That Which Cannot Be Explained

Chapter 11: Lots to Do in The Wood Bamboo

DARK GREY CLOUDS FILLED THE SKY just above the Wood Bamboo. There was not one silver lining to any of these clouds for miles stretching far on both sides down the line of bamboos. Facing away from the woods one could see the sky was clear and blue on this side. It was as if something dark and mysterious were to be found beyond the bronze gate leading into the Wood Bamboo. From this dark greyness descended a sliver of light slowly falling down. It was no larger than the palm of your hand and floated back and forth being caught by the wind. This shining object twirled and soared lower and lower until it landed itself on the shoe of Michael of the Manor. This shining object was in fact a leaf. But this leaf was not a leaf from one of the bamboo trees, oh no. This was a much different leaf and seemed to not belong to any tree anywhere even close to where it landed. Michael did not notice this fact and just kicked the leaf away as the persons of the Thirty Persons quarreled over what the indentation in the concrete truly was.

"It must be a star!" declared Gióni.

"A star? Why it looks more like a sun, to me," said Lemül.

"Well, I say it resembles a fiery circle or a ball of gas, perhaps," added Wairro Pai.

The three of the posse of Kahl the Called kept on arguing over this matter. After much shoving and nose flicking, they came to the agreement to disagree that they were all agreeing about this disagreement agreeingly. Kahl thought long and hard on what the shape could be. He did not come up with many good ideas on the subject and found himself to be of no use to the cause. The Director scratched his beard and ate a bug that he found inside it. He began to recall the rhyme that the youngest sister of the Family of Nine had recited to them all. In doing so he also remembered the wet drooling kiss he had received from her and wiped his cheek more and more thinking there might still be a dot of spit on it.

"There's no vein in vain," began the Director, "But was it vein of the blood or vain of conceit. Or was it vane of a windmill!?"

"Trickery this rhyme has become," said Michael, "The second verse may help us yet: That's pressed on with blade. Is it the blade of a sword, most likely? And the veins of a man that it pierced or pressed on?"

"This margin of shade. Can a blade bring shade, I wonder?" wondered the Director. The others admired the pondering of their companions, so they just sat back, relaxed, and enjoyed the show.

"Only a margin it could provide, indeed," answered Michael.

"Indeed. Oh! What fun these sort of things bring to me, sort of! Now let's see, the last verse is as I sputter: Tote by brightened cane. Hmm. This is a toughie. Shall I presume what we think we know it to be?"

"Do so, my friend. Do so"

"Gladly. Well, if the vein is of blood that is pressed on with blade of a sword which can spare a margin of shade, than most certainly the cane would be the grip to hold it by—or tote—and the pommel would be that which is brightened. Do I err in my interpretation?"

"I think not, Director. I most definitely think not that at all," said Michael with a proud smile for his truly smart witted friend.

"So it is a sword that shall open this bronze gate? A sword with a shiny pommel?" asked Lemül.

"And how will it open? Must the sword tear down this bronze gate with a single blow?" asked Gióni.

"That cannot possibly be the way through," said the fair maiden, "Who ever heard of opening a bronze gate with a sword?!"

"A sword with a shiny grip and pommel, my dear!" corrected Michael patting the head of the fair maiden.

"Yet such a sword we do not possess, I am afraid," said Kahl, "The only thing even close to being close to what this rhyme speaks of is our knives. But even of those we only brought a few and not one resembles the sword of which we require."