The Blue Knight, leaning through the deep crenelations of the fortress city walls, looked out and contemplated the exploding handheld devices, smoke flowers in the landscape. It was a Wednesday, maybe. What next, poisoned fruit? Trained kamikaze rats?
I know that I am prone to bouts of sadness, but this nefarious building of handy devices with an explosive content is the most depressing human endeavour, ever, He spoke to his partner, the Blue Woman Knight.
She Blue Knight listened quietly and then made hugging with him. Which was unusual in daylight.
I guess it’s always been this way, I’ve read the histories, He continued, I had just hoped, I suppose. Was I just pretending with one eye closed? The world has always, in unequal and varying degrees Fahrenheit, raged.
Always disguised, always hurting, giving a brave face, always a wry grin with a sharp edge. I can’t see it, I don’t want it. Where is my inner wall? I feel exposed. Can’t we just hide? It’s just too big, final countdown and no returns.
You tell me.
Today the not fun has taken over and the fun has become transparent and wispy. Will someone explode my shoes today or will they wait till tomorrow, nothing to laugh at at all.
The flip of Hate is not Love but Kindness, Love is a doing word, The Blue Knight concluded, head in hands.
His head lifting, Then I must embark, with your blessing dear one, upon a Quest, in the true way that we hold. I shall pass through the scrub lands. I shall wrap the legs of my horse in coarse linen, to protected from the sharp thorn, I shall cherish him. I shall wear my finest blue armaments, with blue pennants upon the lance. My hunting dogs with watch my stirrup pass and follow, no rabbits will be harmed. The silent wind shall be my companion.
I shall sleep in my pavilion with covers of fur, lit poorly by guttering candles. In the mornings I shall drink water from the well and heed the warnings of its voices, they shall guide me. I shall defend the innocent from harm, the hungry shall be fed and thirsty will join me at the well. The forest shall encompass me, it’s clearings my boudoir, the trees my companions, the sun and stars painted on a high ceiling.
I shall carry an armament of many, with weight, sharp points and edges. Chopping, throwing, bashing, launching and thumping will be my defence against. Especially now that guns have been controlled and only those who have need might apply. A barrel of dried figs, two dozen bread rolls and seven packets of dried pasta will make my kitchen. My bed, a rolled yoga mat.
And what goal, what end place, what prize will you go aquesting for my dear? asked the Blue Woman Knight.
I shall endeavour to discover the finest, the most elevated, the most delicious jam, confiture, jelly or sweet fruity condiment that has ever been, by man or more probably, by woman. Surely this can give comfort to the children when their fast is broken.
But first I must go back in time to discover the ideal Jar, Pot or Container within which to confine this epic sweetness.
Containers have only just been invented. Previously and into ago, in the times of our mothers, the fruit compote would slip through our fingers and make indelible marks on our trouser legs and the arms of comfortable sofas. Efforts to contain were first attempted with leaves and twigs, inspired by the delicate nest of a wren, high in the crook of a branch or the wheel arch of an abandoned car. Then stones, worn hollow by the movements of the waves over a geological age, whilst unrecognisable creatures look on, were collected at the sea’s edge. Innovation came with the spinning of coil pots in fine mud, but it was impossible to see what was contained within, and the sticky label was as yet a distant glimmer of hope. Was it a delicious sweet and fruity compound? piquant and floral, or was it an unpleasant mixture of spice and semolina, concocted in play, by the granddaughter of a chef? The pottery receptacle option was obviously discarded. Leathern sachets were messy, origami paper cups transient, wooden boxes unhygienic, the holy grail singular. Scrapping jam from the floor is tiresome and the two second rule need not apply. So, as you can see, I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’m in a bit of a jam, or pickle. I shall endeavor to invent some transparent material, strong enough to contain.
A quest worthy for your many talents, said the BWK, Go to it and I shall look after the shop, try to communicate with our adolescent, woman the barricades and keep the home fires burning. If you happen to come across the method for achieving everlasting peace and hence prosperity for all, don’t pass it by, bring it home to me and I will make it useful.
If I see it, said the Blue knight, I will bring it home.
One year later, after what seemed a life time on the road. I shall sequester these southern orange fruits in this convenient cave whilst they slowly ripen, said the BK to himself before moving.
The Guardians of the Cave 