Elvo
In
the time of the slow-dream, many a long year ago, The Lake lay quiet
in her bed on the edge of the Southern Seas: only separated from
these wild ocean stretches by a long strip of water-smoothed pebbles.
This spit, a hiatus between the roughest waters known to man and the
placid food-filled bowl of ‘The Lake’.
At
this time, in this tranquil place you might see water-elementals
trawling the lake for food: these were people from before the
before: before race and nationality divided our world; when the land
and the people were virtually one: when there was no sense of other.
They worked here in the hard, cold Southern winters and the hot
lakefly-ridden summers, the season, which, would in the long-ahead
future, be known as Christmastide.
Lake-waders,
for that is what they were called, plied their trade across the
wide-open expanse of the water, focussing only on the job in hand: to
find food for the coming days. Water birds took off and landed all
around them but without the aid of gunfire or arrow-fly, they were
difficult to bag. Therefore, the inhabitants turned their attention
to the mystical eel, which lived in the lake depths, lurking in the
volcanic muds and a great source of nourishment for the hungry
people. They took all they could find and fear reigned in the murky
reed-filled depths.
This was the
rhythm of those long-ago lives, accepted by most of the people as the
only way but, there was in this lakeside group a being not wholly
comfortable with the wholesale taking of the eel.
Elvo pushed slowly
through the sky-reflected waters, separated from his companions by
the length of a haunting birdcall; the beauty of his surroundings
transporting him to another place. A huge volcano loomed high, close
to the eastern shore and Spectacular Mountains cut the vast horizons
on the west. All this did he wonder at.
Elvo, revered in his
village, was acknowledged as a kind man; he struggled with the
indiscriminate catching of the eels. His problem was that he had a
way with eel, a relationship of creature-to-creature. When he walked
in the lake, they came to him, wrapping their long bodies around him
and sharing with him the secrets of the deep: secrets of their
spawning thousands of miles away, in the warm waters of the Coral
Sea, which would host not only their act of procreation but also
their death.
Thus had it been for all
eternity. They whispered how important it was that many of their kind
be spared so they might return to their spawning-grounds in order
that their species continue far into the future, giving life to the
waters and providing food for the people: A balance.
Elvo listened to these
murmurings and encouraged his companions to respect the creatures,
which offered up their lives that they might live. He became closer
and closer to them and could often be seen standing, motionless in
the centre of the lake, arms crossed over his chest, a faraway smile
on his face. All around him, eels curled and wheeled, their sharp
teeth shielded whilst communing with this compassionate man: their
friend.
Kind-Elvo expanded his
calling by testing the lakeside plants for eating to supplement the
diet of the hungry people existing on the hinterland that they might
not need to take so many of the eel folk. Tales of his beneficence
spread: some even believing that to be in his presence was to receive
grace and kindness, and to enjoy always the richness of the earth and
bounty of the seas in this beautiful land of the beyond.
His greatest gift though,
was to teach his fellows the art of moderation: that there always be
more.
And so, thanks to the
miracle of time-shifting transportation and the magical skills of
Blanche, we have been given the opportunity to once again enjoy the
qualities of Elvo, to appreciate what he represents, and to be
reminded of how his philosophies are even more relevant now than in
those far off mythical days.
Jan
© Copyright Act 1994
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