I. The beginning of a journey
ONCE UPON A TIME, in a far away, rather beautiful land comprised of rolling hills and valleys strewn with crystalline lakes and flowing rivers, a brawny young man of a dark, olive complexion, strong in build and fortitude, luminous in mind and blessed with a cosmic cleverness of observation and critique, embarked on a divine journey to discover, learn and record the ways of the people of this Land of O’Sullivan.
The young scribe, known from where he came as Alexandre deTokerland, began his journey at the border of this great kingdom, scaling a once very active, but now little travelled mountain highway that split the lofty peaks that marked the borders of this land.
As he climbed, his fascination with the initial beauty of O’Sullivan grew as high as the heavily wooded ridges he was climbing. He felt that the lofty beauty and tranquility that surrounded him were truly a good prophecy of a bountiful and superior culture of beauty, harmony and tolerance awaited him.
Reaching the top of a ledge, he then stood transfixed by the site of a valley comprised of a small village with church steeples and neatly arranged streets, bordered by a great swamp that seemed to stretch far into the horizon. Breathing in the fresh, poignant air, Alexandre, a man capable of transcribing volumes of written words, but paradoxically of verbalizing few spoken coherent remarks, uttered: “Holy Shit, what a wikked view bro.”
And he then continued his hike now into a valley that spring day marked by a clear blue sky with blinking puffy white clouds, following the pointed turns that defined a rather sharp decline until he reached the flatness of the valley, and he continued up what became the village’s main thoroughfare until reaching a crossroads situated at the beginning of a rise of another mountain, where he found a shop of convenience to stop and rest.
Before entering the shop, Alexandre turned back toward whence he came. He oversaw a neatly ordered village that had a variety of stores and homes and that brimmed of commerce and gracious village natives conversing among one another on the street.
Thirsty after his initial trek into the O’Sullivan wilderness, Alexandre entered the way station of convenience and was greeted immediately by the smell of fresh brewing java. He grabbed his goblet from his hiking bag and helped himself to the brew, and went to sit down in one of a number of seats that lined the side of the establishment.
As he sat, Alexandre found himself facing an extremely big muscular, rather despicable man, wearing an oversized brimmed hat, a grayish garb highlighted by a plum bind tied around the top of his blouse. The man had a very clean shaved, shiny face that were highlighted by piercing deep blue eyes and very blond, almost whitish, short shorn hair, a look that Alexandre did not recall ever seeing before in his travails of his home county.
“Outsider, where do you come from and what is your business in this village?” he asked Alexandre.
Alexandre, suddenly very uncomfortable and intimidated, averted eye contact with this nasty man, instead looking down at his goblet and then taking a long, drawn out loud sip of his Java.
Standing up and coming next to Alexandre, the giant leaned over him and continued: “Outsider, you would be wise to answer me for I am a protector of my lord’s land, the borders of the region of O’Sullivan and the thoroughfares of this county and no one appears to this place without proper introduction and purpose, and without providing recompense and acquiescence to be here.”
Next: Alexandre responds to the Inquiry