Before people read this and start correcting me on dates, times, places and the actual Storyteller, please be advised that while based on a real event, I had fun with the story and made a few changes.
“The Storyteller”
I was
working Renaissance Faire on the weekends, at the archery booth.
Hawking the booth and helping the children and drunks to not kill
themselves with a bow. Honestly, it was easier to teach the kids not
to kill themselves, the drunks have a innate suicidal tendency which
I never understood. I can't really complain because half the time I
was drunk too, while teaching them, well maybe not drunk but
certainly comfortable.
The
hawkers would wander in front of the booth trying to get customers to
come in, for the drunk men it was a matter of simply insulting them
in front of their girls. I haven't remembered any of the actual
insults, but insult their strength and ability to protect their women
and men will pay anything to show you up. Yep, you taught me you big
burly man you, you just paid $2 to shoot arrows at a target and win
absolutely nothing but your pride back. Kids were easy too, you show
a kid a dangerous weapon and they leap at the chance, you just have
to convince the parent that you won't allow the children to hurt
themselves. That isn't easy if you're wasted, but a few drinks and
don't talk directly into their face and you got them. I hadn't
thought of it at the time, but the one thing I considered embarassing
was actually a great way to meet women.
We'd
put an arrow in our pants and walk around yelling “come see the
finest shafts in the shire, 3 feet of fine English wood guaranteed to
always stay hard and always find the target.” In fact, several
older drunk women in groups of other older drunk women would find
this to be an invitation to touch my chest or attempt to reach in my
pants. Young and dumb I was embarassed by this and didn't understand
how much it had worked to my advantage.
This
isn't the story about that though. It wasn't long after I started
working those weekends I began hearing people talk about The
Storyteller. “Is The Storyteller coming?” they'd say “When's
The Storyteller coming?” they'd entreat. As I had never heard of
The Storyteller, I would ask quietly “who is The Storyteller?”
The answers were always vague, “I heard he might come”, “Maybe
the last weekend of Faire”, “he's magic”. My interest was
piqued, how could it not be, the vaguer the concept the higher the
excitement.
Every
weekend we the actors and actresses (aka the workers) of the Faire
would have different themed parties after hours. The Faire would
close, we would head to our tent to change into appropriate attire
for the after hours event and then commence to getting drunk. The
parties were fun and a way to let off steam after an exhausting day
of pretending to like everyone. At each party, I heard mention of
The Storyteller, whoever he was, he was mysterious and popular. It
seemed the only person with no knowledge of the man was me.
Eventually,
the rumors became more solid and we found out indeed The Storyteller
was coming the last night of Faire. We could watch him on one of the
many stages, though which I cannot recall now. My excitement grew
with each passing week, The Storyteller was coming, I didn't know
what it meant yet, but I was anxious to find out. Weekends came and
went and finally the final weekend was upon us.
I could
not wait for the last day to end, even though I knew I would miss the
Faire and the people I had met and the beer, I could not wait one
more second to find out who The Storyteller was. I got rather
inebriated that day and in fact met my now ex-wife at some point
during it. I joined the end of Faire parade and made my way to the
May pole, I danced like I had never danced before or since. The
excitement of the moment overtook my body, I would soon see The
Storyteller.
I
quickly ate my meal and made a few quick goodbyes with those that
couldn't stay, then made my way to the area where The Storyteller was
going to be. I sat with my girlfriend (not the woman that would be
my ex-wife) on the hay bales that were set up for seating around the
stage. The audience was tense with anticipation and I could feel the
electricity of the moment in the air. People in groups spoke about
the years The Storyteller had come in the past and how wonderful it
was, but again nothing specific. Then a hush fell over the audience
and as if by magic there on the stage was a man.
The man
was rather non-descript, I think he had a beard, his hair was dark I
believe, he was of average height and build I am certain, but I just
cannot describe what he looked like. Then the man began to speak, he
wove a tale of a dragon and a lady, or maybe it was a dark knight and
a lady. It's funny but, I cannot seem to remember what he said, or
what he looked like as I search my memories.
I do
remember one thing for sure, he arrived at a part in the story when
he required the audience to participate. First he pointed to the
cloudless moonlit sky and said “There is no rain tonight, so we
will have to create some for the story” then he gave us our parts,
we would become the wind and the rain and the thunder that night for
the story. Our bodies were his sound effect machines for the tale.
As he told more of the story he directed us to make the noises, first
one section then another and another, eventually we were in a storm
of sound. Then as if on cue rain began to actually fall from the sky
and he kept telling the story. As the story wound down, The
Storyteller said “and the winds stopped”, so we stopped making
wind “and the thunder no longer rumbled” and again we stopped
making thunder “and rains no longer fell from the sky” he said
with finality and as we stopped tapping our fingers on our legs, I
looked up to see a cloudless moonlit sky and not a drop fell upon me.
I
looked back down to the stage to find it empty, I didn't ask where
he had gone, I was sure noone knew, if they did, I certainly did not
want to know. The moment was magic, The Storyteller was magic, and
that is really all I can tell you.
