Short Stories

(Completed but not published.)

The Judge

by

Mark Fairchild

© Mark Fairchild, 1977, Lincoln, Nebraska, USA

 * * *

Back in . . . oh . . .  the 19th century, there lived a man who had never shed a tear; a Manly-Man who knew his moral compass and applied it to everyone he encountered. 

His name was Ivan Berinson. Ivan was an itinerant judge by trade, known by men of good repute as an honest man and a virtuous judge, and by numerous murders, thieves, pickpockets, adulterers, queers, rapists, and whores as “The Bleeder.” He traveled from village to village by horse, staying only long enough in any one place to discharge his duties and make friends in high places in order to ensure a comfortable future.

It so happened that on one of these trips Ivan passed into a great, dense forest that had been recently enchanted. The path he rode seemed to find no exit from the great forest. For hours he rode, until he began to doubt that he was on the proper path.

Eventually, he stopped to drink from a stream, and as he did so he seemed to hear in the distance the cry of what could only be the most fair of maidens, without a doubt in dire distress. At first, he paused, uncertain of what to do, but soon he realized that as he was a judge he held the ponderous responsibility of setting a virtuous example for other men. He set out on foot through the forest to rescue this as-yet-unknown maiden.

Quickly the voice seemed to grow nearer and nearer so Ivan knew he was moving in the right direction, but soon the situation was reversed. The nearer he came the further away he seemed to be, “Surely some scum is carrying her away, he thought, and with this thought, he grew even more determined to overcome the unmet foe.

But, alas! Fate labored against poor, brave Ivan. The cries died out, and Ivan was forced to give up his chase. He looked around and realized two things: he was lost, and night was falling.

Now Ivan was a reasoning man. Panic touched his well-groomed mind only briefly. He looked around and gathered his wits.

He could plainly see that there were no landmarks visible to tell him where he was in relation to where he wanted to be. It was also quite plain that fate was working against him. Since he could under no circumstances find his way back before darkness overcame him, he decided to familiarize himself with his immediate surroundings while the light revealed them and then settle down to sleep.

It was when he awoke the next morning that Ivan first began to suspect that all was not as it appeared. Upon opening his eyes he discovered he was not in the same place as he had been the night before. Quickly he closed his eyes again and thought. Can this be? Perhaps I am just seeing the place from a different angle. But . . . but no, my head is on a boulder – there was none there last night. And that fragrance in the air. No, it is not the same place.”

He resolved to raise himself to a sitting position before reopening his eyes, not for any good reason other than a touch of flair. A hint of the dramatic is always good in fashionable society. He had to maintain his stature and dignity even under such circumstances. 

So he sat, eyes closed, bordering on a subtle panic, trying to prepare himself to react with dignity to whatever he found facing him—when the time came to see it. 

Just then he felt a sharp sting on his calf, and all in a moment his eyelids sprung open and the image of a nine-inch elf, chest puffed out and head cocked saturated his optic nerves. His right hand crossed himself and his mouth muttered “Lord preserve us.” 

The elf straightened his neck and passed a tiny hand across in front of himself, body swaying, to see if Ivan’s eyes moved at all. The elf then turned and walked a few paces away, turned again, signaled for Ivan to follow, and paced off into a path in the forest undergrowth.

And Ivan? With his impeccable logic he decided that, as fate was obviously not with him no good could come of following non-existent creatures into paths that did not exist mere hours before. Perhaps then the antithesis of going the other way would be advisable. 

He followed his advice, which was as fate intended and the elf, desired.

Ivan walked into a bit of truly enchanted topography. A great oak palace door soon filled his vision, a door which, as his clenched fist struck, fell gently open to reveal to his ears the dying echo of his action. And to his eyes the prostrate forms of two guards. For a moment he stood perfectly still, pupils cradled on the left half of his lowered eyelids as innumerable synapses snapped.

Eventually, he placed his head in the door and called out, “Hello!” Just echoes in the great dank halls replied. Hmm. He strolled cautiously in and knelt first by one guard, then by the other, checking for signs of life. There were pulses and breath, but no consciousness that he could tell. They seemed to be asleep. No, more than sleep – they appeared to be hibernating, and he could not awake them.

Availing himself of the slumbering guard’s weapons (the situation held nuances of some manly adventure) Ivan softly strolled further into the depths of the palace, which looked more like a castle from the inside. 

He felt very much a born adventurer, seeming to know exactly where the adventure lay, not once noticing that he was following the only lit path available. It led down a corridor, up a stairwell, down another corridor, up yet another stairwell, and thence into the palace part of the palace-castle. This was a dwelling built not for defense and strategies of war, but for the luxury and pomp of some warrior noble. All about lay the slumbering bodies of servants and courtly people. 

For hours he wandered about the palace trying to decide where he was, what had happened to these people to produce such a bizarre spectacle, and what he could do about it. The mere fact of the time consumed in this exploration firmly convinced Ivan that this was the palace of no minor noble.

Eventually, Ivan found the body of the lord of the palace/castle. He was a large man with chiseled features and a muscular build. He had obviously fallen on his bed when whatever catastrophic event had occurred. As he stood by the bed turning the situation over in his mind, he heard a voice behind him say, “Ivan . . .”

Ivan spun on his toes to face an old acquaintance, the elf from earlier in the morning.

“I see you found your way,” said the elf from his mantlepiece across the room, a congratulatory hint in his voice. Ivan did not reply but looked around the room. At every door, every window, by every avenue of escape stood at least three elves armed with rose stems. Long stems. Thorny stems. Seemingly harmless enough nonetheless.

“Don’t you wonder what has happened here, Ivan,” inquired the spokesman elf.

“Rather obvious, is it not” stated Ivan.

“To some, perhaps, but not to you,” said the elf.

“’But not to me.’ I see,” said Ivan as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you explain it then?”

“Very cooperative of you to ask,” said the elf.

“It is my business to be inquisitive.”

“Sorry, but this is not meant to be an inquisition,” said the elf.

“I did not mean it that way,” countered a slightly ruffled Ivan.

“Perhaps not. But just ‘perhaps’.” That’s another story.

“That man there beside you is a king and a very powerful one at that.”

“Nonsense. He would be my king, and I know for a fact that this is not my king,” said Ivan.

“Do you,” asked the elf. “Do you even know where you are?” He might as well have added ‘Touché’. 

“To continue, this particular king is wed to a very particular queen, whom you may have noticed is absent from the scene. Her absence is not totally voluntary. She has been whisked off by the intrigue of a jealous rival of the king, a sorcerer from the south. This sorcerer cast a spell on the land, to the effect that all were overcome by a deep slumber. Only one thing can dispel this slumber. Do you begin to recognize the scenario?”

Indeed, Ivan did recognize it, much to his ill ease. 

He dare not admit it, however. He only said as he arose nervously from the king’s side, “No, I don’t believe I do,” trying to maintain a composed stance. “And I really do not know why I am standing here listening to an elf when I don’t even believe in elves.”

“Only you can cast off this spell,” said the elf, “by kissing the king.”

“I must be on my way now,” said Ivan, as he thought out loud to himself. I am lost and must find my way back to my horse.” He started for the door. Imagine! Talking with elves! Ha!

“It is useless to try to deny the situation, Ivan,” said the elf. 

“The king is real, the spell is real, we are real, and we will not let you leave until the task is performed.”

Ivan simply ignored the elf and moved toward the door. As he approached, the three attendant elves raised their thorny twigs above their heads and thrust their palms out before them. The result was that Ivan was thrust flat on his back by some unseen force. He sat up and wagged his head.

“You see what I mean.” asked the elf.

Ivan looked around, and as his vision fell upon each route of escape the attendant elves raised their prickly wands above their heads in warning.

“Perhaps’” said Ivan.

“Your task is clear then,” asked the elf.

I suppose so,” said Ivan. With a sigh he began to rise. “I suppose it’s not that bad. After all I used to kiss my father as a child. And this is a king.”

“And you must kiss him on the mouth,” added the elf, seeing that elaboration would be necessary. Ivan froze for a moment, then unfroze to continue on his way, like a proud but nonetheless whipped dog, to get the whole thing over with. “It helps that he’s asleep,” he muttered.

“Hmm . . . we’ll see,” said the elf.

Ivan walked slowly back to the bed in a rather abstracted manner and paused. He then knelt on the edge of the richly embroidered covering, quickly pecked the monarch on the mouth, sprang to his feet and assumed a somewhat embarrassed and martyred air.

The elf gave a clearly audible sigh. “Don’t you know how to kiss, my friend?”

Ivan looked down at the king. Nothing happened; the king did not so much as twitch a muscle. Ivan turned to the elf, uncertain whether he had been made a fool of or, God forbid, was a fool to begin with.

The elf asked, “Do you know nothing of enchantment? There is nothing to a kiss if nothing is meant by it.”

“What do you mean,” asked Ivan.

“It is not the act of kissing that will save the king, but your love for the man as displayed in the kiss. A hug might help as well.”

Exasperated, Ivan fell to his knees and placed his face in his hands. “Oh Good Lord! What am I doing here? What is this? It’s unreal. This is all so unreal!”

“Of course,” offered the elf. “We are elves, and this is an enchanted forest. Only your emotions are real, and you must find them before you can leave.”

Ivan glared at the elf, then turned his face upward rolling his eyes. 

He crossed himself three times, at which point the elf sighed and sat on a snuff box, and reclined against the wall. After meditating for a moment, Ivan arose with a new resolve and walked to a wall, sat down against it, and looked at the elf. 

The elf said, “You may wait ’til you die, but nothing will change.” Ivan, however, was determined to at least give it a try, to see if the elf was bluffing and to think things over.

The tableau remained basically unchanged for several hours until night began to fall. Ivan finally arose, and went to the fireplace—the mantelpiece elf remained still except to raise his thorn-laden twig over his head, just in case. Ivan looked at him, pulled out a match, and said, “for light and warmth,” and set about lighting a fire. When the fire had been set he took a bit of charcoal from the previous fire and walked to the center of the room. 

Thereupon he drew a large pentagram enclosed in a circle on the floor, placed the charcoal at his feet, stood up, and after crossing himself began to say in a loud voice,

“Oh, spirit, Dantalian, I shall curse thee by the power that has been imparted to me by the Lord, by Jehovah Tetragrammatton; by the Creator of Heaven, of Earth and of Hell, by the all-Powerful Lord of all things; thou art cursed.” 

At this point he ventured a glance at the elf to see if there was any effect. The elf simply yawned and continued to take in the unexpected floor show. 

Ivan went on, 

“I herewith consign thee to the Bottomless Pit! The pit filled with” . . . etc., etc. . . .”In the Name of Tetragrammaton, Anexhexeton, Primematum! Thou wilt be forced O spirit Datalian into that Fire, and eternally consigned and held there, forever and ever. Amen.”

This time when he looked the elf was quietly scratching his back with his Rose stem, apparently having grown bored with Ivan’s curse. Ivan stood, stupefied. He looked around the room. Nothing had changed, except that the reality of it was more real than ever.

Suddenly the courageous adventurer was conquered. Lost. No more conveniently lit corridors. He had to find his way in the darkness. He fell in a pile of tears. At last, he said, “Alright . . . what do I do?”

The elf stood up and stretched his legs. “You don’t know?”

“I’m supposed to kiss him. But that’s not enough; I’m supposed to love him; but he’s a man. He’s a king. And if that’s not enough, he’s a stranger! 

What do I do?”

“Well,” said the elf, “first of all get up, walk over there and sit beside him.” Ivan was cooperative. 

“Now look at him. Tell me what you see.”

“A king, asleep. Un-naturally.”

“Wrong,” said the elf. “That may be what you see, but that is not what is before you. Try again.”

“A man.”

“Wrong again,” said the elf, not without some compassion. “Look closer.”

Ivan looked at the monarch quizzically for a time, finally shrugged, and said, “If he’s not a king and not a man, then what is he? What am I supposed to see?”

“A human,” answered the elf. “One of your own kind.” He then paused to let it sink in a bit. “One-of-your-own-kind. Do you know what that means?”

“It sounds like a proverb or something.”

“If he is one of your own kind, then we can be agreed that you have certain things in common, right?”

“Yes?”

“Then you can know something of him by knowing something of yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Then look at yourself, Ivan. What do you feel?”

“Confused,” said Ivan after a little thought.

“Frightened?” queried the elf.” In a way,” said Ivan.

“Of not being able to get out of here,” asked the elf. This threw Ivan; his mind spun for a moment He realized suddenly that he was no longer intent on getting out. That was no longer the problem. The problem had become that of trying to grasp and understand his own emotions.

“No,” he said.

“Of what then?”

He had to think on this. Many thoughts caught in his mind. He pursued them and they branched and branched until he was lost. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“Is that perhaps what you are afraid of? That you don’t know? That when all is said and done you might be nothing more than a child trying to cope with the encounters of life? And that when you realize this you find yourself a child in a man’s body. You realize that no one knows you are there and you need to reach out to one of your own kind for reassurance that you are not alone? Are you not frightened of the some-vague-thing that tells you, you cannot reach out to that child on that bed because it wears the form and countenance of a man?”

“Perhaps,” blurted Ivan. “Perhaps. What you say may be true, but I know nothing of this man. What if he is not aware of the child in himself?”

“Place your hand on his cheek,” said the elf. “Feel the warmth. He is alive, and helpless. One of your own kind, with your limitations, capable of all human emotions, dreams, and fears.”

“Now I will tell you, he is fully conscious. “

“Ivan snapped his hand away. “You mean he knows what has been going on?”

“Yes. Everything. And I can assure you he is in just the quandary that you are. Here is a king, and a proud man who is helplessly spread out on a bed, to remain there until his body rots away unless you kiss him because you want to let him know that he is not alone; in his fear or in his struggles with life. Oh! How quickly and earnestly you would do it if that were a woman there before you! But you will because you do see that the child in him is neither male nor female, but human. One of your own kind.”

And Ivan kissed the king. The enchantment lifted, the elves vanished and the king opened his eyes, in which Ivan saw tears welling up. A voice shattered the moment, “my Lord! Shall I call the guards?!”

Then Ivan saw it; the king was faced with a choice. 

He could either behead Ivan in order to save the respect of his court and therefore his power; or save Ivan and loose his power.”

Ivan blacked out.

————

When he came to he heard a voice saying, “Your Honor. Your Honor? Your Honor! Are you alright?”

Ivan opened his eyes, gathered his wits, and replied, “Yes bailiff—just the heat. Where were we?

“You were about to pass judgment in this case of Sodomy.”

The End