A Translation of Inspiration

by A.S. Morrison

cliff?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He scratched his short gray beard. “So you ran up to the cliff you say?”

  “I didn’t say that. I was just standing there.”

  “And you wanted to jump. You wanted to soar to the sky and be a bird or a flying fish.”

  “No, that’s not it at all.” I said forcefully.

  “You wanted to reach the sun and explode –”

  “You are not even listening to me.”

  “—to shower back to Earth and watch as your many pieces land in various places. You say that sounds great. You say that is what you wanted. You say that will fix it all. You really shouldn’t say such things.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t say any of that.”

  “You might have.”

  “No.”

  He picked up a clock from the floor. It was of the highest quality in the little workshop. He held it tenderly for a moment, and then threw it at the wall where it broke into many pieces.

  “That’s you showering down.”

  “I think I should leave now.”

  He took his time dramatically running over to me, tripping on everything his feet could find to trip on. Eventually he did make it over to me and put his hand on my chest.

  “You can’t leave. I have your clock.”

  “I told you I didn’t order one.”

  “No, I just made it.”

  “I’ve been watching you, you haven’t made one.”

  “You make watches?” He said excitedly. “We have so much in common.”

  “I mean you didn’t have time to make a clock.”

  He pulled a small square box out of his pocket and thrust it into my hand.

  “This isn’t a clock.” I said, looking the small box over.

  “It’s a special cuckoo clock.”

  “There are no hands, no numbers.”

  “It doesn’t need it. When the time comes a little cuckoo will pop out.”

  “At what time?”

  He scratched his beard again. Bells rang and cuckoos clucked all over the small workshop. “I haven’t any idea. But I hope it helps.”

  “How can it help if I don’t know when it will go off?”

  “You have too many worries for someone who doesn’t know himself.”

  I put the bizarre little clock into a pocket of the pants I was wearing, and just then noticed. I thanked the clockmaker and tried to take my leave. He stopped me once again.

  “If you don’t know where you are from how do you know where you have to go?”

  “I think I’ll figure it out.”

  “We always think we will.” He said as if to a person across the room. I turned but nobody was there.

  “You have been very hospitable but I think I really should take my leave.”

  “Not until I tell you my story.”

  He pushed me down onto a chair I didn’t know was there and pulled up another from somewhere. And then he began his tale. I listened intently to what he said, but wondered the whole time why I should be bothered with his strange little story.

  “It all starts, as often stories do with sad endings, in a very nice house. I grew up with a stern mother and father. They loved me plenty but I found their emotions tricky to understand. Anyway I remember with fondness my infancy. It wasn’t one that I should tell you but I will say it was great fun to crawl around and have people to clean me up and set me going in the right direction. Do you remember your infancy? Of course not, only I do. I don’t remember much from my childhood. The whole thing was a blur. I suppose I did things wrong and was yelled at to do them right. But what did I know? Did I know enough to be scolded for my infractions? I don’t know, as I said I don’t remember my childhood. At one point I became an adult. I wasn’t a very good one. And that is all.”

  “That’s not much of a story.” I said, choosing not to pick at him remembering his infancy. The longer I was in that house the more I knew this man to be crazy.

  “Well it’s my story and if you don’t like it find a better one.”

  “I think I will, but I need to leave here to do that.”

  “Oh yes, that is the only way.”

  “Then can I leave?”

  “You certainly may, but only if you promise to never come back.”

  I stood up, affronted. “Did you not like my company? I daresay anybody else will sit here with you.”

  “As a matter of opinion I hated your company and never wish to see you again.” He folded his arms and turned from me.

  “Then I won’t be back.” I said, going to the door.

  “Good.” He said, still looking away. “But I do hope you uncover yourself somewhere, I bet you are a dusty little fellow wherever you’re being kept.”

  I did not look back. I opened the door and slammed it closed. I turned to my left and began walking. I was so heated from being insulted that I did not notice that I was no longer in a swamp.

  2. The Woods and the Shadow

  The encounter with the clockmaker left me bothered by my lack of memories. How could he remember his infancy and I not remember any of my life? I could feel memories pushing into my mind but they were just out of reach. I wanted to stop walking and shake my head around until they found a place where I could remember them. The longer I walked the more I knew that they would reveal themselves soon. And so I could only wait.

  After a long time of putting one foot in front of the other I finally looked up to see that I was no longer in the dark swamp. How could I have not noticed new surroundings, especially since they were so different? Trees were still around and I walked amongst them. They were much taller than the ones before and had no leaves, only thin branches near the top pointing out at all angles. The ground was dry and cracked. Dust rose up from where my feet had been. The sun, which made its first appearance for me, was large and bright in the sky but did not brighten the way as much as it should have. It appeared as bright as a summer day but where I walked was only as bright as a cloudy day. I didn’t think much of this. After all, how could the man with no memory complain of the sun not doing its job?

  There was nothing but trees in sight, not even a little house as before. I turned back to see it but only more trees and dry land was behind me. I must have been in a world unseen for many years. There wasn’t a bug or animal as far as my senses could reach.

  I waited for the surroundings to change, to alter in some way to show that I was getting somewhere. But the more I walked only more of the same appeared into my vision.

  I didn’t notice it long. The first memory came back to me. My name was Lawrence Foster Brickem. A strange name, but it was mine. I knew it. And then pieces of my childhood returned. I remembered growing up in a small house somewhere in a suburban area. There were no other children for me to play with being an only child and so I became very lonely. I did have a few friends in school, but at home it was just me and my young parents.

  I was a quiet child. During grade school I rarely answered questions and would freeze up when asked. That shyness lasted well into high school. Eventually it worked itself out somewhat, but I was never what one would call social. After high school I worked at a department store for three years. College wasn’t my thing and I dropped out after just two semesters. Lost, lonely, and fearing that my life wasn’t going to amount to much, I quit my job at the department store and ventured away. I set my sights on traveling the world. I took what money I had and borrowed some from my parents to explore Europe. I made it halfway through England and ran out of funds, sending me back to the states to tell my parents I only halfheartedly followed my dreams. Before I knew it I was back at the department store, bored out of my mind.

  And that was it. I waited for more memories to come but that was it. It took several hours just to get that much, and nothing would follow. It was strangely incomplete. How did I get from the department store to the cliff?

  Wit
h the addition of memories came emotions. I felt betrayed by my own mind. And what was worse I felt hopeless to ever find any way out of those trees. I dug my fingers through my hair and stopped moving. I looked around, waiting for a sound or a motion to divert my attention. But of course there was nothing. I began to long for the clockmaker and his little workshop. I sat down with my back to a tree, hoping to get inspired to move on.

  “Hi.”

  I jumped up. There had definitely been a voice. It sounded as if it came from the tree. I looked it over carefully but could find nothing capable of speech.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  I spun around. It was coming from somewhere but I couldn’t tell where.

  “I just need a minute of your time.”

  I was really getting frustrated. “Where are you?”

  “Down here.”

  I looked. A black splotch was all I saw. It stood out by being the only thing besides me that wasn’t a tree.

  “What are you?” I asked a little nervously.

  The splotch moved. It slid effortlessly across the ground and up a tree where it formed into the shape of a human. It was a shadow, but it wasn’t mine. I could see it as though a person stood beside the tree. It slowly turned until it was a profile. I made out the nose and mouth. The mouth opened, and words came through the air.

  “So will you listen?”

  “But what are you?” I asked again.

  “I know what you must be thinking. You must be wondering how on Earth I got to this state. Is that what you are thinking?”

  The voice sounded sinister. The emotion it conveyed was that of a man trying to make a shady deal with me.

  “I was actually