A MODERN ADAPTATION OF THE MILLER'S TALE FROM CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES
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| Cruise to Nowhere Tales |
THE BAKER'S PROLOGUE When the soldier's
tale was finally told, "You'll get no wisdom here!" the baker said. "Just a laugh or two to take to bed. For I shall tell a tale straight from life About a New Age guru and his wife, And how a clever student had his way With both. For now I have no more to say But straight to my bold narrative will go, Rated 'R' -- just so you will know." Said the host, "There are no children here, But some there may be present who'd not care To hear your bit of soft pornography Nor think so humorous adultery." "God forbid," the baker said, "That I Should ever advocate sex on the sly. But just as soldiers well may write of those Who think each hostile thought disturbs the flows Of mystic consciousness through mental fields, And so aborts the unity love yields, So I, a baker married happily, May tell of those who transgress lustily. "I'm not an advocate for sin, but for The freedom tales give to be far more Than just one soul immersed in just one life. So may one in tales seduce the wife And joy in what one never would enjoy, As one with all the grace of life may toy, Laughing, weeping, with no consequence But pleasure in the play of words and sense. But enough of this! Let's to the tale! Our host will judge whether it succeed or fail." THE BAKER'S TALE There was a guru once
who taught that love Love, like water, has to flow, or it Will stagnate, and before long be unfit To savor, or to bring one ecstasy, Which is the full-fledged meaning of "to be." All violence and anger, crime and sin, Arise from dammed-up energy within. So taught this guru, also known as Fats, Who wished we were as free as dogs or cats, Or horses, pigeons, elephants, or geese. Fats lived these thoughts and used them well to fleece Rich followers, who wanted an excuse To have young girls and not call it abuse, Freeing them, they said, for ecstasy, Then throwing them away conveniently. Fats also had his fill for many years Until, now old, he somehow stripped his gears And fell in love with one whom he would marry, A sixteen-year-old runaway named Carrie, Who quickly tired of the fat old man, For young girls find their pleasure where they can. Now Fats, to his surprise, became obsessed With his young wife, the first that he possessed, And jealous of each look or word or glance That might so much as hint of a romance. He longed for every morsel of her body, And with his passion nearly drove her dotty, Kissing her and touching her all day And night. He almost never was away From her for more than half an hour's time, And then, as though suspecting some great crime, Subjected her to an interrogation That ended in a desperate fornication. The thought of her in bed with other men Drove him near to homicide, but then He thought of it again, and yet again, As though the highest form of love were pain. In that same complex in New Mexico There lived a student just one floor below, A Hopi Indian, who studied well The ancient arts of which the elders tell: Of visions wrought by pain and long privation, And spirits summoned by deft divination; Of holy words in languages unknown, And other secrets only years could hone. This Billy Sundown liked his women white, So soon as he discovered Carrie's plight, He began to plot with her how they Might from the old tormentor get away For long enough to share some mutual joy As comes quite naturally to girl and boy. Soon he had a plan he thought might work To get the better of that jealous jerk. He came upstairs to share philosophy And mystical accounts of energy, Meditation, mind control, and more That soon had Fats looking on with awe At this authentic scion of the ages, Heir apparent of the tribal sages, Unspoiled by civilization, the genuine thing, Who might some inspiration to Fats bring. Since he now the jealous husband played, He needed a new gimmick for his trade. Some Native-American rite might do the trick, Which he could put together nice and slick Into a weekend workshop, after which The franchised follow-ups might make Fats rich. So he listened with intense delight As Billy Sundown trotted out the trite New Age versions of the age-old ways His ancestors had polished all their days. There was, he said, an ancient ritual That let one join the master flow at will, Involving a short stay within a womb. "A womb?" Fats asked. "Did you say a womb?" "A painted wood-and-reed one," Bill explained, "Hung up from the ceiling by a chain. I'll make one for you, if you like, today, And write down all the words that you must say So that tonight you can try out the thing, And tap into the root of everything." "Yes, please," Fats said, delighted. "But what of Carrie? I can't leave her alone, you know. We're married, And have to sleep together every night." "Have no fear," said Bill. "We'll tie her tight Within her own womb, as I'll be in mine, Three hung from the ceiling in a line, A wire along which energy may flow Across our spirits into worlds below. You'll be much closer to her than before; After tonight, I swear she'll love you more." That settled it, and Billy went to get Three wombs from those his tribe too long had let Moulder in the house of spirits gone. (Actually, three crates in a barn, Gussied up with glue and fingerpaint, Some old wicker chairs, and just a faint Trace of charcoal drawing on the sides, Ancient symbols drawn from long-lost tribes.) And then three copies of some gobbledygook, Nonsense syllables typed out to look Like verses, ancient prayers that would invite Great spirits to unveil the primal light. All this did Billy bring into the room Where he would have his bliss with Carrie soon. He hung the wombs from hooks with laundry rope In hopes of hoodwinking the fat old dope, Furnishing each womb with straw-filled sheets, A pillow, and a bag of store-bought treats To offer to the spirits, that they may The primal source of secrets give away Unto the conjurer. Also there, A flashlight so that one might read the prayer While shut up in the darkened womb. And last, But certainly not least, to each tied fast, A rope ladder hanging off the side. Now all was fit for Fats to make his ride Back into his future. Ancient lore Would buttress all that Fats would have in store For those who dabbled in the truth of being, Believing without actually seeing. Fats questioned Bill minutely of what he Would need to do to feel the energy Of all the universe surge through his heart. Billy told him first of all to start By offering the treats as sacrifice To those whose providence he would entice. Let the choicest lie upon his chest While he was free to nibble on the rest. Then the prayer in its entirety Must be chanted twelve times silently While concentrating hard on every sound. The meaning, although lost, was still around, Billy said. The spirits understood, And hearing once again those lost words would Reawaken, then come down to see Just who was asking for their energy. "But if you lose your concentration, then You'll have to read the entire prayer again," Billy warned, "as many times as you Do not with your whole heart pay homage due." Once the prayer was chanted properly, One could only lie awake and see Whether the ecstasy of being flowed Through one's heart, as though one were a road Through which the universe might move through time, Each thought, each heartbeat, each sweet breath sublime. "Let's go!" Fats said enthusiastically. "Come on! Get in!" And up the ladder he Began to climb, then stopped, as though just now Aware that in his womb he would allow Carrie to be free for much the night, When he would never let her out of sight. "Ladies first!" he said, and climbed back down, Motioning to Carrie with a frown, Suddenly unsure of the whole thing. But Carrie sprang as though upon a spring And was in seconds safe within her womb, Swaying like a chicken in a tomb. Then Fats ascended, Billy tucked him in, Put on the cover -- Let the games begin! Carrie, of course, descended lickety-split, And she and Billy dove right into it, Careful not to lift a leg or head As Fats swayed gently just above the bed. After sacrificing the choice treats, And downing all the rest for bedtime eats, Fats took out the flashlight and the prayer, And began to chant the nonsense there Silently twelve times with concentration, Knowing all too well his mute oration Would not do, and so again, again, He chanted in the cavern of his brain Until the soundless sound became like music Long memorized, and he would never lose it, But know it till he died, its simple beauty. And when he thought he'd finally done his duty, Fats waited for the flow of energy That would at last bring him the ecstasy He had for so long sought at the heart of being With neither sense nor thought, unseeing seeing, Unknowing knowing, all that is and ever Would be flowing through him like a river ... And there it was! Rising from below, An energy of love no love could know, Ecstasy just pouring through his heart, Up from where two lovers played their part, A universal loveliness that sings Of all the grace that simply being brings. And then -- nothing. It was over. Fats, Exhausted, fell asleep, and that was that, In his womb, suspended from his hook, While underneath him two young lovers took Themselves with whispers out of Fats' bed And out into the silent darkness fled, Vanished into ordinary lives Of ordinary husbands and their wives, Their ecstasy, too, vanished in the flow Of energy that moves the world we know. When the following morning Fats awoke, He banged his head so hard he thought it broke. "Where am I?" first he wondered. "Am I dead And buried?" But the sharp pain in his head Told him he was still alive. And then, Just as his womb swung back and forth again, It all came flooding in. "Help! Help!" he cried. "Help me out of here! I'm stuck inside!" But no one came, of course, and so he squirmed And twisted in the swinging crate, and wormed His way up sideways, lifting with his shoulder The cover of the crate. Then he looked over At the other womb/tombs hanging near, And said to the one next to him, "My dear Sweet Carrie, did you feel the ecstasy?" But, of course, no answer came, so he Then shouted, "Time to wake up, everyone!" But the crates hung motionless as stone. "How do I get out of here?" he yelled. He jiggled and he juggled and propelled Himself halfway and then completely 'round. But from the other crates there was no sound. And then he understood the game at last, Just as the knot that held his womb/tomb fast Gave way, and Fats came crashing to the bed, Smashing once again his aching head. "Aieee!" he screamed. And, "Oh!" But Carrie and Bill Were gone. Their crates just hung there, mute and still. Fats felt like the fool he was, and vowed, Saying it a dozen times out loud, That he would let the universe just be And live with ordinary ecstasy, Like other folk who totter to and fro And are content to know what they don't know. And so my story ends as best it can, The one-time guru now an honest man. |
