A short Story

This short story was preceded by a number of exercises that explored its various aspects. The original intention was to turn an incident in the life of Dan into a larger story. The larger story emerged, but the incident in Dan's life doesn't get a look in. The exercises are in the previous post. People who have read both have different opinions about the intent of the story,depending on whether they read the exercises first or the story.

Bread and wine for eightAt first glance it looks as though the Village People have gathered for a meal, except that no one here is in costume. Eight people, variously uniformed, are talking in twos around a table of Huon Pine, polished with bee’s wax and myrrh. The fragrance is subtle and powerfully conspires with the table’s exquisite design and craftsmanship to evoke the numinous. Ruby’s slightly shrill voice raises above the mild hum of conversation. “Oh. Come on Dan, you don’t believe that new Age crap, surely?”
Dan responds quietly. Only those nearest hear his reply. Conversation flows as people take in the room . The ceiling is Art Deco pressed metal; a picture rail separates light tones of contrasting colours: silver gum above, blood wood below; a floor to ceiling bay window with fan light draped in long narrow tapestries of reds and greens at one end of the room; a wide, very heavily smoked mirror framed in ceramic tile at the other.
Ruby’s voice is strident again. “Spare me Dan, you’re sounding like a gay man in drag who thinks he’s really a woman.” This time the room is silenced – momentarily. “How many men who wear drag think they are really women?” asks Dan. The self-absorbed Abyssinian cat soaking up the sun on the pink and tan Turkish rug stretches its head back and lunges at the fur on its lower neck, lavishing it with an impossibly salmon pink tongue. “I wouldn’t have a clue,” returns Ruby. “It doesn’t matter if none of them do. It wouldn’t make any difference to my point.”
“Which is?”
“Affecting an appearance doesn’t make anyone the real thing.”
Lance, in full cowboy get up, chaps and all, stares at the perfectly flat image of the room reflected in the mirror. “So ….men who dress in studded leather,” he begins, “wielding whips and body piercing instruments and talking about S&M…”
“Are all talk!” Ruby cuts in. “No one takes them seriously – especially not themselves.”
There’s a slight pause as people consider whether or not to let that one through to the keeper. “That’s not true” protests Lance. “I know people who are into S&M, and they’re, like, totally fervent about it”
“Sick puppies,” grins Ruby.
“Well, exactly” retorts Dan. “You hear them talking about themselves – with apparent pride – in exactly those words.”
A tall young man robed in bone linen places a decanter of fortified wine on the sideboard between two ceramic menorah, each bearing seven bees wax candles inlaid with intense red and green runes. A similarly clad female lays a ceramic platter with piping hot wholegrain bread on the table.
“What do you mean apparent?” asks Bruce, resplendent in military dress uniform.
Sunlight streaming through the bay window illuminates widdershins of dust particles above Dan as he speaks. “Well, if they’re so good at pretending to be brutes, maybe they’re only pretending to be proud of their perversion.”
The silence is now so thick that everyone, after a sharp intake of breath, hears the pigeons cooing on the lintel and pooing on the tiles. The cat utters a guttural moan and the fur along its spine does a Mexican Wave.
Ruby is furious. “Oh come on. That’s a bit rough.”
“What, calling it perversion?”
“Yes!” shouts Nero in fireman’s yellow. “Who are you to judge?”
“Ruby’s the one who called them sick puppies. I didn’t hear anyone getting upset then. You’re OK with euphemisms, are you?”
The fanlight closes down onto an Aeolian harp forcing the slight breeze through it’s narrow mouth and across its strings. It begins to hum in unstable harmonies. Silence falls. The formal part of the Liturgy of bread and wine has begun.
After a pause for gathering in the moment, Dan says, “Call to mind someone who has personally offended you and made you angry. Recall the incident. Name the offence. What standard was breached? Focus on that single fact and,” he pauses for effect, “maintain your rage! For justice is not served by being nice to those who offend you.”
He picks up the loaf of bread, and, with some difficulty – it is very hot – breaks it into eight pieces, saying, “Our humanity is broken by conflict.” Taking one piece he gives it to Ruby. “This is your adversary. Feel the heat of your shared anger.” He wraps both of her hands around it, then walks around the table doing the same for all. Dan takes the last piece and pauses for a moment; then opens his palms , and says, “This is your adversary. Do what you will in the name of justice.” After a short pause he says, “I forgive you, John-Paul, for marginalising those who do not agree with you.” He hears Ruby say, “I forgive you, Dan, for no longer being my lover.” Everyone addresses the token of their rage. Then, on Dan’s cue, all raise the bread to their mouths and eat it, still quite hot – and fragrant, to remind them that the ‘other’ is truly beautiful. After a moment of silence Dan says, “Forgiveness changes us so that we can invite the Other into community. Having been prepared to change, we have the right to speak frankly to the Other, hoping that the resulting dialogue will facilitate rapprochement and maybe even mutual respect.” He then invites everyone to reach left and right and take the hands of those nearest, and says, “Anyone who angers you manifests an aspect of your shadow. We have symbolically integrated our shadows into our personas. As community we have a collective shadow – not personal but structural. If you are Builder’s Labourer, you’re your shadow may be Capital; if you are an Industrialist, your shadow may be the Green Movement; if you are a Cowboy, your shadow may be Urban Sophistication; if you are any kind of Tribal Leader, your shadow may be Globalisation. If we really are community, we are fully inclusive. No one is excluded – not the Capitalist, not the Unionist, not the Mine Owner, not the Green Activist. We manifest one another’s shadows. As community we strive to understand the necessary contribution of our adversaries to our well being. Having shown that we here can change in our individual relationships, we can believe that we, as community, can critically honour those we might otherwise despise. We cannot know, yet, how we will do this, but we can dream.”
Silence resumes until it is broken by Dan saying “I have a dream!” As the spirit takes them others join in a prolonged outbreak of exclaiming, “I have a dream!”
When the silence resumes Dan releases his grasp and picks up the vessel of fortified wine, and says, “The spirit herein will flood your body with passion. When it grips your soul, speak in the spirit, and be not afraid.” He offers it to Ruby who takes a sip and is dazzled by the rush. She holds it to the lips of Sandy and croons, “Oh happy day!” And so it goes until it comes back to Dan who takes the final sip, and joins the ecstatic chatter about ‘The Dream’: a shared experience that no one person can fully know. The cat jumps up onto the table and struts from one to another receiving their strokes and adulation as its due, and dispensing the occasional rasp of its tongue, then reclines in the middle of the table and begins its divine ablutions. People begin to hug. Some cry with joy. The fanlight raises, and though the room is vibrating with loud conversation, all sense that the harmonies of the Aeolian harp are no longer rolling through them. The liturgy is over. Dan takes Ruby’s hands in his and wishes her peace and joy in her endeavours of the coming week. All do the same until they have farewelled one another. The room empties. The cat sleeps. The table is just a table.