Waylaid in Redro: Thus Spoke Chorkie Walker Too

Extract from WAYLAID IN REDRO: Thus Spoke Chorkie Walker Too, by K.R. Allcoat ...

A curious mixture of influence between Friedrich Nietzsche and Samuel Butler, published at a reduced price on Amazon in beta mode. Awaiting your feedback! (Extracts from the first book in the series are also available on ABC Tales).

2 Of the Way

The first hiker’s refuge that Chorkie Walker was brought to was at a place where many trails crossed. Che went in the bar and was drawn to a group of hikers who had gathered over wine to share tales of their travels. Chorkie climbed silently onto the table and listened in for a while, hearing many foreign accents all speaking English.

Chorkie Walker remained unnoticed, until seizing on a moment’s pause in the conversation. Che walked across the table, stamping in the bowl of a teaspoon, its handle moulded like the hilt of a sword.

Spinning into the air in slow motion, it crashed against the neck of a near-empty wine bottle with a cling, and fell into a near-empty glass with a clang, shattering it and letting forth its blood red contents to spatter then drip on the white table cloth. In the cold gasp of silence that followed, Chorkie Walker said, 'Hear me!'

The bartender, alerted by the sound of breaking glass, turned to look, his jaw falling open, and with all eyes transfixed on the speaker, Chorkie Walker climbed onto the napkin holder and spoke thus:

Lo, what fullness is around us! Wine flows freely, and out of the mist of superabundance, it is a delight to look out upon the Way to Santiago de Compostella.

Once did people say ‘God’ when they looked out upon the Way.

Now it is for other reasons that people choose this path.

Some set out with the end already in view, just a box to tick before they die, perhaps to challenge themselves or to impress their peers.

Others set out with an open mind and heart, and offer themselves to what befalls.

For most, God is no more than a conjecture, and the new religion is science.

But I say to you that science too is a conjecture, a simplification, a compromise. It reveals only one of many possibilities, never any absolute truth.

I say there is another path, one that I wish to share with you, that is less about the end, and more about the beginning.

It is the destiny of every sentient being to find balance, but without solid foundation balance will never be found.

I speak no doctrine and mean no disrespect to any that are precious to you. I invite you only to listen to my wisdom, and consider it, so that you may make your own Way.

To become a balanced being you must set all your familiarities to one side and conceive of yourself from a different perspective. Not to refute, but to reinforce your essence, by cutting to the quick of your dis-equilibrium with the sword of truth.

I bear the sword that would cut keen between the cracks in the Cheops pyramid to reveal the absolute truth that is within you, pure and unfettered by artifice and the games played by others.

I want to share my truth, that you will find your balance, not as my follower, but as my porter.

I seek a secure escort. I will share the wisdom that I have to offer - we can talk as much or as little as you like - and I will pose for photos on demand. Now and again, I will walk, perhaps when you take rest. Now and again, I will satisfy the need in me to share my wisdom with those we meet.

Think of me as a small burden to carry on your pilgrimage: I don't need feeding, or anywhere special to sleep. We can find out together what it means to walk a pilgrim's route to its destination, one step at a time.

But be aware, that whilst I am caring and charming, I am no fairy tale. I may be harsh with my words. I may speak my truth without concern for your sensibilities, but I will always hear your truth with open arms and a smile.

So, who is with me? Who among you will open their heart to a new experience? Who wants to know what it is to be a balanced being?

Thus spoke Chorkie Walker.

The novelty of Chorkie Walker’s monologue wore off when che began asking for help, so the noise from the rest of the bar was already back to normal by the time che had finished speaking, and the bartender had his hands full dealing with fresh orders.

The hikers had listened intently however, and now they talked among themselves about their plans for the Way as if Chorkie Walker wasn’t there. Ultimately, several admitted to a desire to walk the camino in the months to come, but only one showed much enthusiasm to help and with very little delay. Chorkie reeled her in with ches concern for her sunburned face and ches winning smile, so a deal was struck.

She would carry Chorkie whenever che could not keep up and che would be on call for three photo shoots per day, all the way to Santiago. She very much wanted to hear what Chorkie Walker had to say, but reserved the right to walk in peace if she did not want to hear ches words.

Her name was Isabelle, a French mademoiselle in her thirties. Che offered to converse with her in ches 'francaise non tempéré', but she insisted they speak English, for she needed to hone it for work, and 'j'adore yoore accent' she said in crudimentary franglais.

'Just as well', spoke Chorkie Walker. 'The sword of truth says more in the pause of a master bearer, than in all the fumbling fracas of a novice parlant.'

As a matter of fact, Isabelle wasn’t ready to begin her pilgrimage just yet, but needed to attend to some personal matters in the east, some bus rides away. She would be back here in six days’ time.

Chorkie asked if she might be passing a library on her way to the bus station.

After checking the map on her phone, Isabelle claimed there was a library near one of the interchanges. She would have time between buses to take the bear to the door and catch her connecting bus, assuming it ran on time, and che would have four days before she came back.

 

3 Of the Land of Culture: Into Redro

The buses ran very much on time, so Isabelle carried Chorkie Walker to the top of the steps outside the library doors. Chorkie insisted that she not take che in, concerned that she might miss her connection.

They agreed to meet in the same place four days later, around the same time, when she would be at liberty to catch a later bus in case che was delayed. They said their farewells and Chorkie Walker was left alone in a strange town.

Che looked around and saw no dogs, on leads or otherwise, and no cats. That was comforting, and che took up position beside the entrance, waiting for the opportunity to cut into the foot traffic.

It was a quiet morning and very few people were going into the library, but after five minutes or so, che saw an opportunity and followed a man through heavy wooden doors into a vestibule, divided by a line of monoliths. The man had passed between them without breaking stride, eliciting only a blip.

Chorkie stood uncertain. They were unmarked, grey metal towers. They moaned on a frequency too rarefied for any human to hear, but one which sent shivers through to Chorkie’s rucksack. Might they move?

Che waited, counting to fifty and finding to ches relief that they didn’t. Che counted a second time, but again all was still.

Che suspected they were some sort of electronic surveillance detectors. Che had learnt of such things but never been in a public building of this size before. They would be configured to the size of human adults and children, not small bears. And even then, they should do no harm. Courage overcame doubt and che proceeded, keeping close to the base of one of the monoliths.

Che passed without incident, and ran across the vestibule to wait by the inner doors, similar in age and style to the outer doors.

No one came in from outside, but someone did eventually come out from inside, crossing quickly to and between the monoliths. They left the door wide open behind them, not for Chorkie, but knowing it would slowly self-close. It gave Chorkie the chance che needed to skip inside.

As the door sealed tightly closed with a final kick, the electronic hum from the monoliths disappeared, only to be replaced with the common enough sound emitted by computers and monitors. By crossing the floor to a railing, che looked out from a mezzanine upon a sea of silent bookshelves, a few silent browsers among them.

Wasting no time, che stepped through the railings and jumped down onto the parapsychology section. Che found what che was looking for in a neighbouring section and settled down to begin a four-day marathon.

The evening came. All the people left and che fell asleep where che was.

The following morning, Chorkie Walker woke with the dawn, as was ches custom. Che used the quiet hours of natural sunlight to investigate current affairs among the periodicals. Che was particularly keen to get among the New Scientists, but found no trace of them. There weren’t very many periodicals of any kind in any European language that che recognised and che had enough to catch up on without learning a new language.

Che kept a low profile during the daytime, filling gaps in ches knowledge among the books, in a mix of languages che already knew, and used the following evening to get among the returns which had yet to be re-shelved. There were sure to be some newer titles of all genres among them.

On the second morning, Chorkie Walker woke with the dawn, as was ches custom. There was very little light coming through the roof windows, so che climbed the stairs to the top of the building to soak up what che could.

The sun was breaking through the cloud by the time che reached it, and a ray of golden light lit up half the floor. Che elected to stay there all morning, guessing there would be fewer visitors up here. The shelves revealed books of less interest, so Chorkie relaxed, bathing in the full light where it fell on an empty lounge space.

Che was disturbed from ches meditation by the sound of a child’s rattle. Chorkie’s eyes fell on the front of a pushchair peeking out from behind a bookshelf. Che stood up, ready to move on, expecting the guardian of the child to appear soon.

But before che could move, two teenage girls wearing identical bright yellow figure-hugging one-piece outfits, with randomly cut circles of skin exposed, rounded another corner and came to sit down on the sofa opposite. Che smiled and looked back and forth between them. They raised their hands to their mouths at the sight of the little bear, surprised, or stifling laughter, che could not tell.

Chorkie remained silent, uncertain whether talking was sanctioned in the library, until the girls stood up and scurried away.

Che looked back to where the pushchair was, and saw that it was gone. Relieved, Chorkie remained where che was, for the light was invigorating.

Chorkie’s eyes glazed over and che lost track of time, but it was only a few minutes before che heard a young female voice urging someone on.

Che refocussed and saw a man in a dark uniform. Che could not see the girls, but the glow from their outfits somehow radiated around him like an aura.

He spoke softly in a language that Chorkie was unaccustomed to, or perhaps with an accent in a language that Chorkie barely recognised. He seemed to be asking for some kind of identification.

‘I am Chorkie Walker,’ che answered. ‘I am here to learn and to study, but I was just enjoying some sunshine. Isn’t it a beautiful day?’

The man clearly didn’t understand. He said something else and took out a pair of gloves and put them on, all the while staring at the bear. Then, in a quick move, he reached down to scoop up the little bear in one hand, before leaning down to pick up a box from the floor.

Chorkie Walker was tossed into it through an opening to land in a pile of straw. The door closed shut and was locked with a clip on the outside.

END EXTRACT