Esau's Bargain

                                                           

 

               The Mists of Time: who knew that it was a real place? He walked confidently into the mist full of excitement. He had gone four paces before he began to feel decidedly odd. For one thing, his hands began to tremble. Well, of course they were, he reasoned,  he was about to gain his heart's desire.

               Another few paces and he stopped. His eyes were beginning to cloud over. But then, he was surrounded with misty currents. Surely anyone's vision would dim?

               Hugo drew his cloak tighter to his body and willed himself forward, but every step made him feel a little tighter in his joints but looser, less muscular, in the folds of his skin. He was beginning to stoop over to allay the pains that were shooting up his spine. His knees ached as did his knuckles. It was like suddenly becoming old. He paused to think with his swiftly muddling mind. What if he died of old age before he found the Jar?

               The temptation to turn around was intense. He could walk back to where the mists began and recover his youth, his body, his clarity of mind.

               He had laughed at the old Gypsy woman's warnings. Why should he fear growing older? It'd be worth it to hold the Jar in his hands.

               Just think: the Jar of Delight. And it would be all his. Surely it was worth his youth? Surely! His head started to spin as his lungs fought to get enough oxygen. He fell on his face and started to convulse. He couldn't even feel it when strong teeth gripped his boot and started to drag him back to the light.

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               It had been such a lovely day. Hugo had meandered into the market to see about having Bob shoed by the blacksmith. He was feeling light as a feather. Having a bag of silver jingling in his saddlebags will have that effect on a young man. Perhaps he would treat himself to a deep tankard of ale while he was in town? Well, why not?

               He noticed the gypsy woman seated in front of a tent in the center of the market. She was dressed in black and silver and she looked regal and wise. Not your usual gypsy fortune-teller. She saw Hugo and beckoned him over. Tim smiled. Why not?

               "Sit," she had said, motioning to her own stool. He sat, still smiling but beginning to feel just a little foolish as she stood behind him and ran her fingers over his scalp.

               "Your name is Hugo, yes?"

               "Yes," he gulped. How did she know that?

               "You are not like the other young men, are you?"

               "Um," he said, unsure how he should respond to this.

               "No, you are special. You have the blood of wise men and wizards running through your veins. But you have a different fire, a thirst for what others cannot even dream of. Perhaps you are the one who  will enter the Mists of Time and see what you may find."

               "I don't understand," said Hugo.

               "Of course you don't," said the old woman, her thin lips folded in a thin smile . "Listen to me. Take your horse north along the river Shabot and ride for a fortnight. Cross at the village of Loom. On the other side of the ford, you will find a path through the Old Forest. You will enter the Mists of Time after a day's journey and there, if you persevere,  you may be strong enough to find the Jar of Delight."

               "What is this Jar?" asked Hugo, his heart racing just a little.

               "Everything you desire, though it cost you your youth and maybe your life," she said. "I will say no more. It is your adventure, should you choose it."

               Tim had ridden off not even bothering to get Bob's hooves tended. He told his horse everything that the woman had told him.

               The big palomino snorted. "Are you serious? We're going to go riding all over God-knows-where just because a thieving old gypsy woman told you to?"

               "You heard me! The Jar of Delights!" smiled Tim dreaming of such delights as he could picture.

                "She's a gypsy," said Bob pointedly. "They lie, all of them do!"

               "Oh hush, you big racist," said Hugo.

               "Besides, you told me you were going to get my hooves seen to. Do you know when I last had new shoes? It was not like this when I was a foal..."

               "Oh brother," sighed Hugo. "Here we go again, 'When I was a foal in Narnia...'"

               "When I was a foal in Narnia, we were equals with humans," said the horse, a well-used complaint. "And now I'm the thrall of a dreamer who won't even give me the very moderate things that I need for my basic health!"

               "Well, you're not a foal and you're not in Narnia and I am your master! Please, Bob, I promise you, after I have the Jar, I'll get you golden horseshoes! Now, come on! On to the Mists of Time!"

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               "I hate to say I told you so," snorted the big palomino, when Hugo finally regained consciousness and described the odd effect that the Mists had had on him.

               "Then don't," said Hugo picking grit out of his nostrils. The horse must have dragged him back to the light on his face.

               "If that's your attitude, then maybe I should keep my idea to myself," snorted the horse primly.

               That would be a first, thought Hugo. "What idea?" he asked.

               "If you can't get all the way through the Mists, maybe it's because you're too old."

               "Go on..."

               "Your little brother Carl-"

               "What?"

               "Now hear me out," said the horse briskly. "You are clearly too old to penetrate the Mists of Time all the way but maybe Carl-"

               "Carl is a lazy slug!"

               "A young slug," said Bob. "What other choice do you have?"

               Well, in the end, Hugo had no better idea, so he climbed shakily onto the palomino and rode for Mumsy's cottage.

               Carl was putting the finishing touches on a refreshing nap when his older brother came along.

               "Whatteryou doin' here?" asked Carl snarkily. "Thought Mumsy gave you the old heave-ho?"

               "I'm not here to see Mumsy, I'm here to offer you an opportunity."

               "Sounds physically taxin'," said Carl with a yawn.

               "You don't even know what I'm offering you!"

               "No, but-"

               "Untold riches, Carl!" said Hugo quickly. "The Jar of Delight, I know where it is!"

               "How?" Carl was still slack-boned in his hammock.

               "Never you mind how! Just get up and get your horse!"

               "Aw!" grunted the sleepy Carl, but Hugo was his older brother, so he gave one final yawn and crawled out of the hammock. Soon they were both mounted and headed back for the Mists of Time.

               ------

               Carl was not loving Hugo's plan.

               "You want me to go into that muck?" (At least his eyes were no longer heavy-lidded.)

               "You're younger; you might make it all the way to the Jar," said Hugo with maximum persuasion. (It's a super-power held by most older brothers.) "Think of the desires of your heart!"

               Carl did. He started to drool just a little. His desires were clearly not very spiritual. He walked carefully into the Mists.

               Hugo smiled at Bob, holding up both hands, with fingers crossed. Bob snorted.

-----

               Carl was really not loving Hugo's plan. It's not that he was a coward; it's just that he liked taking life on his own terms: a solid nine to ten hours of sleep every night, good meals prepared by his adoring Mumsy, and a well constructed hammock formed the pleasant boundaries of his existence. This walk into the mist was pushing all his dislike buttons: it was cold and clammy and he was finding it difficult to walk. His heart was beating erratically and far too quickly. Carl decided to sit on a damp log and cogitate. He felt that a pro-con rubric would be in order.

               To wit: Pro-having the desires of his heart met would be highly enjoyable! Con-he was getting cold and wet. Pro-his older brother would be proud of him. Con-who cared what Hugo thought of him? Hugo was a big jerk! Pro-but  here Carl could think of nothing further. What was the score? Neatly tied at two points each. What to do? And then he remembered Clarice, the busty barmaid in town who regularly scorned his advances. Would she able to resist the holder of Jar? Of course not, she was the desire of his heart or at any rate of his lower regions.

               Carl sighed and pushed on. My, walking was difficult. Carl hated difficult. He recited Clarice's name as a carnal mantra and pushed into the Mists.

               Suddenly with a force like a blow between his eyes, a strong thought pushed into his reeling brain. Not you. You are impure.

               Carl didn't need to be told twice. He turned an abrupt one-eighty and fairly sprinted out of the Mists.

__________

               "What do you mean, you won't?" thundered Hugo gripping Carl by the shoulders and giving him a vigorous shaking.

               "I didn't say 'won't'; I said 'can't'!" howled Carl, prying his brothers hands off of his person. "The Voice said that I was impure!"

               "The gypsy did say that you were the special one, Hugo," said Bob angelically.

               "You were the one who said that she was nothing but a liar," said Hugo coldly.

               "She must have been telling the truth," said Carl rubbing his indented shoulders.

               "I tried," said Hugo passionately. "I thought I was going to die of old age!"

               "Then, you need Mumsy's help," said Carl, carefully.

               "Yes!" nodded Bob. "She could give you some sort of potion or something to keep you young."

               "Mumsy hates me," said Hugo.

               "You only think that because she kicked you out," said Carl. "But she'll help you especially if she gets to share in the Jar!"

               "I have no choice," said Hugo glumly.

               "Not if you want the Jar," said the helpful horse.

====

               "Not on your life!" said Mumsy, after Carl had given her a rough outline of the day so far and suggesting that she weigh in with a bit of magic.

               "Aw Mumsy," whined Carl, her baby. "Why not?"

               "Because Hugo broke my heart," she said.

               "Maybe being a wizard wasn't his calling," said Carl carefully.

               "Don't be a fool!" she growled. "First born sons have always been wizards in our line going back to the Exceedingly Dark Ages!"

               "Times change, Mumsy," pleaded Carl.

               "Not for us," she said. "Tell him that if he commits to his responsibilities that I will help him but if not..." She let the words trail off. Carl shrugged and went out to his brother.

=========

               "I knew it!" moaned Hugo. "She'll never let go of the family dream."

               "Look, I don't see what bugs you about being a wizard. Daddy-"

               "I don't want to talk about that man!" said Hugo through teeth so gritted that his words barely escaped. He paced around his brother, his face a thundercloud. Carl waited patiently, knowing that it was not wise to talk to Hugo when he was in that sort of a mood. Eventually Hugo came to a stop in front of Carl.

               "You ready to talk about Daddy?" said Carl carefully.

               "I'm not going to wind up like him," said Hugo and he hopped onto Bob's back. Carl sighed and mounted his own horse. Eventually, Hugo would have to see reason, wouldn't he? Not that Hugo was known for his sweet reasonableness.

               "What's your plan?" asked Carl after a few miles.

               "I have no plan only blind alleys and dead ends!"

               "So you're giving up on the Jar?"

               "No." Hugo's face was carved out of obsidian. Carl decided to stop bugging him. Hugo continued to ride back to the Mists of Time.

               "We're here," said Bob. Hugo took a long breath and dismounted. He shook Carl's hand and muttered, "I'll probably never see you again..."

               Carl could say nothing through the lump in his throat.

+++

               It was like fighting a familiar opponent. Hugo could feel his longed to break into a run and just get it over with.

               Why not? He thought.  He broke into a sad shuffle, his stiff arms moving slowly, his heart pounding. I don't care! Kill me if you want, I'm not stopping!

               He creaked on even though his heart was aching and his eyes were blurring with sweat. He tasted blood and realized that he was biting his cheek.

               It was so tempting to turn back. To turn around and be released from this body of death. He agonized. Just turn around and all would be well; he would grow younger and feel like himself. What were the desires of his heart to that?

               It was Esau's bargain: the pottage for his birthright. Hugo set his face like flint and pressed on through the pain and the hopelessness of his quest.

               And then everything changed. His breathing became a fraction less laboured, his movements a touch more relaxed. Greatly encouraged, Hugo began to run in earnest, like a calf released from confinement on a June morning. He ran, he leaped, he began to sing. His voice, normally a baritone began to flirt with tenor and then a squeaky soprano. He looked at his arms to see the thick blond hair turn faint and insubstantial. His feet were shrinking! His clothes began to flap on him like they were designed for someone twice his size. He continued to run though he was forced to kick of his shoes and jettison all his clothes, save for his jerkin. How old was he? He giggled like a schoolboy.

               At once he came to a stop because he knew that he had arrived. All around him were gathered a crowd of tiny people who greeted him with piping voices:

               "We knew that you could do it!" "Well done, Hugo!" "Hail the Matchless One!"

               Hugo burst into tears of relief and joy.

               As the tiny ones came toward him, he saw, through his tears, that they were bearing a glassy object which rippled with multi-coloured lights.

               "Behold the Jar," they murmured reverently. Hugo reached out to touch it. As he did, he could feel strength flowing into his body. And then it hit him, he was standing in the midst of his true heart's desire: not gold or power or the adoration of millions. No, it was being loved like he was being loved now. There was nothing left to fill in his heart.