forest met with a neighborly “hay,” and the Shortened Silver Silkies called to each other from the branches of the Whistling Willows they called home. Giant Tupars grazed in the fields, and when the sun was too bright, they’d flare their large dorsal fans for shade. Nestled up between these fields and forests, sitting squat in the middle of the valley, was the town proper. If the Reader were to walk up the main street, they would see the bald men strolling back and forth, pushing carts laden with the giant Citrunar cobs and baskets of the bright green Zip-pootle berries. The women, wrapped up cozy in their skirts and aprons, nodded at the men folk, their shoulders carrying buckets of Tupar milk or water from the River Teck. The elderly lounged in comfortable rockers as their pipes sent citrus-scented bubbles popping into the air. And at the top of the main street, the Great Lumban Hall sat in wait for Feast-day to arrive.
At the start of this Feast-day, the women were busy as usual: cooking in the giant kitchen in the Great Lumban Hall. Round Rhunda scurried back and forth, sampling the food to make sure they were ready to be served. No, good Reader, Rhunda did not get her nickname from her shape but instead from her capacity to make her way “a-round” any job she had. She was a born manager with an exceptional attention for detail. In order to do her job right, she had long ago figured out how to seeming be everywhere at once. If anyone needed something they only needed to shout out Rhunda’s name and she would be there with advice, a suggestion, or a flat-out order.
At present, Rhunda had a ladleful of spiced pumpkin-ginger soup just within reach of her lips. When the taste touched, she withdrew and smacked loudly so as to get the very best flavor from the dish. “Ah, perfect, Eacey! Was that two dashes of Tupar cream? What a difference!”
“Old Farmer Chupe and the Chuple twins have just crested the rise to the Hall, Rhunda!” exclaimed Iris, who had been watching the window.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” muttered Rhunda as she deposited the ladle back into the soup-pot. “We’re just about out of time. Veris, Tupper, Vignet, Sandi: take out those platters of cold meats, cheeses and breads. Don’t forget Celia’s Golden Gobble Cobbler! She’s been wanting to impress a certain lad with it.”
Rhunda then shouted over the clanging of pots, splashing of liquids and rustling of utensils as the girls set the last of the dishes onto their serving platters: “Wyma, make sure you set out at least twenty more places than you think will show!”
“Yes Rhunda!”
“Muma,” Rhunda said, wrapping her pudgy fingers about the arm of a twinkle-eyed scurrying woman. “How is my hair? Am I presentable?”
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“You look fine, Rhunda!” Muma laughed. “Now get out there and greet those Lumbans!”
“Whoo!” exclaimed Rhunda as Muma swatted her generous behind. “Muma! How many times must I tell you not to do that?” Once through the kitchen doors and into the Great Hall, Rhunda scanned the room for any last-minute details. With precision borne from years of practice, she ignored the everyday details - such as the handsome paintings hung between the room’s windows, the bright walls, the chandeliers - and focused only on the parts of the room that needed preparation for the meal. The table cloths were spread over the round tables without any bumps or folds. The girls were setting the last of the place settings. The beverage table was well-stocked. With most of the work seeming in good hands, she fell upon the buffet table with her meticulous eye. Everything seemed in order, except… “Vignet! Tupar in red sauce can’t go beside caramelized FireFlower, silly girl. I know you’re colorblind, but for future reference, those colors clash. There we go!”
With nothing left to immediately supervise, Rhunda crossed the Great Hall with astounding speed, where she arrived at the large doors of the Great Hall. Wrapping her thick fingers about the brass knob, she shoved the doors wide with a flourish and a curtsey. Old Chupe and his twin sons were just alighting upon the first step up to the door. With a broad grin that brought dimples to her round cheeks, she greeted the three men. “Good morning, Chupes! Welcome to another glorious… oh! It’s raining still?”
“Yep, Old Girl,” Chupe said, pressing his grizzled old lips to Rhunda’s cheek in greeting. “Has been all day.”
“Oh bother,” Rhunda declared, gazing out into the grey doldrums of leaking water. For the past three weeks, the sky had been weeping. On any day devoid of such rainy torrents, she would greet the feasters as she bathed in the beauty of the view from the Great Hall’s steps. And why shouldn’t she? The Great Hall was built at the top of the slow incline of Lumbidoor’s main street. From here, she could look out over the brightly-painted houses filling up the center of town. But in this unyielding rain, even the bright colors seemed to frown. Oh, this weather was so sickening that even the drains lining the street seemed to cough out extra water. And worse of all, the Great Hall had grown a puddle at the foot of its steps that was now the size of a small moat. In part to get away from this drab sight, she took Farmer Chupe by the arm to escort him into the Hall. “I had so hoped it would stop by the time of the feast. At least it’s good for the plants!”
“Not this rain, ma’am,” replied one of the twins, removing his Fish Skin Brand rain parka. The Narrator does not wish to generalize here, but the twins had long ago forsaken the concept of separate identity. They were so identical in appearance, thought, manner, and action, that no one in Lumbidoor could ever tell them apart, and as belief sometimes becomes reality, they accepted this, and even had come to think of themselves only as “the Chuple twins.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Rhunda asked, hanging Old Chupe’s parka on the long line of hooks beside the doorway.
“Three weeks non-stop tends-”
“-to drown whatever’s in-”
“- the soil. It doesn’t give the plants-”
“- any chance to grow up right.”
“To say nothing of what it does to us Lumbans,” Rhunda agreed, easing Chupe into his seat. “Just in the last week, Somas, Seuss, Nevo, Brukas, Knoggi and Baby Bowler came does with the flu! Muma and I have been darting from house to house like juvenile Golden Yigrits. But enough of this dismal talk, you three are here to feast. Boys! Go get your father whatever he wants.”
“Yes, ma’am!” the twins replied in unison.
“That’s right, boys, go get your old papa a tall pilsner of Girell Ale.”
“Except that!” Rhunda declared. “Chupe! You know you aren’t supposed to drink that rotgut!”
“Spoilsport,” Chupe grunted, slouching into his seat.
The rest of Lumbidoor slowly flooded into the Great Hall. Most of the Lumbans entered in silence, with their heads bowed low. The rain outside was miserable, wet and loud, but entering the dry comfort of the Great Hall, the Lumbans began to change. As they hung up their parkas, they noticed how thick the Hall had become with the scents of all their favorite foods: the Zip-pootle and Rizzberry pies, the Tupar milk custards, the Bouncing bean casseroles with Tanise crust noodles, warm Hoosedle Cider, Cabbunk-roasted Elder-Beast steaks, Pipple-Pin salads, Trufalis melons wrapped in Jibald bacon, Mulyo flanks seared in Mulyo sauce, barrels of rich Jinkbert Cream Soda, and more! Before this tasty olfactory deluge, the dismal rain was quickly forgotten. Taking their seats, they split their attention between the display of food, their friends and family and the raised dais at the front of the Great Hall.
It was from this dais that they were transported to lands far and near. It was dominated by a single seat so large that a small stairway reached up to its foot. While currently empty, the only person to sit here was the most beloved individual in all of Lumbidoor. His name was Umpa and he was older than any other Lumban had ever become. Beside the chair, with one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding a small hand watch, stood Mayor Buggles. Buggles was a portly Lumban with a bushy moustache that twitched as the Lumbans filled the Hall. He stood there like this for what seemed a long time. Then, when he felt everyone had arrived, he snapped the watch shut and lifted a hand into the air. A hush descended upon the Hall.
“Dearest Lumbans, young and old, thick and thin, tall and tiny, I welcome you to today’s feast! It is once again my honor to thank our beloved Rhunda for all her work in putting it all together!”
Mayor Buggles gestured toward Round Rhunda. This acknowledgement was greeted with cheers that quickly became a chant of “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
Reluctantly, Rhunda ascended the dais. But, Dear Reader, her attitude was bit of a sham. In reality, she loved being called up like this, for it gave her the chance to look out over all of her people. It was a chance to bask in the joy that these Feast-days brought them all. “Really! You always do this to me, Mayor Buggles. But since you have done this to me yet again, I suppose I should make an announcement or two. All the bright faces before me are a lovely reward that I cannot accept for myself. This feast is the result of all the wonderful women - and men! - whose recipes came together to fill your bellies. Second, I would like to call attention to one dish in particular. Celia! Celia, dear, where are you?”
“Here, Rhunda!” shouted an auburn-haired girl, waving her hand into the air.
“Ah, yes, there you are! Ladies and gentlemen, somewhere on that buffest table, you will find the most delicious Golden Gobble Cobbler in all of Lumbidoor. Celia has been preparing this recipe for several months and now, it is finally ready for you! Enough from me! You’re here to eat!”
A great “Whoop” rang out through the Great Hall in response. The Lumbans rose to collect plate, goblet, bowl, glasses and platters full of food. They dove into the various dishes with vigor, heaping up mounds and mounds before returning to their seats.
“What story do you think we’ll get today?” asked one wide-eyed young Lumban, as he scooped a large mound of kettle kippers onto his plate.
“It is always up to him, you know,” replied a scrawny Lumban with short fingernails.
“I hope it’s the story of when he and the sun competed to see who could last longer. Or… or maybe he’ll talk about the giant birds of Broshuishpharis! I love that story.”
The scrawny Lumban did not reply to his cousin. Every Feast-day, Hamish got giddy like this. He then babbled on and on about the stories he wanted to hear, indifferent to whether or not anyone was listening. Zelig, as the smaller one was called, was so intently ignoring Hamish and filling his plate that he failed to notice his stalker until two fingers were dug into his ribs. He answered this shock with a yelp and a shudder that nearly dropped his plate on the floor.
“Got you, Zelig!” laughed the same amber-haired girl who Rhunda had announced before the feast. Bent nearly double in her enjoyment, she wiped away tears of mirth and turned to Hamish. “Have you tried my Golden Gobble Cobbler, yet?”
“Oh yeah!” Hamish replied, holding up his plate. The Cobbler looked like a miniature Mount Kiminigor, taking up well over half his plate. “Golden Gobble Cobbler is my favorite!”
“Is it? I had no idea…” Celia replied, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands behind her back. If the Reader were to look closely, you might notice the stars of satisfaction twinkling in her bright lavender eyes.
“Celia!” Zelig gasped, trying to catch his breath from his fright. “Why do you always do that to me?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“Not for me!”
“Hey, Celia,” Hamish said, changing subjects, oblivious to Zelig’s fright and frustration. “You’ve been here all morning, right? Have you seen Umpa? Do you know what he’ll be telling to us today?”
“In order of the questions: yes, no, and no. We’re always far too busy putting everything together to visit him. Sorry.”
“Nertz,” Hamish replied, frowning. “I’d love to know what he’s got planned.”
“If you’d bother waiting a few more minutes, you’ll find out.”
“Oh, Zelig, stop being such a nag!” Celia scolded.
“I am not a nag! I’m practical.”
“Practically an irritable old coot, that’s for sure,” Celia joked to Hamish. Chuckling, the two conspirators, with full plates, went to find their seats. Zelig, grumbling to himself, followed.
~
For a short while, the clicking of utensils on dishes and the low murmuring of quiet conversation drowned out the rain pelting the roof. Feast-days, by themselves, were enough to raise the Lumbans’ spirits to wondrous heights, but half the excitement was anticipation for Umpa’s arrival. Part of this love came form how adventurous Umpa was. While most Lumbans were so in love with their lives in the shadow of Kiminigor Mountain that they had no interest in leaving, Umpa - at a very early age - followed his calling to parts unknown. From these adventures, his knowledge of lore, fables, tales, legends, and myth was second to none. And as the time for Umpa’s appearance drew nearer, the level of excitement mounted.
At last, portly Mayor Buggles rose from his seat with a glass in one hand and a spoon in the other. Gently, he began tapping the glass. One by one, the diners followed suit until the only sound was the musical tinkling of glass. Then, Mayor Buggles pressed a finger to his moustache, calling for absolute silence. A deep hush descended upon the Great Hall as the echoes of the tapping glasses bounced about the eaves high above their heads. Then, from behind a small green door to the right of the dais, they all heard it.
Thump.
“Here he comes!” whispered Hamish.
“Shh!” Zelig scolded.
Thump!
“Oh, I so love this part!” softly exclaimed Rhunda to Mayor Buggles. “Look at how eager everyone is.”
THUMP!
Slowly, the brass handle on the green door turned. The door itself creaked forward into the hall, exposing the treasure behind it. Standing in the doorway, hunched with his extreme age to the height of a young Lumban, was Umpa. His eyes were completely invisible behind his long white brows and his gigantic ears hung down nearly to his shoulders. His round nose protruded from his face like a dock out over water, but there, at the corners of his lips, was a slight mischievous curl.
Thump went his hoary hickory cane as he crept across the dais to the giant chair at its center. He clunked up the small flight of stairs and flopped down onto the comfortable gosling feather cushion. Methodically, Umpa affixed his gaze (or so the Lumbans assumed, based on the way his brows seemed to stare) on every Lumban in the hall. Then he opened his mouth to speak.
“My glorious children!” he roared with a voice that was both young and old, quiet and loud. It both boomed and whispered. It was a voice as rich as a songbird’s chant, clear as a bubbling spring, and it resounded throughout the Hall. “I see many of you are still dripping from the rainstorm outside. Above our heads, the rain continues to pelt the roof in buckets and sheets, and I must sincerely thank you for braving this wretched weather to hear this old coot talk.
“It has been my blessing to have experienced much in my long life, and it has been my pleasure to share these experiences with all of you. Sometimes, while I am back in my apartment, the long years of memory creep upon me and ancient experiences long forgotten whisper through the ages, reminding me of their old lives. This morning, as I sat beside the fire, one such experience came to me like an old friend come for a chat. Today, I would like to share with you this tale.”
Hamish clutched Zelig’s arm. The only thing he liked more than hearing the old stories again and again was hearing new stories for the first time.
“In my youth,” Umpa began, “Lumbidoor was not what it is now. You know this hamlet in the shadow of Kiminigor Mountain as a pace of peace and beauty. What you would not know is that when I was young, it was even more beautiful.”
“Impossible!” shouted grumpy Queeber.
“Believe it, boy!” Umpa declared, arching a long white eyebrow at the cynical male. “The Whistling Willow forest is a large place, balanced full of dark, scary places and bright peaceful spots where lichen grows and the animals live. But it is nothing compared to what it used to be. For when I was a boy, it stretched up onto that giant hill where Grand Thneed City now stands. But that is not all.”
Umpa paused and inhaled deep from his large nostrils. “Do you smell that?” he asked.
“It smells like a feast!” shouted a Lumban to a bunch of chuckles.
“Exactly!” Umpa declared. “This is what…” he paused and coughed “… Lumbidoor used to smell like. This richness of scent - the ciders, meats, custards, casseroles, noodles and sauces - would follow you around every time you stepped out your door.
“Visual beauty is something that can trap someone in its comfortable grasp for ages on end. But mix the beauty of the eyes with the beauty of the nose, and the memory of the beauty never leaves. You can travel the world over, but the moment you smell a Suzzle-berry, or an Undam tart, or the rich creamy scent of Girell Ale, it all comes back again. There is no better trigger of memory than that of the nose.
“Thus, it is my sad news to remind the eldest among you of this change in scent. But you know as well as I that it was not so long ago when Lumbidoor smelled thus. The reason for this is not Grand Thneed City but rather we owe its reduction to a Zephyr. For those that do not know, a Zephyr is a fairy that protects and controls the winds. For a long, long time, Lumbidoor’s Zephyr lived with the Winged Wystrels at the summit of Mount Kiminigor, far beyond the point where the snow never melts. From time to time, this Zephyr would come down to Lumbidoor and share in our festivities. But one day, it went into Grand Thneed City and vanished! And the incredible scents that we had known and loved disappeared with it.
“Now, I know I have shared with you all the story of the Zephyr and the Innkeeper. I have also told you about the Omniscient Tower. But the memory that came back to me this morning was the one that linked all three.”
Umpa let this tease settle in. It was quite dramatic, especially with the heavy splash of rain pouring from the gutters outside the Great Hall. Umpa coughed several times to clear his throat, and then began.
“The Omniscient Tower is so tall that it takes days to reach the top. But, like the summit of Kiminigor, the trek itself is completely worth it. For those few of you who actually have climbed our beloved peak, you know what I mean. For those that have not made the trip, imagine our little Lumbidoor, but the way a bird sees it, where every vista stretches off to the horizon and then spreads out from hilltop to valley as far as they eye can see. The only difference between Mount Kiminigor and the Omniscient Tower is that the latter lets you see anything. Anywhere.”
A small coughing fit wracked Umpa’s old frame. Most ignored it; as they were too busy imagining what they could see from the acme of the Omniscient Tower.
“While up there, I thought of the Zephyr. Then, like, a homing pigeon, my view zoomed from me, carrying down from up in the tower at the top of the world, and I saw it. The Zephyr is …”
Umpa could not finish his sentence. A brutal torrent of coughs exploded from his ancient lungs. He rose form his chair to try and catch his breath. But his legs could not hold him. Round Rhunda and Mayor Buggles rushed upon the dais just as Umpa collapsed to the floor.
.