There is always a mystery, or maybe only an inconsistency, a square peg, a vexed question concerning the Lost Guardian. Lost, misplaced, wrong shape or excluded. Down the lanes, behind, under or way out on a limb, wandering, dusty foot marks in the deserted. Of course she couldn’t make it, a no show. I’ll take a rain check, She said. A day off, a holiday, public or private. Insist on severance pay of course, maternity and paternity leave well alone. Full benefits and conditions apply.
Of course we understand, shrug, looking unconvinced. Fourteen called, thirteen attend the first meeting of the Guardians of the Cave. Thirteen attended, fine, only one absent, couldn’t make it apparently, family emergency. Does a baby qualify? Of course they understood, but would she turn up later? Would they accept her? Later, in the fullness, on reflection, when the dust has settled, when the baby is asleep. Don’t make a sound. I’ll just shut my eyes for a moment.
Meeting One, bullet points, rules and structure, hierarchy and command post, line management and skills base. A board room with shiny table, water jug and glasses, no, an isolated gully, scrubland and withered grasses, sun in recess. All forever set in a concrete block of history on that gloomy, quiet evening, that first meeting, there in the gully.
Now, here she comes, babe in arms, and there she goes. Me too, I can help! Don’t leave me out, don’t turn your backs and look the other way, stop it.
Thirteen Guardians present, forever and exclusive, the summation, completion and whole of the group. The Shepherdess, Vivainne Desegur, Constance, The Blue Knight, The Blue Woman Knight, Sphinx, Sheba, Lost, eight names in coded associated, six names hidden in a book, book hidden.
Baby arrives, hello. Lost Guardian does the business and then, late for the first meeting by some days or days and days. Weeks later, when she surfaces from baby world, she’ll want to join the Guardians. Let me In, I want to play. Contact resumes, It is I. Some pro, Hello, come in, some not so much, Go away.
I was summoned, she said, I was there at the outset, I am the Shepherdess’s Mother for goodness’ sake. And she says, I can, she say, Yea, so suck it up. A Guardian I shall be.
There should be a flag or pennant, She says, If there is I’ll wave it. A logo and a song, stirring but meaningless, with big words in a row, if there is I’ll sing it. Add a slick logo, all tricky marketing and attractive lines. Just leave out the cheer leaders, I can’t get on with cheer leaders, I don’t know them. Who made up ‘We alone and no one but us,’ it’s rubbish. How about something stirring, heart strings and so, in Celtic, Swahili or Urdu that I can tattoo in a secret place.
So, she went and did it, carried the torch and belted out the anthem. Lost or found, if she knew it, she wasn’t letting on, confidence can cut a lot of mustard.
Thirteen or Fourteen, two answers, both are right.
The Guardians of the Cave 