That Which Thumps in the Stump

I could tell you all the secrets of the universe. If I did, they'd blow your mind…literally; so I'm not gonna. I have a responsibility, you see, to keep people like you from knowing too much for your wee little cognitions. Only people who have trained their minds rigorously for years can handle the secrets I could tell, and I can see from here that your mind is as flaccid as overcooked noodle. What I can do, however, is tell you a story of a man who did learn the secrets of the universe. Sound good? Here we go!

Once upon a time when the world was young (just this last Sunday, in fact), I was out frolicking amongst the daisies in the field betwixt my house and the Great Wooded Forest. It was only a wooded forest, not a metalled forest or a plasticked forest (don't get me started on the gassed and watered forests of the far east), but still dangerous to those who don't know the secrets of the universe. I was frolicking, I say, when I heard a small reedy cry coming from deep in the forest. Now, I'm not one to turn away from a person in need, but I had serious frolicking to attend to! I can't just abandon my frolicking for just anything! I resolved to ignore the plea and continue with my business. The cry came again, more strongly this time, and the vibe had officially been ruined. I sighed prodigiously and turned toward the sound. When I found the inconsiderate rascal that had interrupted my morning frolic…oh, they would regret ever making so much as a peep!

Grumbling, I stomped under the thick canopy of trees. Now normally, stomping in the forest is strongly discouraged. There are many things in the forest that will find a stomper. None of those things have the gumption to take on someone who knows the secrets of the universe, such as I, so I stomped on. After a few minutes of stompage, I heard the cry again, quite close this time, and so I rushed to investigate. There I saw a man, barely so, fighting off a legion of tiny figures swarming him. Gnomes. You've probably heard of gnomes, little guys with red hats and white beards who are basically inquisitive little hobbits. These are from a less-cozy universe. These crazed kleptomaniacs have green beards, first of all, and they don't wear hats. They rove the Great Wooded Forest in frenzied little packs. If they happen upon you, they will not hesitate to swarm you, trying to steal everything on your left; socks, shoes, gloves, kidneys, eyes, nostrils, anything they can get their grubby little hands on. I've heard rumors of gnomes that will steal stuff from the right side, but I've never seen ‘em.

Anyway, these were definitely lefty gnomes attacking this poor vagrant. He'd already lost both sock and shoe, and it looked like several attempts had already been made at his innards. I stood there for a moment with indecision, watching this poor fellow at the center of a gnomicane. He had been pretty inconsiderate to interrupt my frolicking. I'd have to make that up in the evening, and evening frolicking is never quite as good. Still…it wouldn't do to leave someone in need. That leaves a mark on the world, and I didn't feel like making up it later. I jumped into the fray. Now, you might be inclined to expect some sort of magic or something from a powerful being such as I. For many other powerful beings, you'd be correct, but I don't deal in something so mundane as magic; I deal in secrets. I can't tell you most of the secrets I know, but I can tell you the secret to defeating gnomes; cross your eyes and stare at them. Seriously, it screws their little chiral brains all up. They can't figure out left from right and they soon wander off stumbling as if they'd imbibed too much on barfly excretions. Sure enough, the gnomenado soon dissipated until it had no more power than a whirligig. I stopped staring cross-eyed when the last little green-bearded bugger stumbled off into the darkness. If you cross your eyes too much, you stay that way, or so my mother said. Once my eyes were straight, I was able to consider the damsel I'd just saved.

As I said, he was a young man, with a shock of blonde hair and a beard that had decided about half-way down his face that it just wasn't into growing in place and had wandered off. He was clearly not dressed for adventuring and the gnomes had made sure he knew it. He had lost his left shoe and sock, and all the left side of his clothing was torn and bleeding (with his blood, not its own, don't be ridiculous). Panting, he tried to stand up, failed, and plopped back to the ground like an overripe apple.

“Thank you, sir, for saving me. I daresay I would have perished if you had not intervened,” he said from the ground. I regarded him, irritated.

“You interrupted my Very Important Business for gnomes?? What kind of idiot are you?? Cross-eyed, cross. eyed. That's how you deal with them! Roots in the earth below, I'd swear you'd been born yesterday!” I yelled, not caring which forested denizens might hear.

I was just starting to build up steam for a good rant when he interrupted me (rude!) and said ever so contritely, “Oh, I'm so sorry, my good sir! I would not have called out if I had known how to defeat them. I have much to learn, I fear.”

Well, that took the wind out of my sails, let me tell you. There's nothing quite like politeness and contrition to derail a rant. I stood there gawking like a drabbit for a second before I remembered myself and muttered, “Well don't you forget it.”

He slowly stood up again, this time staying on his feet and said, “I won't bother you any more, my good sir. I'll be on my way and let you be on yours.” He began stumbling off and my better sense told me to let him go, but I was already behind schedule and I didn't want to add penance for surely causing his death, so I grabbed him by the left shoulder, accidentally making him wince.

“Nonsense, good sir! You're in no fit condition physically or mentally to be traversing the Great Wooded Forest on your own! (See? I can be charming when I want to) Come home with me and we'll get you some food and bandages, and maybe replace some of that clothing,” I said, eyeing his completely exposed left buttock (very firm and athletic, if I'm any judge).

“Oh, thank you! I will find a way to repay you, if I can. My name is Percival. Percival Witherstead the third,” he said, and waited expectantly. I didn't give him my name, and not because I'm rude (I am, but that's not the point). Names are powerful secrets that people give away far too easily. I wasn't about to just give out mine. I'm not stupid.

The silence got to an awkward length before he shrugged and leaned on me for support and followed me home. It was just getting to midday when we got back to my house, which I now realize I've never described to you. How silly of me! I live in a stump, but not the one you're picturing in your mind. The stump I live in is massive. think about a tree that grew higher than the highest mountain in some primordial age, and then got chopped down by a giant axeman. Instead of rotting, however, this stump hardened and stonified, and the rains of ages wore it down and dug myriad pathways through the stump. That's how I found it, and I made it my home. I took him in the front door and found him a room. I don't have furniture per se, but I've got lots of pillows and blankets. I laid him on a little outcropping of tree on which I'd had the foresight to make comfortable this morning (go me!). I quickly bandaged up his leg and side and gave him some clothing from my left-side stash.

“I may be late this evening, thanks to you” I told him, laying the guilt on thick, “Madge will make sure you're fed.” Madge the Badger is a magician with roots, fungi, and vegetables. I don't know how she does it. He nodded gratefully, but his eyes were already closing in sleep, so I left him to his slumber and went out to continue my business. The evening frolic is never as potent as the morning frolic which young Percival had so rudely interrupted, so it was well past midnight by the time I stumbled back into the house. There at the door, Percival was waiting for me, wide-eyed.

“What was that thumping??” he asked, a crazed look coming over his face.

“What thumping?” I asked, bewildered. “I've been out all evening, thank you for noticing.”

“The, the thumping!” He said, a puerile whine entering his voice, “‘thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump’”

“Oh, that thumping…it's nothing, don't worry!” I said, for I remembered the thumping suddenly. When you learn the secrets of the universe, the thumping leaves your consciousness, but until then, it's ever-present when you're in the stump.

“Far be it from me to beg, but I must, or I fear I shall go mad,” he said as he got down painfully onto his knees, “please tell me what it is!”

“No!” I answered, “there are many secrets in this universe that would reduce you to a mewling puddle if you knew them! The thumping is one of them!”

“Sir, I will do anything you ask, for as long as it takes, but I must know what the thumps mean,” he begged, and I understood. The secrets of the universe are seductive. Once you get it in your head to learn them, the desire never leaves. I could refuse, but this fellow would keep seeking on his own, and would eventually learn more than he could handle. If he learned under my tutelage, however, we might prevent that fate.

“Very well,” I said, and sighed heavily. I already had enough responsibilities. I didn't need what was for all intents and purposes a child following me about. “We will start in the morning. It will be long and hard, mind you (shut up, get your mind out of the gutter!), but if you stick with it, there is a chance you may be able to learn the secrets you desire without melting your skull.”

“Thank you,” he said and sighed as well, “I won't let you down!”

“Then go to bed and leave me in peace!” I said as I shooed him away. “Daddy needs to rest!”

Now, I'm not gonna bore you or me by describing in vivid detail the training that young Percival underwent. I'm not one of those storytellers. Over the next several years (or decades, I can't remember) he followed my instruction. Yes, I know I said this began last Sunday. I know the secrets of the universe! That includes the secrets of space and time, try to keep up! Anyway, he followed all my instructions minutely, even annoyingly so. I couldn't find fault with him! I could tell that the thumping kept him up every night, and I sympathized. I remember when I was young and enthralled by these terrible secrets.

Soon enough, well…soon enough when you're old as dirt, I decided he was ready. Late at night, when the throbbing was loudest, I woke him up (I say I woke him, but he was already awake) and together we followed the thumping. The thumping led us to a high room in the stump, which suddenly appeared before us (It's not magic. Please). I slowly opened the door, and inside we found nothing except a large chest. The thumping was so deafening even I could hear it, but the box was completely, deathly still. Percival looked at me, I nodded at him, and he slowly approached the chest. Almost reverently, he lifted the lid of the chest. Inside, he found…

Another, smaller chest. He looked back at me questioningly, and I nodded encouragingly to him. I was as intrigued as he was. Carefully, he lifted the smaller chest out of the larger and opened it. Six times he found a still smaller chest inside the larger, like a set of large, secretive matryoshka dolls. On the seventh one, he again looked at me, looking for some sort of confirmation. I shrugged. How should I know what to expect? I just know the secrets of the universe. I'm not God. He opened up the last chest, and a bright, burning light shown on his face from within the chest. His eyes had gone wide and his jaw slack with wonder. I sided forward and looked for myself at the secrets he had discovered.

What, you think I'm gonna tell you?? Don't be stupid. Those secrets are not for you, and I'm not taking on any new apprentices. You're just gonna have to live with not knowing. Now…thank you for the beer, it was really quite lovely, but I must be off. The daisies need my attention. Ta!