When he and CB’s father were together, Wudrick felt like he was in a different world - a world lived in by himself alone. Even CB’s father was an outsider who, only through perseverance, managed to catch an occasional glimpse of the source of the fire burning within him. Unfortunately, there was no place for such a world in a place where original ideas were not only frowned upon, but severely punished.
Oh, how Wudrick hated reality until he came to live in Center House and discovered the secret panel and all the treasures which lay hidden behind it. But by then CB’s father was dead and his secret world of solitude had become even more so, his alone. Until one night, during a moment of extramarital bliss under a full Nuttinnewian moon, Wudrick shared his secret world beyond the hidden panel with the widow Sollie Forbal, and found in her a confidant and co-conspirator.
"I'll do whatever I can,” Wudrick offered with earnest humility. Perhaps you should tell me your revolutionary idea before Pentalope gets back. Lately, she's been hunting for a rebel’s head. There’s no sense in you getting caught up in her delusional endeavors.
In the bell tower, Sollie had her ear pressed to the secret panel. It was fairly thin and the two voices below rose up the stairwell like smoke up a chimney. Still, their voices were soft and their words muffled. She had heard no one climb the stairs so she took a chance and nudged the panel up and away. The light in the hall beamed through the open slits all around the panel. The voices became slightly louder and clearer.
Carefully, Sollie removed the panel, then replaced it slightly ajar so it left a crack through which she could listen. It was a dangerously stupid thing to do. If the secret room and its contents ever became common knowledge, all those long nights the eastern rebels spent locked in the airless hut might become for naught.
Sollie was not, however, a person who could allow her immense curiosity to go unsatisfied. It was natural inquisitiveness which brought her into collusion with the rebel leader, Loden. It was, also, the source of her willingness to take extreme risks. How many times had she hidden beneath a sleeping cot or in a closet holding her breath as the moans and groans of unbridled passion filled the air in the private sanctity of someone else's sleeping chamber. All, in the hope of discovering whether or not those so engaged might drop some hint as to whether they would be more likely to join or oppose a rebellion.
Downstairs, there was a long pause until CB collected his thoughts. "As I said, the young male is aflame with fever. I've tried to burn it out of him as we caretenders are taught to do, but it isn't doing any good. As far as I can judge, he just keeps getting hotter. If Fate had taken him by now, I wouldn't have given it another thought, but Fate remains silent and the lad continues to suffer.”
“And you think it’s not his destiny to die - for now anyway?" Wudrick said thoughtfully.
"By veget! I don’t know,” CB cursed. "But he shouldn't have to suffer like this. Fate is not fair - not fair at all! Sometimes I wonder why...?”
"Tell me about the mark you mentioned earlier - the one on his buttock,” Wudrick interrupted as if he hadn't even noticed CB’s emotional outburst.
"Uh, the marks? Oh well, let's see. There isn't much to tell, really. I would probably just think it an unusual birthmark, if I didn't know for a fact he wasn't born with it. I assisted my father in his birthing, you know. A pity about his mother. My father tried to attend her, but her husband wouldn’t allow it....” His voice faded.
"Yes, a pity, but what makes you say the mark is unusual?"
"I guess I wouldn't have, if those pieces hadn’t fallen out of the sky, but the blasted mark looks just like one of them, with their irregular shape of ins and outs.”
"Hm, do you think that's how he got the mark - from one of them?"
"On his buttocks? I swear, I don't see how it could have happened. Besides, they seem totally harmless. Nobody else has reported being bruised or burned by one.”
"Is it a bruise, or a burn?"
"I - I don't know. It's just there, that's all, and I don't know how it got there or what caused it to get there.” CB was always agitated when he was forced to face problems which totally perplexed him.
"Do you think the mark has anything to do with the fever?
"I don't know! I don't know! I tell you, I just don't know!” CB roared in frustration.
Wudrick picked up the small pitcher he had brought from the eating room and refreshed both cups. Then he leaned back with cup in hand and gently said, "Now, tell me about your revolutionary idea."
CB was calmed by Wudrick's relaxed behavior. It was really quite hard to imagine that this was the same bumbler who stumbled and fumbled about the town at the heels of his overbearing wife.
"Cool him down,” CB said with an embarrassed, nervous chuckle. There was a gentle commotion in the room as drapes and covers fluttered, but neither male noticed. "Now, I know it sounds crazy. I mean, it goes against everything I've ever been taught. But suppose, instead of burning away the fever from the inside out, I cool it down from the outside inward?"
"I see. You don't put out a roaring fire by dumping more cinders on it. Instead, you douse it with water. Hm, but cool him down? In this heat? How?"
"Well, the idea came to me while I was tending the lad and a cool breeze....”
"A cool breeze - in summer?” Wudrick mildly scoffed, as he turned and walked to the large window that opened onto the southern porch.
At the well, he saw a slightly built figure rise from the well. He immediately recognized it to be the young female who lived just to the east of the well in the house originally intended for the eastern wellkeeper. Despite her verbal ineptness, she had a strikingly long, slender figure which had caught his attention on more than one occasion during ration dispersal. Wudrick watched silently as Loden helped her out of the well seat.
As soon as she was clear of the well rim, she began making gestures with her hands, raising various fingers as if trying to communicate something. After several repeated attempts at the same combination of fingers and gestures, Loden, eventually, appeared to understand. Then he did something quite strange, he began to run his hands over the young female’s arms and legs. Next, Loden drew her up into a ball and wrapped himself about her as best he could, then carried her eastward toward her hut. It was only then that Wudrick realized that the young female had been shivering violently.
"CB, come quickly - to the well!” Wudrick ordered as he grabbed up a covering draped over the chair where he had been sitting. Without waiting for a response, he bolted out the door.
Surprised by Wudrick’s sudden sense of urgency, CB remained seated where he was, his cup poised at his lips to take another sip of the soothing veget juice. Wudrick was already out the door when he finally set his drink on the small table conveniently located between the divan and the chair. Then jumping to his feet, he raced out the door after Wudrick.
Loden didn’t see Wudrick rapidly approaching. Thus, when he suddenly reached out his hand and placed it on Brindle's forehead, it startled Loden so, he fell over backwards, rolling to the ground with Brindle still cradled in his arms.
"By Veget, male!” Loden cursed. He was about to curse some more when Wudrick draped the chair covering over the young female.
"So the Ancients tell the truth,” Wudrick mumbled and without further explanation, scurried off back toward Center House.
It was no secret that Loden had more pity than respect for Wudrick Pulpitt, but in either case he considered him little more than a bumbling puff. He would have just told him so, if he hadn’t sensed something about the short, fat fellow’s demure he had never experienced before. It was confidence.
Struggling to his feet with Brindle still in hand, he wondered if the widow Forbal's confidence in Wudrick hadn’t been misplaced, after all.
The covering must have helped some, for Brindle wasn’t shaking nearly as much as when he had first retrieved her from the well. Still, Loden was anxious to get her into her own mother's care as soon as possible. So, ho
lding her tightly to his chest, he swiftly carried her to her hut.
CB, who had only gotten halfway between Center House and the well, saw Wudrick dashing back towards him, so he stopped, expecting Wudrick to do the same. But he didn’t, and CB was barely able to get a quick look at the expression on Wudrick’s face as he sped past on his short, chubby legs. It was an expression he’d seen only occasionally as the son of a caretender. It was the look of victory over Fate. CB spun around and watched Wudrick hop onto the Center House porch and race through the open door which slammed abruptly behind him.
For several moments CB stood where he had stopped, staring toward Center House. "Well, I'll be a puffless pod!” he cursed as he turned back toward the pair at the well. No one was there. "Well, of all the...,” he cursed again. He looked toward Center House, then again at the well. Standing alone in the heart of Nuttinnew, CB found himself completely lost. He couldn’t think of what to do next, so he slowly walked up to the well and rested his hands on its stone rim.
Bending forward, he looked down into the deep, dark abyss below, and had the overwhelming sensation of falling head first into its bleak, endless, blackness. He dug his fingernails into the hard stone as he tried to brace himself. The thought came to him that he had never actually looked down into the well shaft before. A surge of admiration came over him for the courage of the young wellwalker, now burning with fever in the nearby hut.
Slam! Went the door behind Wudrick as he raced through the Center House entryway and up the stairs. Seeing the secret panel ajar, he called out in a half whisper, "Sollie! Sollie!"
Sollie, who had snuck downstairs to peek out the sitting room window, dashed up the stairs behind him.
"What? What is it? What's going on?" she panted excitedly, for never before had she seen such a look on Wudrick’s face.
"What were you doing down there?” Wudrick demanded. "If someone should have seen you - quickly, into the attic!" he ordered.
"Perhaps, I should just leave now, if I’m upsetting you so much,” she flatly responded to the abruptness of his tone.
"No! You must stay. I have to think, but I want someone to think aloud to. Hurry, through the opening."
Sollie was filled with mixed emotions. She felt hurt by his uncharacteristic rudeness, while excited by his surprising firmness. She obeyed his commands.
Wudrick hurriedly refitted the panel behind them, then began pacing back and forth the length of the narrow hidden room. His brow was furrowed above his inwardly searching eyes as his neckless head slumped between his thick shoulders. His hands were clasped tightly together behind his back, while he continually muttered to himself.
Sollie watched and listened to him for some time. She could understand only an occasional word: lad - well - fever - cold. Finally, sounding uncharacteristically timid, she interrupted, "Does this have anything to do with CB coming here and asking for your help?"
Wudrick stopped abruptly. "You overheard our conversation?"
"Yes, much of it anyway."
"Really, Sollie, you must be more careful. What if he’d have seen you?" Wudrick reprimanded her.
"It's my job - for the rebellion,” she snapped back.”
"Oh, I wish I’d never heard the word reb ... rebl ... see, I can't even say the word. Oh, how did I ever become a part of all this?” Wudrick moaned.
Sollie was on her knees sitting back on her heels. As she leaned forward supporting herself on her hands, the large opening at the neck of her pullover fell open revealing her ample, but firm totes which hung from her chest like delicate, white puffs on a veget branch. She playfully looked up at him, cocked her head sideways, and wiggled at the hips.
As he watched her, he knew the answer. He was a co-conspirator because he loved Sollie Forbal. It really was as simple as that. For although Wudrick was a scientist and had no political point of view, he was still very much a normal male.
After a bit, he took a long, deep breath, then spoke. "The young male who goes into the well everyday is very sick - nigh unto death. Yet Fate has been indecisive whether or not to take him from this existence. He’s burning with fever, and CB has come up with a surprisingly unique idea that may save him. He thinks if the lad can be cooled down, it will quench the fire within.”
“What do you think?” Sollie asked earnestly.
“I think I know how to turn that rather radical idea into a reality,” Wudrick answered with a raised eyebrow.
"Will it really work? Will it save him?” Sollie asked.
"Huh? Oh, I don't know. The idea has its merits. I guess it could work, but it's never been tried before - as far as I know."
"Are you going to try it?"
"I think so. I mean, after all, we'll never know whether it works or not, if we don’t at least give it a try."
"Ah ha, a rebellious act!"
"What do you mean?” Wudrick ejaculated defensively.
"I mean you, Wudrick Pulpitt, are more of a rebel than you care to admit,” Sollie jabbed as she crawled seductively on her knees toward him.
"No! No! Don’t ... oh, don't say that. I'm just - just....”
"Just about to bring to a climax the rebellion going on inside of me?" she purred, as her warm hand reached under his pullover and caressed his chubby, naked legs.
For the next few moments Wudrick forgot he was a scientist - almost. Quickly, he jumped back, out of Sollie's reach and darted to the entrance of the hidden room and began to remove the panel. "I have decided to tell CB my thoughts on the matter. I must go quickly, while there is still life in the lad. This experiment, if successful, could save many more lives in the future."
Sollie sat back on her feet again and gave him an understanding smile. At times, she didn't know which was the greater within her: her admiration for his intelligence, or her lust for his short, round body. She did know she received far less of either than she desired.
Wudrick left Center House in the turmoil common to the human condition when one is torn between one’s mind and emotions - and the mind gets the upper hand. In fleeing from Sollie’s presence, he, again, left her alone in the hidden room. Instead, of going to Bourg's hut directly to find CB, Wudrick circled around behind Center House and disappeared among the tall veget stalks of The Great Northern Veget Field a short distance to the north.
Sollie's sultry appeal had not been lost on him. It had stimulated him in a way not easily dismissed. Among the tall veget plants, he took the matter well in hand, dismissing it as swiftly as he could so the experiment on the young male would have his full attention.
While Wudrick relieved his distraction, CB left the well and entered Bourg's hut where he found him still slumped over in the chair beside Tyter's cot. The big male didn’t hear the caretender enter, so he didn’t have time to blow his nose and dry his eyes before CB was standing beside him, handing him a small cloth square. CB’s father had often said that the simple act of handing out one of those little squares was the closest he ever came to healing anyone.
Bourg was embarrassed by this gentle act of compassion, but reluctantly, he took the cloth. With his head turned away, he quickly rubbed his eyes and blew his nose. For Bourg the expression of such raw emotion stripped him naked. The added intrusion by someone else while he was in such a state made him painfully vulnerable to even the kindest of gestures. After clearing his throat, he spoke.
"He's really sick, isn’t he? I mean really sick! How much longer before he....” Bourg halted. Wordless emotions flooded his entire being, for the question itself was unspeakable.
All CB could do was put his hand on the big male's thick shoulder and change the subject. "It's almost ration time and I don't see wellkeeper Loden at the well."
Bourg let out a gasp. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed CB by both shoulders, and faced him squarely. "Loden's not at the well?” he roared. “Not at the well! Did he bring the young female up safely? Is she alright?"
"I - I don't know,” CB answered, startled, as anyone nose to nose with an irat
e bear would have been. Bourg's eyes were red and wet from crying. Snot clung to his mustache and drool ran through his beard. CB thought the grip of the giant would crack his shoulder blades. His black bag fell to the floor as his legs buckled beneath him.
Bourg’s wide-eyed glare didn’t seem to notice the painful grimace on CB’s face. Instead, his dark eyes were peering over CB’s shoulder at Tyter who had again begun to thrash about on the cot. Then, abruptly, those dark blue ocular stones focused deeply into CB’s glazed pale greys, as his grip on the caretender’s shoulders tightened. CB let out a plaintive groan as Bourg growled, "I don't want my son to suffer anymore. I’d rather Fate take him from me now than have him horribly suffering on and on. Do you understand me?”
CB was in such agony he hardly understood a word and it showed in the painful expression on his face.
“Do you understand me, caretender?” Bourg snarled and lifted CB to his tiptoes.
This time CB was somehow able to stay focused on Bourg’s words, and he did understand. Apparently, this too showed by the expression on his face, for Bourg’s demure softened. “Good! Now, I’ll go tend to the well. You tend to my son - and, by veget, may we both do our jobs well." With those parting words, Bourg released CB and barged out through the front door of the hut.
Upon release, CB sank to his knees, and began taking several shallow breaths, for he found it most difficult to take even one deep one. Somewhat recuperated he crawled to the chair beside Tyter’s cot and lifted himself into it. Through his own pain CB could see Tyter thrashing about. Instinctively, he reached down and slowly pulled the cover over the lad, whose long painful groans muted the caretender’s own.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 23