entleman
ragon
his
is a story about a friend of mine who lives far far away from here in
a land of legends and misty dreams. A land where sometimes it is all so
easy to believe that time itself stands still. My friends name? Well,
he has many. But for now I will call him my English Gentleman. It was
many years ago now when I first met him. I was, as I am doing now, telling
stories and there he was, as if by magic, leaning by the open door listening.
He was not old nor was he young but he appeared to have a strange wisdom
of age, the supple body of a youth and the sparkle of a child’s inquisitive
eye.
fter I had finished
my stories he came over and told me how much he had enjoyed them to which
I politely thanked him for his kind words. When everyone had gone home
to their cosy warm beds we talked far into the night and he revealed to
me that he was a Magician and that he eat and breathed fire. Well, you
can imagine my astonishment. ‘Eat and breathe fire how did you learn
to do that,’ I exclaimed. ‘Quite easy’ he said ‘a
Dragon taught me’. ‘A Dragon!’ I said teasingly ‘Yes,’
he continued in a matter of fact manner. ‘We have quite a few here.
Big ones small ones, red green blue, sometimes all the colours of the
rainbow. It all really depends on how you yourself wish to see them. They
are normally quite obliging’ . ‘But can I see one?’ I said
‘Oh yes’ he answered ‘Anyone can if they allow themselves
to. Early morning or late evening always seems the best time. Of course
a lot of people these days miss them. Its a sign of these so called modern
times. No time to stand and look, too busy with this, too busy for that.
They see the Dragons breath lying low across the lakes and meadows only
as early morning or evening mist. Dragons don’t breath fire all the
time you understand. Sometimes the Dragons try to make mankind take notice,
see a little sense and it's then they take it upon themselves to attempt
to slow down mans modern way of life by letting their cold breath roll
across and blanket the roads. But modern man, driving his wheeled metal
machines is in far too much of a rush and rarely takes heed of the warning
which is one big silly mistake. For it is then, quite often, that their
lifeless bodies are required to be engulfed in a dragon's other breath.
But enough of such matters, that’s all one.’ said my gentleman
friend as he reached for and lit a candle which he made appear as if from
thin air. After all he was a magician.
n that silence I watched
with him the flame's vibrant dance and saw in his eye, like looking deep
into a fortune tellers crystal ball, images of love, happiness and great
despair “Please excuse me,” he continued after a lengthy pause,
“I light a candle every night.” The shadows danced like puppets
on the wall and stretched their elongated arms across the cracked ceiling.
“Why?” I inquired. He seemed not to hear me, lost again in his
own silent thought. It was as though he was willing himself to become
the very flame he was looking at or maybe he already was.
Outside, the winter's cold north wind whistled its wailful song through
the darkened streets while playing chase with an old battered hat, whose
irritated owner had retired to dreams of a new one in his feather-down
bed many hours before. The moon tussled with the vigorous clouds in vain
attempt to bathe the scene with its silvered beams and a night-bird screeched.
Jolted by the sound, my new found friend returned from his world of silent
thought, his secret garden. “I do apologise,” he said “Now
where was I? Ah yes, Dragons and how I was taught to eat and breathe the
element of fire.” And as the flimsy curtain lifted on a cold draught
which constantly made its way through a cracked window pane he told me
the story as I will tell it to you now...........
t
was Autumn, some eight seasons past, and I was taking a brisk energetic
walk along the winding lanes of my native land. These ancient roads like
the snake path to the very summit of Mazada, twist and turn across the
countryside. The leaves, like a golden dream of an Alchemist, had not
yet fallen and still gave tantalizing cover to an inevitable nakedness.
I conversed with a snail, as one does, as it slowly silvered the path
I was travelling. Catch up.’ I said. ‘Slow down, slow down,’
said the snail ‘not every one wants to, or can indeed travel at your
speed.’ A slight breeze ruffled the leaves as though in agreement.
‘You see that? Not one fell, not one, nor will it until its appointed
time. A time laid down by the earth mother herself beyond yours or any
others control. The wind is constantly trying to unclothe the tree but
she stands firm and will not disrobe and lay herself bare again until
she is ready within the preordained grand order of things. Slow down,
slow down. What will be yours will be yours if it is to be.’ I thanked
him for his advice and was content to watch him for a few hours or more
until he had travelled the short distance to a stone and disappeared from
view. A buck rabbit bounded past and fell headlong into a ditch in a flurry
of displaced fur.
continued my journey, slower
than before. About to round one of the many tall hedged bends in the narrow
road I looked up, and on doing so, saw the sky for that brief moment had
turned a fiery red. Was it the sunrise? No, how could it be, I had seen
the suns rebirth, its bright awakening, many hours earlier and anyway
this strange tinting was not in the east where the golden orb rose in
splendour to shimmer like the Dome of the Rock, high above the old walled
city of Jerusalem.
had indeed been walking for
many hours and had as I have already mentioned taken pause to talk to
and watch the snail's less than speedy departure. Was this then the suns
departure also? How could it be, for was I not gazing towards a northern
sky? If the sun was about to retire for this day or any other, would it
not be bidding its farewell, setting on my left in the far west where
the carrion crow flies. I was unable to dwell on this for too long for,
as I rounded the bend, I felt a searing heat, It was as hot as the midday
sun in the Negev desert as a red ball of fire shot up from somewhere in
the middle of where two roads crossed, and dispersed in a cloud of smoke
above my head.
‘wfully
sorry about that old chap.’ came a voice ‘Dash bad luck didn’t
see you coming. I do so apologise, very remiss of me. You should whistle
a tune, a little ditty or something when travelling the highways and byways
of fair Albion. Old name for Britain, Roman you know. Much more poetic.
Got more of a ring to it don’t you think? Yes, whistle or sing a
song if you are so inclined and then us Dragons will know you are coming.
Far better that way, no chance of accidents. You didn’t have a beard
when you started out did you?’ From behind the scorched grass bank
where I had but a moment ago flung myself in quick unceremonious retreat,
I slowly edge my way back to cautiously peer around the curvature in the
road. ‘Come on old boy, lets shake hand and claw and be friends Why
fall out before we even know each other. To much trouble in this world
already. Why add to it.’ The wind, brought a strong smell of sulphur
like that which oozes up from the numerous mud pools scattered along the
salt shore of the Dead Sea.
here,
in the middle of a quite ordinary English country lane, through the remaining
wisps of smoke that were slowly lifting, tickling the resilient hawthorn,
stood a smartly if not a little over dressed, Dragon in pinstriped suite,
bow tie, bowler hat, a monocle to his eye and supporting, neatly tucked
beneath his wing, a furled umbrella. ‘Well don’t just stand
there mouth wide open old chap,' he said 'too many flies about this time
of day, all right if you are a frog or maybe you were once until a princess
gave you a kiss’. He started to laugh ‘Just a dragon joke no
offense meant non whatsoever. 'Come and let me formally introduce myself.’
‘But, but you are a D r a g o n’ I eventually managed to stammer.
‘Very observant of you dear fellow.’ came the reply with what
I sensed to be a slight hint of sarcasm. 'Yes I am a Dragon and jolly
proud of it too I can tell you. Claude’s the name’. ‘But
with respect,' I said, 'you are not at all how I imagined a dragon to
look’ ‘And how should a Dragon look.' he retorted 'Too smart
for you am I? Is that it, too good looking, I pride myself on my good
looks you know Well how about this old bean.’ he chuckled and immediately
transformed into the most fearful hideous dark murky coloured beast of
his type which I never thought I could possibly imagine. ‘Well is
this more what you had in mind’ he snarled, viciously stabbing at
the air in my direction with long razor sharp claws. ‘Or maybe this’
then immediately he changed into a dragon of the red variety ‘This
is my Welsh number boy’o and this Laddie’, changing to green,
‘my Scottish look. And what about this one’ he continued changing,
this time to white as he spoke the words ‘I never do the red and
white one directly after each other, always tend to find that I am at
odds with myself but you know all about that don’t you Merlin?’
‘Pardon,’ I said thinking that I had misheard him. ‘Merlin’
he repeated. No, I had not been mistaken. ‘That is your name is it
not’ he questioned, his narrow eyes piercing mine through to the
innermost core of my deepest thoughts. My mouth became as parched as a
dry wadi in a desert's heat, I felt a lump well up in my throat as a tear
of past memories trickled very slowly down my cheek. ‘I have been
called such,' I said 'but that was a long time ago when I ventured to
dance among the stars and play football with the moon. So long so long
ago.’ ‘Jolly hockey sticks’ he said reverting back to his
former dragon self in pin stripes with, I noticed this time, a red carnation
in his button hole ‘I thought it was you.’ A few leaves gently
spiralled down. ‘Its you, its you’ he shouted with excitement.
ow when a Dragon whispers
it is very loud but when a Dragon shouts, well.... ‘Yes’ I yelled
in an effort to be heard ‘I am Merlin’. More leaves fluttered
earthward. The dragon was by now in what I understood to be some sort
of joyful celebration dance and I thought it only polite to join in. Round
and round we twirled as russet leaves fell about us like soft confetti.
Suddenly the Dragon stopped his frantic movements, put his head to one
side inquiringly and said ‘Is that how you do it?’. ‘Oh
yes’ I said, more confused by his antics than impressed but all the
same not wishing to hurt his feelings You dance very well' I told him
‘Dance? Dance? I was not dancing.' he scowled. 'I was trying to fly.
Were you dancing?’ ‘I was.’ I replied not wishing to tell
an untruth. ‘The dance is not only enjoyable but a most important
part of the magical process if done with sincerity.’
he
tree was now stripped of its last flimsy garment and stood once more naked,
bare. It was the season, the cycle was done. ‘Will you teach me how
to fly, Merlin?’ The voice had changed, taken on a softened echo
from my past, it seemed no longer the voice of the dragon. ‘You have
the power that inspires me to soar like a bird high above my own self
doubt’. ‘I would never have taken you for someone to have self-doubt,
to lack confidence’ I said, being truly surprised by this revelation.
‘Oh,’ I do’ he replied, his eyes lowering, looking to the
ground. ‘All this changing character to suite others ideals of me,
the continuous joviality, its really all just a sham, a mask. I have always
had wings to fly, as we all have if we use our imagination, but I have
never been allowed or taught how to use them and anyway look they are
far too small, they feel to be clipped for what use they are.’ ‘Size
is not important, and I have that on good authority,' I assured 'nor is
imagination alone, but what is, is the courage, the will to follow your
deep inner feelings. To have the sight to be your true self, then you
will indeed fly. But when you do, never look down, for like Lot's wife
who looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt you will fall and
be forever trapped in a stringent web of another's weaving.’
he
wind swirled the fallen leaves into a soft layered bed as the evenings
first star gave bright new lustre to the now pale, diminishing Autumn
season sky. ‘By Jove thank you.’ came back again the Dragon’s
voice, this time from somewhere above me. ‘I can fly, I can fly’.
I didn’t look up as there was no point to such an exercise for he
was still standing there at the cross-roads but I understood exactly what
he meant. ‘What now?’ he inquired obviously having realized
that his body had not as yet joined his spirit. ‘Time,’ I said
‘Time. In time your body, your whole self will find the courage to
follow where your spirit, your heart truly leads.’ ‘Heart?'
he said in perplexed amazement ‘but I’m a dragon, Dragon’s
don’t have a heart.’ ‘Oh yes they do... somewhere.’
I added jokingly, as one does! ‘Thank you again Merlin old chap you
truly do still have the power, the sight’ he said ‘Yes’
I admitted sheepishly ‘I suppose I do although for a long time until
now I was convinced I had lost such a precious and treasured jewel..’
rom the now darkened
night sky a wishing star fell to earth leaving its trail, for a brief
moment suspended like a canopy high above the bed of burnished leaves.
I stood transfixed, staring deep, in a vain attempt to penetrate the very
core of the star buttoned heavens. ‘I had better be on my way.’
I reluctantly said at last, breaking a silence I only thought to be found
in the desert of Israel where even the lizards wear soft soled carpet
slippers.
he
hour is late and my journey long.’ ‘But I have given you nothing
in return for your gift to me’ said the dragon anxiously. ‘I
did not give in order to receive.' I told him. ‘That’s all very
well old boy but even so it would be dash bad form if I didn’t reciprocate
your kindness in some small way.’ ‘You already have’. I
said ‘You believed in me and gave me back my name.’ ‘Please
don’t interrupt, there’s a good chap' his eyes fixed mine as
he spoke and I thought better not to, after all he was a dragon. I apologised.
‘Now what can I teach you,’ he mused. I ducked as a column of
fire erupted from his mouth and lit up the night. ‘Oops, sorry about
that’ he said, rubbing his belly with his claw ‘should have
warned you, a bout of indigestion that’s all, nothing to fear.’
'That’s it, that’s it’ I hastily explained. ‘Would
you teach me how to eat and breathe fire? ‘Gladly’ said my country
lane host removing his monocle and giving it a quick wipe with a swipe
of his tail. ‘However, there are certain conditions that you must
promise to abide by.’ he continued in the now authoritarian voice
of a school teacher.
ndeed
he was now wearing the cloak and cap of that profession and had from somewhere
quickly procured a blackboard on which he wrote the following in large
bold letters. ONE: ALWAYS EXPLAIN THAT PLAYING WITH FIRE, MATCHES AND
LIGHTERS IS VERY DANGEROUS. TWO: ALWAYS GET CHILDREN TO RAISE THEIR HANDS
AND PROMISE NEVER TO TRY AND DO WHAT THEY SEE YOU DO. THREE: NEVER TELL
ANYONE HOW THE TRICK IS DONE and FOUR: ALWAYS MAKE SURE YOU ARE PAID WELL.
he
smell of chalk as it squeaked its way across the blackened surface instantly
transported my thoughts back, through time to the happy idyllic schooldays
of my childhood, opening my minds eye like the varnished window of a classroom.
I looked out far beyond the freshly mown grass of the playing fields where
the stumps and bails were already in place awaiting the quite often erratic
aim of a young bowlers arm. Far up and away, I travelled over the ripe
golden-eared barley to where the tall white bellowing clouds created a
logical playground for my fantasies. ‘Pay attention there,’
came the Dragon's voice as a piece of chalk struck me not to softly behind
the ear. ‘Yes Sir.’ I answered automatically. I couldn’t
afford to be kept behind after school today, for there were Gunfights
to be fought in the O.K corral, treasure to be won on the high seas of
the Spanish Main, the olive grove coast of the Mediterranean and......
‘Merlin! Merlin!’
he
words seemed distant at first, becoming clearer more audible. ‘Merlin,
Merlin. My dear fellow have you taken in anything I've been saying?’
'I’m sorry, Claude.' I said somewhat embarrassed by my quite obvious
slip of concentration. The remainder of that night, for I was now neither
tired nor had any other wish to leave, was filled with the greatest excitement
mixed with, I have to admit, a little trepidation as Claude the Gentleman
Dragon taught me from his vast experience all there is to know about eating
and breathing and playing with fire. ‘There you are old bean.’
said Claude as night's dark veil was drawing back to make way for the
pallor of a morning sky ‘I've taught you all I know, I can teach
you no more.’ ‘Thank you,' I said. ‘Not at all,' said my
friend 'it was my pleasure, but I must leave now. I have a dark, damp
though very warm inviting cave. You must pop in for coffee, as one does,
if you are passing, that is.’ ‘I would like that.' I told him.
‘Merlin,’ the dragon's voice dropped to a low nervous whisper.
‘Merlin, I know this might sound a little strange, a little odd but
you being a magician and all that I think you will understand, not that
I wish to presume nor do I......’ ‘What is it?’ I said
knowingly reassuring, to save him further agitation. ‘Will you kiss
me?’ came the shy reply. ‘Of course I will. I found my self
saying and without hesitation kissed him lightly on the brow. ‘I
never before imagined a Dragon to be so friendly’ I said. ‘Oh,
you didn’t imagine,’ came a faint distant reply.
he
morning star shimmered brightly then slowly disappeared engulfed in the
brightness of a new dawn. I didn’t see him any more but as I walked
away I am sure I glimpsed, through a low lying mist, at the cross-roads
where he had stood, a dark eyed woman of the greatest radiance and inner
beauty, reclining naked on a soft bed of fallen leaves, preparing to fly.
he
candle flame flickered, rose up with a new virile strength, illuminating
a sincerity which sparkled, danced in the eyes of my English Gentleman
friend. There was a pause, he looked at me questioningly. ‘Well,’
he said...... ‘That is how I learnt to play with fire.’ ‘Yes,’
I said anxiously, feeling a fluttering in my belly, my heart begin to
race, the excitement build. ‘But how is it done?’ ‘I’m
sorry. I can’t tell you. Remember I made a promise, gave my word.
After all, a Gentleman’s word is his bond! It is for you to weave,
find out for yourself but take care how you do so. A spider should never
become a prisoner of its own web.’ he said, softly with a wink and
a knowledgeable nod of his head. In vain I attempted to put out the flame
and then............we retired to our beds.
