The Baker's Tale, a modern adaptation of the Miller's Tale from Chaucer's Canterbury Tale
The Baker's Prologue. When the soldier's tale was finally told, all the company, both young and old, praised it for its fine philosophy and held it fit to keep in memory
All but the Baker, who said the New Age crap would drive him to a Heineken on tap, except he had a counter-tale to tell, and needed a clear head to tell it well
Now hold on, said our host. Remember that we all drew lots. It's not your turn at bat
It's my turn, said the guru, but I swear I'd like to know the man's objections there. A counter-tale would seem a better fit than one that had no argument in it
So let him tell away. I'll take his turn, and let us see what wisdom we can learn
You'll get no wisdom here, the Baker said. Just a laugh or two to take to bed
For I shall tell a tale straight from life about a New Age guru and his wife, and how a clever student had his way with both
For now I have no more to say, but straight to my bold narrative will go. Rate it R, just so you will know
Said the host, there are no children here, but some there may be present who'd not care to hear your bit of soft pornography, nor think so humorous adultery
God forbid, the Baker said, that I should ever advocate sex on the sly
But just as soldiers well may write of those who think each hostile thought disturbs the flows of mystic consciousness through mental fields, and so aborts the unity love yields
so I, a Baker married happily, may tell of those who transgress lustily
I'm not an advocate for sin, but for the freedom tales give to be far more than just one soul immersed in just one life
So may one entail seduce the wife, and joy in what one never would enjoy, as one with all the grace of life may toy, laughing, weeping, with no consequence but pleasure in the play of words and sense
But enough of this, let's to the tale, our host will judge whether it succeed or fail
The Baker's Tale There was a guru once who taught that love was ecstasy, and ecstasy was love
Angel's love of God was ecstasy, and so ought love on earth unfettered be, for one ought never own another's heart, nor be owned by another, lest love start to curdle, just like milk too long unused, or children who too long have been abused
Love, like water, has to flow, or it will stagnate, and before long be unfit to savour, or bring one ecstasy, which is the full-fledged meaning of to be
All violence and anger, crime and sin, arose from damned up energy within
So taught this guru, also known as Fats, who wished we were as free as dogs or cats, or horses, pigeons, elephants, or geese
Fats lived these thoughts and used them well, to fleece rich followers, who wanted an excuse to have young girls, and not call it abuse
Freeing them, they said, for ecstasy, then throwing them away, conveniently. Fats also had his fill for many years, until now old, he somehow stripped his gears, and fell in love with one whom he would marry, a sixteen-year-old runaway named Carrie, who quickly tired of the fat old man, for young girls find their pleasure where they can
Now Fats, to his surprise, became obsessed with his young wife, the first that he possessed, and jealous of each look, or word, or glance, that might so much as hint of a romance
He longed for every morsel of her body, and with his passion nearly drove her dotty, kissing her and touching her all day and night
He almost never was away from her for more than half an hour's time, and then, as though suspecting some great crime, subjected her to an interrogation that ended in a desperate fornication
The thought of her in bed with other men drove him near homicide, but then he thought of it again, and yet again, as though the highest form of love were pain
In that same complex, in New Mexico, there lived a student just one floor below, a hoppy Indian who studied well the ancient arts of which the elders tell
of visions wrought by pain and long privation, and spirits summoned by deft divination, of holy words and languages unknown, and other secrets only years could hone
This Billy Sundown liked his women white, so soon as he discovered Carrie's plight, he began to plot with her how they might from the old tormentor get away, for long enough to share some mutual joy, as comes quite naturally to girl and boy
Soon he had a plan he thought might work to get the better of that jealous jerk
He came upstairs to share philosophy and mystical accounts of energy, meditation, mind control, and more that soon had fats looking on with awe at this authentic scion of the ages
heir apparent of the tribal sages, unspoiled by civilization, the genuine thing who might some inspiration to fats bring
Since he now the jealous husband played, he needed a new gimmick for his trade
Some Native American rite might do the trick, which he could put together nice and slick into a weekend workshop, after which the franchised follow-ups might make fats rich
So he listened with intense delight as Billy Sundown trotted out the trite new age versions of the age old ways his ancestors had polished all their days
There was, he said, an ancient ritual that let one join the master flow at will, involving a short stay within a womb
A womb, fats asked. Did you say a womb? A painted wooden reed one, Bill explained, hung up from the ceiling by a chain
I'll make one for you, if you like, today, and write down all the words that you must say, so that tonight you can try out the thing and tap into the roots of everything
Yes, please, fats said delighted. But what of Carrie? I can't leave her alone, you know. We're married and have to sleep together every night
Have no fear, said Bill. We'll tie her tight within her own womb, as I'll be in mine
Three hung from the ceiling in a line, a wire along which energy may flow across our spirits into worlds below
You'll be much closer to her than before. After tonight, I swear she'll love you more
That settled it, and Billy went to get three wombs from those his tribe too long had let moulder in the house of spirits gone
Actually, three crates in a barn, gussied up with glue and finger paint, some old wicker chairs, and just a faint trace of charcoal drawing on the sides
Ancient symbols drawn from long-lost tribes. And then three copies of some gobbledygook, nonsense syllables typed out to look like verses
Ancient prayers that would invite great spirits to unveil the primal light
All this did Billy bring into the room where he would have his bliss with Carrie soon
He hung the wombs from hooks with laundry rope in hopes of hoodwinking the fat old pope
Furnishing each womb with store-filled sheets, a pillow, and a bag of store-bought treats to offer to the spirits that they may the primal source of secrets give away unto the conjurer
Also there, a flashlight so that one might read the prayer while shut up in the darkened womb
And last, but certainly not least, to each tied fast, a rope ladder hanging off the side
Now all was fit for Fats to make his ride back into his future
Ancient law would buttress all that Fats would have in store for those who dabbled in the truth of being
Believing without actually seeing. Fats questioned Bill minutely of what he would need to do to feel the energy of all the universe surge through his heart
Billy told him first of all to start by offering the treats as sacrifice to those whose providence he would entice
Let the choices lie upon his chest while he was free to nibble on the rest
Then the prayer in its entirety must be chanted twelve times silently while concentrating hard on every sound
The meaning, although lost, was still around, Billy said. The spirits understood, and hearing once again those lost words would reawaken, then come down to see just who was asking for their energy
But if you lose your concentration, then you'll have to read the entire prayer again, Billy warned
As many times as you do not with your whole heart pay homage to
Once the prayer was chanted properly, one could only lie awake and see whether the ecstasy of being flowed through one's heart
As though one were a road through which the universe might move through time, each thought, each heartbeat, each sweet breath, sublime
Let's go, Fat said enthusiastically. Come on, get in. And up the ladder he began to climb, then stopped, as though just now aware that in his womb he would allow Carrie to be free for much the night, when he would never let her out of sight
Ladies first, he said, and climbed back down, motioning to Carrie with a frown, suddenly unsure of the whole thing
But Carrie sprang as though upon a spring, and was in seconds safe within her womb, swaying like a chicken in a tomb
Then Fat ascended, Billy tucked him in, put on the cover, and let the games begin
Carrie, of course, descended lickety-split, and she and Billy dove right into it, careful not to lift a leg or a head, as Fat swayed gently, just above the bed
After sacrificing the choice treats, and downing all the rest for bedtime eats, Fat took out the flashlight and the prayer, and began to chant the nonsense there, silently twelve times with concentration, knowing all too well his mute oration would not do
And so again, again he chanted in the cavern of his brain, until the soundless sound became like music long memorized, and he would never lose it, but know it till he died, its simple beauty
And when he thought he'd finally done his duty, Fat waited for the flow of energy that would at last bring him the ecstasy he had for so long sought, at the heart of being, with neither sense nor thought, unseeing seeing, unknowing knowing, all that is and ever would be flowing through him like a river
And there it was, rising from below, an energy of love no love could know, ecstasy just pouring through his heart, up from where two lovers played their part, a universal loveliness that sings of all the grace that simply being brings
And then, nothing, it was over, Fat, exhausted, fell asleep, and that was that, in his womb, suspended from his hook, while underneath him two young lovers took themselves with whispers out of Fat's bed, and out into the silent darkness fled, vanished into ordinary lives of ordinary husbands and their wives
their ecstasy too, vanished in the flow of energy that moves the world we know
When the following morning, Fat awoke, he banged his head so hard, he thought it broke
Where am I? first he wondered. Am I dead and buried? But the sharp pain in his head told him he was still alive. And then, just as his womb swung back and forth again, it all came flooding in
Help! Help! he cried. Help me out of here. I'm stuck inside. But no one came, of course. And so he squirmed and twisted in the swinging crate, and wormed his way up sideways, lifting with his shoulder the cover of the crate
Then he looked over at the other womb tombs hanging near, and said to the one next to him, My dear sweet Carrie, did you feel the ecstasy? But of course, no answer came. So he then shouted, Time to wake up, everyone. But the crate sprung motionless as stone
How do I get out of here? he yelled. He jiggled and he juggled, and propelled himself halfway, and then completely round. But from the other crates, there was no sound
And then he understood the game at last, just as the knot that held his womb tomb fast gave way, and Fats came crashing to the bed, smashing once again his aching head. Aye! he screamed, and oh! But Carrie and Bill were gone. Their crates just hung there, mute and still
Fats felt like the fool he was, and vowed, saying it a dozen times out loud, that he would let the universe just be, and live with ordinary ecstasy, like other folk who tot of to and fro, and are content to know what they don't know
And so my story ends as best it can. The one time guru, now an honest man