As a lad, his natural curiosity had many times brought him into conflict with the veget whip, but it was an all but forgotten fact which was lost from communal memory once he partnered with Pentalope and simply faded into her dark, imposing shadow. If others thought about him at all, they pitied him, but Wudrick held no pity for himself. For being lost in Pentalope’s shadow was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to him. It allowed him to pursue his many research projects unhampered and pleasantly undetected for many years.
As for the way she treated him? Long ago he had conjectured the notion that for everything gained there is something lost. Therefore, he concluded, it was only logical that for everything lost, there was something to be gained. For the loss of his dignity, he gained freedom - a fair exchange he scientifically reckoned.
His natural scientific curiosity had always been intrigued by the unusual materials from which Center House was constructed. When his wife was first elected mayor of Nuttinnew and they actually moved into Center House, he was like a child with a new toy. Although Pentalope demanded much of his time, there were those hours when even her energies needed to be recharged by sleep.
It was during these daily rest periods someone might have seen him crawling along a baseboard, scrutinizing it’s construction puff by puff, or precariously perched on stacked furniture to get a closer look at some ceiling beam juncture. Of course, no one ever saw him engaged in these odd behaviors for no one ever paid him any mind, whether present of absent. Most of the time he just felt invisible.
Once, on an exploratory adventure in the heart of the Great Veget Field, which stretched from Center House to the northern foothills, Wudrick had accidentally come across young Bidet Smears inserting - a physical activity strictly reserved for post-partnered couples - Kirtie Kipple as they lay hidden among the tall veget stalks.
He didn’t just come upon them, he actually stepped on Kirtie's long, flowing hair before he realized they were even there. She let out a loud groan which poor Wudrick was sure the whole valley could hear. Frightened out of his wits, he immediately, he jumped back, muttering some embarrassed words of apology. However, encased in their own ecstacy, neither youngster even notice his presence. Taking advantage of his non-entity status, he quickly disappeared among the stalks and ran all the way back to Center House.
As a responsible adult on the community, he should have confronted the two youngsters, of course. It would have been the proper thing to do. The prohibition against pre-partnered inserting was one of the few societal sanctions dealt with rather harshly. The penalty for being discovered so blatantly in the act was to be called out at a special public gathering just for the purpose of humiliating the over-eager, young participants in hopes it would discourage others from engaging in the like behavior.
However, Wudrick remembered his own moments of sexual rebellion when he was about their age. His fellow conspirator was the beautiful and intelligent Sollie Sool, who later became the wife of Tiget Forbal, a male of no ambition who some say bored himself to death, thus prematurely bestowing upon her the appellation of widow - the widow Forbal, presently Wudrick’s secret friend and confidante.
No, Wudrick could not - would not - turn these youngsters’ natural passions into a town spectacle. He had never believed it fair that only those unfortunate enough to get caught in the most natural of human acts were forced to suffer one of Nuttinnew’s harshest humiliations. But Wudrick was a scientist not a politician, so matters of forced societal morality were totally beyond his comprehension.
It was on one such exploratory adventure within the confines of Center House that Wudrick accidentally discovered a removable panel along the upstairs hall. Once removed, it provided an entrance to a small attic in which he discovered a large chest, containing volumes of very old parchments. Right in the center of the small room stood a ladder which rose into the tall, pointed phallus perched atop of Center House. Here he found the bell.
Of course, Wudrick didn’t know it was a bell. He only knew there was nothing else like it in all of Nuttinnew, and any practical purpose for its existence baffled his empirical mind. Oddly, it was suspended from a shaft assembly much like the one from which the well seat hung. But, this was no seat.
At first it reminded him of a huge, upside down ladle with a stirring spoon dangling down its center. Later, he came to see it as some overbearing beast with its oval mouth stretched open, revealing its caustic, wagging tongue - an image which far too closely resembled his own wife.
The surface of the ladle-monster was covered with a dark orange coating, but when Wudrick scraped some off for closer examination, he discovered that beneath its encrusted surface was a shiny material, which reflected images like the surface of a smooth pond. Because of this he took to calling it the Big Encrusted Looking Ladle, or BELL for short. From that moment on, he spent nearly every free moment away from Pentalope, experimenting with all sorts of methods and concoctions to clean away the corrosive coating. In due time, his efforts were successful and the huge, once-encrusted pendant was revealed to be the hue of the morning star. Had the tower windows were been not adorned with down and outward angled slats preventing the entrance of direct sunlight, his secret bell might have been exposed long before.
Once, while Wudrick was examining how the dangling tongue was attached to the bell, he lost his balance, bumping his head against its side. It made a singular, yet compelling, tone. This led him to conclude that there had once been a rope attached to the arm which extended from the overhead shaft. Pulling on this rope would cause the assembly to swing back and forth until eventually the sides would strike the dangling tongue and - oh, what a sound it must have made.
However, the mechanical workings of the bell were of only a minor interest for Wudrick. What truly delighted his heart and illuminated his mind were the purposes of it and the many other articles, items and devices stowed away within this secreted attic chamber by some distance generation. Some things had obvious uses for they were similar in structure to items still in use. Others, however, seemed to have no explainable purpose at all.
But of all these items the most intriguing was the large old chest, containing bundles of thin, rectangular parchments made of an unknown fabric sewn together along one side so their leafs could be turned, revealing a continuous narrative to its reader.
Although the writing itself was in a script similar to that currently in use, its content was incomprehensible. While many simple words remained the same, and others were recognizable despite variant spelling, there were numerous words of which Wudrick had no knowledge nor understanding. All this led him to the conclusion that the text was written in a precursor language to present day Nuttinnewian, and that, over time, the spelling and meaning of many words in current use had changed, while words common to the writer had simply fallen into disuse, thus making the content incomprehensible to the modern reader. Wudrick, the scientist, made it his life’s endeavor to change that.
After much careful analysis, Wudrick discovered certain consistencies in the precursor language, which allowed him to slowly and painstakingly translate them into his own tongue. It wasn’t long before Wudrick realized he had discovered a storehouse of ancient knowledge. In fact, it was the knowledge of the Ancients.
He delighted in the prospects of sharing his new found knowledge with his fellow Nuttinnewians, to reveal once and for all the mysteries surrounding the Ancients, which were currently only alluded to in the songs of the children. However, Wudrick had little faith in his fellow Nuttinnewians and wondered if anyone other than himself was even interested in the truth. The truth being that things in Nuttinnew had not always been as they are. It was a truth he kept mostly to himself.
So it was, that when Wudrick wasn't playing the mayor's fool-of-a-husband, he spent many long and lonely hours discovering events in Nuttinnewian history which went back much further than twenty years. Before long the piles of writings he’d scattered about the attic had become his own little world. F
or nobody knew its secrets except himself and, of course, his confidant, the widow Forbal.
***** ***** *****
Having perfectly replaced the secret panel, Wudrick raced down the stair steps, then out the Center House door. His mind had not completely returned from its reminiscence to the present. However, as he jumped off the edge of the porch, the irritation of his wife’s screeching snapped him back into the present. Looking toward the well, he found himself staring into a multitude of eyes staring back at him. All of Nuttinnew was gathered about the well and all of Nuttinnew had their eyes fixed upon him. For the first time in a very long time, he no longer felt invisible.
"The bucket!" he remembered, darting to the left and then to the right; then back to the left again. It was quite a comical sight, but no one laughed, though Loden who buried his head under his arm and chuckled to himself.
"The bucket!" Wudrick exclaimed aloud to himself. "Now, where did I put that 'veget picking' bucket?” Eventually, his feet found direction and he scurried off to the back porch, grabbed the first bucket he came to, and dashed off to the well.
When the mayor saw her husband racing towards her, she didn’t notice he was only carrying a small utility pail and not the standard, large, ration bucket. She didn't notice, because her mind was on more weighty matters: the pieces hanging from her clothing.
"We," Pentalope reemphasized, while straining to hold her shoulders erect, "have come for our ration of water.” She had used the diversion of her husband’s antics to regain her composure and to shift her clothing so the pieces which hung from them were less cumbersome.
"I believe,” she continued, "this day we are to have our water drawn by the Keeper of the Well of the East.” As she spoke, she held her head high and peered down her long nose with half shut eyes. It was all so formal.
"Fine!" Loden exclaimed, ignoring the not very subtle disdain in Pentalope's voice and manner. "But since all these fine people of the East - these fine people who will be voting for the next mayor of Nuttinnew at the Veget Festival - these fine people who have been standing here for a very long time, patiently waiting for their own water rations - these fine people would, I'm sure, be glad to show you to the back of the line.”
"What! The back of the line?" Pentalope screeched. She couldn't help herself. The very thought of going to the back of the line was unheard of, unthinkable - so un-mayor like. Shaken, she turned toward the people of the east who had, only moments before, worshiped her like a god, but all she found were hundreds of dull eyes peering out from mindless expressions.
"Imbeciles!” she thought, but was too politically minded to make two such blunders in the same appearance. Turning back she glared at the cause of her distress: the Wellkeeper of the East, who’s face was beaming with pseudo-pleasantry. The sweeter his expression grew, the angrier she became. Prior to that very moment, she had only disdained Loden. Now she loathed him.
As she glared intensely at her nemesis, her brows furrowed into twisted crevices which screwed her countenance into a grotesque caricature. Then, after what seemed like a very long time, she slowly shifted her eyes and surveyed the people of the east. They all appeared to her to have but one face - Loden's face. From that day forth, she loathed them all.
"I'm here, dear. I'm here with the ration bucket.” Wudrick had finally arrived and stood panting at his wife's side.
As if in slow motion, Pentalope turned her head toward him. Her expression remained unchanged as first she looked at his puffing red face, then at the utility pail in his hand.
"Oh Wuderbutz!" she groaned in a low, grating voice. “Can't you do anything right!”
It was not a question.
***** ***** *****
None of these events went unnoticed by Tyter who had been as amazed as anyone at the mayor's grand approach to the well. But, unlike his guardian, who stood agape at the unfolding events, Tyter sat calmly on the ground near the well.
After awhile, the invisible piece he carried under his clothing began to grow uncomfortably warm against his skin. With everyone’s attentions diverted toward the mayor, it was easy for Tyter to slip the piece from under his pullover and place it on the ground next to him. Although the piece was not visible, it left a visible imprint in the sand. Fearing someone would notice it, he scooted over and sat directly upon it. Trying to act natural, he crossed his legs and looked about to assure himself no one had seen what he’d done. As best he could tell, no one did.
The piece was now under his right buttock, and even through the material of his pullover, he could feel its warmth increase, though still not much hotter than the Nuttinnewian sand on a hot summer’s day.
Tyter didn't really understand all that was taking place between the key players of the unfolding drama at the well. Had realized he was experiencing history in the making, he might have paid closer attention. However, since all history is little more than repetitive events cloaked in interpretive hindsight, neither he nor the other people of Nuttinnew, especially with their limited historical understanding, could foresee what was to happen next.
After a long silent pause, Pentalope drew herself to her full stature and turned to Bourg, who had been standing by dumb-founded. "Wellkeeper of the West,” her voice had regained its strength and composure.
"Er, yes ma'am?" Bourg mumbled, being drawn from his trance.
"I trust the western wellkeeper and the people of the west will not treat their duly elected mayor and her noble office with such rude behavior. You wouldn’t have our grand and glorious Center House be a house without water rations would you? No, of course not! Center House is the first and only house in Nuttinnew, so it is only fitting those of us whom you have entrusted to abode within its sacred walls should be the first to receive the daily water ration from the well which was conceived to serve it. You do agree, don’t you, wellkeeper?”
"Uh, no ma'am. I mean, yes ma'am. Er, I mean, uh?"
A broad self-satisfied smile stretched across Pentalope's face. "Wuderbutz, my dear, run along home and fetch the proper bucket. Quickly now!"
"Bourg,” Loden pleaded with compassion as he placed his hand on the big male's shoulder and grasped it tightly. "It isn't fair to the rest of the people to let this self-serving female receive the first rations. It has always been first come, first served. She's no different than anybody else."
"But - but she's the mayor,” Bourg stammered through his confusion as his eyes flashed to Pentalope who looked so impressive in her bejeweled mantel. Then his eyes drifted back to Loden, his friend and fellow wellkeeper - the one male he had come to admire most, since the disappearance of Tyter's father on another such eventful and confusing day long ago.
"So what?" Loden snapped back, slightly out of character.
"But the mayor is our leader. The one who...."
"And just what has our leader ever done to help the people of Nuttinnew?"
"Uh, well - she oversees Center House and...uh....”
"She oversees nothing!" Loden interrupted, again. "Unless you wish to give her credit for the fact that we may all soon die of thirst - or do you claim she also oversees the rains? Then, let the mayor bring us rain!" he shouted as he jumped onto the well wall to make himself more visible to all the people. The tone of his voice was a strange mixture of sarcasm and compassion. Suddenly, years of pent up frustration was pouring forth in one grand deluge, and poor Bourg felt as if all the sand in Nuttinnew were being poured out upon his head.
"Oh, Bourg, don't you see? We are the wellkeepers. We oversee the water rationing. She does nothing!"
Bourg looked back at Pentalope. She looked and sounded so impressive. How could anyone not know she was more important than anyone - or anything else? If Bourg did know anything, he knew that Center House was very important to Nuttinnew. Even Talon had said so. Yes they were the keepers of the well, but she was the keeper of Center House, and therefore, the keeper of Nuttinnew. Surely, that was obvious to everyone.
Bourg turned again toward Loden
who knelt down on the rim of the well and again placed his hand on Bourg's shoulder. For a moment each studied the other’s face. Something in Loden's eyes gave him the appearance of being wild and unpredictable. It was the same look Bourg had seen in Talon's eyes the night he disappeared. It was the look of extreme rebellion, and it made Bourg shiver. Neither the coarse beard, nor thick eyebrows, could hide the confused distortion on Bourg's face.
"Oh, my friend - can't you see?” Loden released his grip on Bourg's shoulder and stood up on the well wall. "Can't any of you see? We must take control of our own destiny. Together we can make our lives....”
The little town of Nuttinnew began to hear its first political stump speech. It would not be the last.
***** ***** *****
As Wudrick returned with the Center House ration buckets, he found Loden standing on the well waving his arms about, then dramatically clutching them to his chest. Although his voice was barely audible with hoarseness, his words managed to reach every ear with perfect clarity. Wudrick stood beside his wife and listened.
“... how much better off we would be. Water stored in gigantic barrels would mean no more drought; no more fear of dying from thirst year after year; no more unharvested veget, drying to dust under the burning Nuttinnewian sun."
Until now Pentalope had remained silent except for an occasional disapproving grunt. Too much had taken place in the past couple of days for anything to shock anybody - or perhaps, it was just that no one had yet gotten over the initial shock of pieces of the sky falling. On the whole, everyone felt Loden’s words made perfect sense, even if they didn’t perfectly understand what it was he was saying.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 7