Return of the Sloth

The path leading to Mr. Mole's Oak tree is dusty and dry. I pause just inside the garden gate and watch the brittle leaves swirl through the flowers. The afternoon has slipped too quickly away, and with the last reddish rays of sunset spilling through the forest I find that I am late to my own dinner party.

Still I linger in the gathering shadows; it is a moment that I do not want to rush. I can hear my friend chopping vegetables inside the open door. A scratchy record is playing J'Attendrai. If only I could freeze these brief seconds where my world comes into sharp relief.

'Would you pinch some parsley on your way in?'

I smile and lean down to run my fingers through the silky herbs. I find the right sprig and pinch it off with my thumb and forefinger.

It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the kitchen. A kettle is stewing over an open fire. Candles are dripping rivulets of wax into their brass bowls. A glass of ruby-red wine is placed in my hand without a word. The parsley is taken as payment.

I sip the wine and let essence swirl across my tongue.

'Before we eat, you have something needs doing,' Mr. Mole says without looking up from his chopping block.

'Really?'

'There's another lump of it in the back,' he jerked his head toward the pantry.

I sighed and set my glass down immediately. 'More?'

'Your friend left it.'

I took a candle into the pantry and peered into the gloom. On a tidy wooden table, wrapped carefully in wax paper, sat a small red lump of something. It looked very much like a piece of taffy, but I knew better.

I picked up the wax paper and carried it into the kitchen.

Bun Bun and Owl had arrived.

'Oh, what is that?' the bunny sniffed.

Owl ruffled his feathers. 'Another I see.'

'Candy?'

'Not exactly,' I said.

'It's a lump of his pain.'

Bun Bun wrinkled his nose. 'It has a physical shape, pain?'

Owl looked at me sternly. 'His does.'

I opened my mouth to protest but caught a look from mole.

'These things happen when we let the physical incarnations of our emotional states take root in this world.'

'He was only here for a little while,' I took a gulp of my wine and quickly poured another measure from the bottle.

'Artifacts get left behind.'

'I'm here now,' I said.

The bunny took a cautious step forward and sniffed delicately at the lump of pain. 'It smells funny.'

'How are you going to get rid of this one?'

I pursed my lips.

'Because the last one--'

'I know.'

'And you can't--'

'I know.'

'Good.'

The room fell silent save for the pop and crackle of the fire. I took a swig of wine. As if on cue, a soft bray carried in from the back yard.

I looked at Owl, glass still perched on my lips.

'You can't.'

'Why not? He eats everything.'

'Sloth, I don't think that's a good idea.'

I walked outside, followed by the bunny and the owl. Mr. Mole dried his paws on his apron and put a lid on the stew pot.

I spied the little knobby goat as I rounded the tree. He was eating mole's radishes in brazen fashion.

'Wait, I've changed my mind,' Mole muttered glancing back toward the kitchen, probably thinking about his well-sharpened knives.

'Goats will eat anything,' I reasoned, 'And if he can eat my steel sculpture--'

'And my wagon wheels--' Bun Bun interjected.

'And my zeppelin canopy--' Owl groused.

'Then he should be able to handle a lump of pain.'

'Well be quick about it,' the mole said, 'I have a sauce to attend to.'

I unwrapped the lump and held it in the palm of my hand as I approached the goat. The little white goat looked at me, looked at my offering, and quickly snatched it from my hand, paper and all. Two bites and a gulp.

'Good goat,' I patted his neck and turned to my friends. 'See? He liked it.'

Bun Bun took a hop backward and Owls already sizable eyes grew like the full moon. Mr. Mole rolled his eyes and ripped off his apron. 'Great, there goes dinner.'

I turned to the goat who brayed plaintively once before he turned into a blue whale with a loud pop. Silvery dust showered down over the garden. I found myself face to face with an enormous black eye. The whale had crushed mole's garden fence. His tale stretched off into the forest.

'Aw crap,' I muttered. 'I was afraid this would happen.'

I placed my hand on the whale's side just above his heavy-lidded eye. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of this.'

I looked over my shoulder. 'Owl, I need you to fly to the Pit. We're going to need help.'