...Gableplunk spent weeks in a state of delightful clarity after deciding to purchase a small country home. He contacted his solicitor to make financial arrangements and waited expectantly each day for the Postman to bring confirmation of his new title.
...The desire for a cottage had been a dream for years. At first a need to escape, it was fulfilled by occasional trips to the countryside. These trips afforded Gableplunk rare opportunities to experience the rural simplicity found in small villages, often little more than a few shops on a back road and surrounded by self-sustaining farms on the gentle slopes of a valley or mountainside. Buying country property would provide a sanctuary, a place he could go to rest to free himself from his own mind and nocturnal passions. Three weeks later Gableplunk received final notification in the morning mail.
....He was excited! He telephoned the railroad to check the time schedules. Fortune seemed to be grinning at him, making it easy to accept his good luck. A train would make bi-weekly stops at his junction. Today was a stop-over day; he'd arrive in the early evening.
...Gableplunk spent the rest of the day preparing. He telephoned his solicitor to assure all was in order. Previous owners had left last week and the house was empty. Little furniture had been left and no bed was available. He advised Gableplunk to wait for the next train three days hence and have a bed and furniture delivered. Gableplunk thanked him for his concern, adding he'd consider it, knowing it was out of the question.
...He packed for the trip: blanket and bed roll, change of clothing, writing paper, medical supplies, guitar and harmonicas, cooking implements, boots, utensils and other small items, a wide-brimmed hat, a coat for the evening, food to last until the next train and, of course, a bottle of wine. Feeling lighthearted, Gableplunk ventured into the daylight. He walked to his friend Vergil's home to invite him to celebrate over luncheon.
...Vergil came to the door and Gableplunk followed his friend into the room.
..."Good to see you. What brings you out at this time of day?"
..."I bought the house I told you about. Here are some pictures of it. Did I tell you about it?"
..."Yes, but I thought it was a fantasy, a pleasant escape. We all dream of far-off islands in the sun when life becomes a burden. It transports us from our everyday lives but it's the fantasy that counts, not the reality. I didn't think you'd take action, though I suppose that's part of your impetuous nature. Tell me about it. We'll celebrate!"
..."I came to do just that. Let's go out for some wine and food."
...Vergil agreed. Gableplunk and his friend followed the stairwell down to the street. They walked west across town to a favorite restaurant. They found seats and menus were placed beside them.
..."You're in fine spirits today," Gableplunk said. "I thought I'd have to persuade you to come with me."
..."No, no, not today. It's beautiful out! It's the best day of the year, though I'm not sure I can say the same for you."
..."Why?" Gableplunk asked.
..."It's a delusion," Vergil said.
..."You mean a country home. Yes, I've thought of that." Gableplunk called the waiter.
..."Yes, it's a delusion," Vergil said. "You can't remove yourself from your problems. You take them with you. Oh, days or weeks in the country will do anyone good temporarily but you can't use it to escape your tensions. You know this, though; perhaps that's not your intention. Tell me, why did you buy it?"
..."I agree with you," Gableplunk said, "but I wouldn't call it a delusion. I bought it because it's quiet. The silence is overwhelming. It's on a mountainside and has a view of a river. There are only a few people living nearby. The nearest civilization is a university town across the valley and over the crest of the far ridge. You must come up. And bring your problems with you."
...Vergil laughed. "I suppose it's something you felt a need for, a need stronger than momentary escape. You confuse me sometimes. You've such a contradictory nature. You elude all my efforts to pinpoint the main theme of your existence."
...The bread and wine were served and Gableplunk filled their glasses. "What do you mean?" Gableplunk asked.
..."Well, sometimes your mental process is so disheveled, so paradoxical. I know you're not a lazy person; I've seen you work with a demon's energy, yet I can't find a consistency of belief in you, no singular process by which you bring yourself to a confrontation with the problem of your existence. I admit, I, too, haven't any solutions, but I know there are certain absolutes we may guide our lives by and we can understand these absolutes rationally."
...Gableplunk interrupted him. "Have you found it then? Have you found one? Have you found an absolute? Something that works all the time? We've talked endlessly. Although I've enjoyed my conversations with you very much, I can only say we've arrived at no conclusions."
..."Well, yes, "Vergil answered, "we can never come to definite conclusions. Conclusions are tied to facts and facts are ever increasing but we can come to understand the basic aspects of reality."
..."Can you name one?"
..."Well," Vergil said, "how we should govern our behavior. What determines or what should determine the course of our actions. There are many pleasures but we should deny our more base instincts in an attempt to achieve a certain presence of mind, a certain overcoming of our existence in this world."
...Gableplunk chuckled at his friend's seriousness and decided to enter the fray. "It's sure that neither of us knows what we're talking about but it doesn't matter; what matters is we're talking."
...Gableplunk continued. "Why should we do anything? Your use of the word 'should' sounds suppressive to me. Why should we give up our pleasures or even our habitually impaired patterns of thinking and feeling? Although now that I mention it my attitudes could probably use a little adjustment. I know you. We've shared many an hour carefully considering the forms of our existence but we've only considered forms and not existence itself. I know your needs for control and identification with authority and a sense of orderliness of the mind. They're different from mine and yet are they really different? I understand your need for a higher ethic. My need is to be free from all forms of so-called higher ethics that are often used to subdue gallant natures and make a mockery of the human spirit."
..."I know your problems in dealing with society," Vergil said. "This higher ethic must come from within as well as without. We must develop our line of questioning along these lines; what characteristics should this higher ethic exhibit?"
..."Don't you understand there are no higher ethics? Higher ethics are the products of men. As such, they're subject to the same limitations, the same miscalculations and misinterpretations that cause all our misery."
..."That's not true. A higher ethic can only descend upon us from a higher source. It's man's ignorance and inability to comprehend and embrace that higher ethic that makes him the miserable creature he is."
..."Ignorance is a term I wholeheartedly agree with, Vergil, but it's ignorance of our own natures or at least the stubborn refusal to see the truth of what we are. Ha! Listen to me! My truth sounds like a creeping higher ethic! We seem divergent but we're constantly meeting face to face in our search for answers to infernal questions. We're all seekers of essence in our own inimitable and individual ways. I propose a toast, Vergil! To your higher ethic and my truth of the self!"
...Vergil complied and they filled their glasses again, emptying the bottle.
..."You often mock yourself," Vergil said, "and yet you've achieved the most amazing states of mind I've ever heard of."
..."It's my form of self-control. It assures I don't begin to consider my findings absolute, though, like you, I, too, search for the higher ethic; however, I call it a going-beyond."
..."Yes, in a way it's the same but where can one go beyond to? Only to a higher realm."
..."Or to a wider one."
..."Well then, how can we describe this higher or wider realm?"
..."We could spend many evenings describing it and we have, haven't we? What we must do is experience it!"'
..."Though mystic visions are more readily found on an empty stomach," Vergil said, "I propose we eat."
...Gableplunk laughed. "The most profound statement today."
...Food was served. For the moment, the aroma reconciled all differences, converting their alcoholic headiness to rapid motions towards forks and knives.
...Finishing his meal, Vergil asked Gableplunk whether he'd like more wine. Gableplunk declined. There was only a short time before his train was due to leave.
...They left the restaurant. Vergil walked with Gableplunk to his apartment.
..."Can I help you carry any of your things to the station?"
..."No, I don't think so, Vergil. I've packed only essentials. I'm traveling lightly this trip."
..."How long will you stay?" Vergil asked.
..."Three or four days, until the next train. I'm going to look the place over, see what's needed to make it habitable, reconnoiter. It's a beautiful place, Vergil; you'll like it. It's peaceful, serene, undisturbed, like a strange miracle: set in the hills, a beautiful valley no one wants." He laughed. "I'm having a love affair with a valley. Let's wish for good fortune."
..."How'd you find it?" Vergil asked.
..."Tramping through the hills a year ago I followed railroad tracks as they turned off the straight run. By pure accident I came across it. I met a man who lives on the west end. He invited me to visit and I spent two days exploring. It's isolated," Gableplunk continued. "There's no heavy industry for fifty kilometers in any direction. The only people are the few people who live there and students and townspeople five kilometers away. There are no major roads leading to or from it, only the train station at the west end used to haul out fieldstone from the quarry near the river. It's abandoned now, overgrown in spots, too small to be of commercial value. Some of the houses have been built with the stone and they seem abandoned, too."
...Vergil didn't speak. Gableplunk continued. "There's no grazing land to speak of; the soil's rocky, unsuitable for farming; there's not enough timber for a major timber operation. The only industrial ownerships are abandoned mines at the east end. It's been so long since they've been in operation that no one remembers who owns then. It's a useless place. That's why it's undisturbed. No one's interested in it and I'm glad. For me it's a haven."
...They crossed town towards the central station. A group of men walked towards them, talking and gesturing to each other. They passed by. Vergil brushed shoulders with one of the men. A moment passed, a few more steps taken. Gableplunk felt the wind from a trash can cover as it sailed past his head, clattering, skipping, as a stone across a lake as it struck the pavement.
...He turned. The blur of a man rushing at Vergil's back entered his vision. He leaped and caught the man from the side, throwing him off balance.
...Rage.
...Gableplunk struck viciously at his head, trying to reach his throat as he fell to the pavement. His rush carried him past the assailant. He caught his arm around his shoulder, spinning them both to the pavement. Gableplunk turned his spin into a shoulder roll and over, leaping and spinning round, landing crouched down, facing his assailant like an animal, knowing only flashes of danger and bright crystalline blue-white stop-motion images directing his actions.
...The man was confused. Expecting to be rushed, he'd risen to face Gableplunk. He reached to his pocket, fumbling and trying to watch Gableplunk at the same time.
...Crouched, Gableplunk realized a knife was at hand. He opened his hands in a gesture of defenselessness and stood erect. The man's eyes changed from confusion and fear to anger. He stepped towards Gableplunk and smashed his hand into his face; the crowd flooded between them. Vergil pulled Gableplunk's shoulder, spinning him, grasping him by the arm. Gableplunk's eyes remained fastened on the other man, gauging, breaking contact only as Vergil spun him around, forcing him to follow. On the edge of his vision Gableplunk saw the man's friends pulling him in the opposite direction. He looked into the man's face and their eyes met, seeing nothing, feeling everything; Gableplunk's mind took on a brilliance! He saw and understood: a man's helplessness churns his insides until it erupts into a self-obliterating paroxysm, a convulsive and maddened violence vented at any provocation when it can no longer be contained. Gableplunk felt it envelope him even before the trash can cover struck the ground.
...Vergil pulled him farther from the crowd. A boy ran up to them with Gableplunk's belongings.
..."You sure had him scared, mister. He had a knife. I bet you coulda taken him!"
...Excitement shined in his eyes. Vergil thanked him and chased him away. He gave Gableplunk a handkerchief for the blood dripping from his mouth.
"Jesus. Come on. Move further down the street."
...He picked up the pack and pulled Gableplunk's arm, urging him in another direction.
...Gableplunk was glassy-eyed and still flooded with uncontrollable emotions. He jerked the handkerchief to his mouth and twitched as he walked.
...Vergil began to talk. Gableplunk couldn't hear but he walked near as Vergil spoke, trying to calm him. Vergil asked his friend whether he was hurt and expressed his admiration for his cat-like quickness. He saw the grace and beauty of Gableplunk's ferocity as he landed from his spring on the pads of his feet, delicately weighing whether to enter or to turn away from the death madness. The instant passed and Gableplunk stood erect in the most astonishing fashion!
...They walked for a time until Gableplunk was able to see clearly and slow his motions. They stopped for a moment and Vergil put the pack on the ground. He rose to see a huge grin on his friend's face. They looked into each other's eyes and began laughing.
..."Let's go. You'll miss your train. We'll get a cold beer near the station."
...Gableplunk's excitement slowly ebbed as they walked towards the station. Vergil found the ticket booth, purchased Gableplunk's ticket and walked to the platform with his friend. Gableplunk stopped at a fountain to wash his face. They sat on a bench and waited for the train in silence.
...The train eased into the station. Vergil and Gableplunk found seats. Vergil lifted the pack to the overhead rack and sat in the adjoining seat. "Will you be all right? You look fine. The bleeding's stopped."
..."Yes. I'll be fine. Nothing like a little excitement and a round with death to make a man feel alive. I'm very tired. I'll probably sleep all the way."
...Gableplunk asked Vergil whether he had the ticket. "Ask the conductor to wake me at my stop, will you Vergil? and thanks for helping me out. You know, when your time's up . . . . . I don't know. It's very strange."
..."All right. I'll see you soon. Take care of yourself." He grasped Gableplunk's shoulder and Gableplunk looked up. Their eyes met in recognition.
...Vergil turned and walked to the end of the car. The train began its slow exit. Gableplunk stared through the window into the soft evening light. No thoughts made their appearance. He was still. The train roared silently out of the city. He wished he had a bottle of chilled wine. The train sped into the dusk. Thoughts of death and chaos fused with eternal questions and faded with the speeding countryside.
...He slipped into a light sleep. His head bounced softly against the window. The drone was hypnotic. Like a needed narcotic, it drew him deeper and deeper until he vanished into a dreamless sleep, leaving the madness behind.
...The conductor shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to the glare of the overhead lamps. Standing, he reached for his pack and walked to the end of the car. The steps were open and he climbed down to the platform.
...He shook his head and took a deep breath. The evening was cool and clear. The dampness carried the sweet smells of the countryside. No one else had gotten off at his stop. The train faded in the distance. Gableplunk's welcome was the ringing of crickets and moonlight shining on the peeling paint of the old station house.
...He stood very still, looking down the tracks at the train's light and at the old boarded-up station. Vines and the undergrowth of the wood's edge were slowly encroaching on the land cleared years before. Soon the pavement would crumble and the station house would be enveloped in deep silence.
...He turned and walked slowly to the side of the station. Sweeping the darkness with his eyes, he sought the old man and his carriage.
...Gableplunk had met him during the days he'd first explored the valley and again a half year later when he'd heard a house was available on the south slope. The old man lived alone, south of the station. During the day his house could be seen from where Gableplunk stood. From autumn to spring he'd meet travelers with his carriage and deliver them to the station or, on the return trip, to the entrance road of their property.
..."There's only one road around this valley," he'd said. "Everyone who lives here lives off it. There are no motorcars. The roads and drives are unpaved and rutted. The one road out of the valley over the north ridge's the same. It's five kilometers to town and I travel in once a week for supplies. If you'd like anything, come along or let me know and I'll pick it up for you." The old man was a part of the valley, part of the simplicity that had soothed and drawn Gableplunk, softly singing to him in the voices of a thousand cricket-sirens.
...Gableplunk walked to the carriage and lowered his pack to the ground. He greeted the old man sitting high in the driver's seat.
..."Ah, good evening my friend. How nice to see you again."
...The carriage was a four-wheeler in fine condition, drawn by two large horses.
...Yes. It's good to be here and it's good to see you, too. I see you've got the big one tonight."
..."Yes. The horses needed running and I couldn't leave one behind, so I hitched up the four-wheeler. Come up. Tonight you ride in luxury."
...Gableplunk placed his pack in the carriage. He asked whether he could ride up front and was welcomed. The old man urged the horses from the platform. He knew the house Gableplunk owned and took the south road towards the wooden bridge at the other end of the valley. The evening was clear and silent. A few lights could be seen in the distance - fireflies too early in the season?
..."It's good to be here," Gableplunk said, "away from the rush of the city. Millions of people going every which way. Where are they going?"
..."Where are you going?" the old man asked and chuckled.
..."I?" Gableplunk thought a moment. "I don't know. For a time I'm going to breathe clean air and bathe in the river. For once I'll write a happy song and find children to sing it to."
...They followed the road and the telephone lines for a time in silence.
..."Why have you lived in the city for so long?" the old man asked.
..."I've never thought of it. Let me see . . . . . I feel safe there, faceless, lost in the crowds. I was born there, but lived most of my life in a small town. I moved back a few years ago."
..."Anonymous?"
"...Yes. Secure in an odd way. For me it's a haven from disapproval, from the censorship of self-expression I so often find in families and community life."
..."You're a very lonely person, my friend. Shutting yourself away from others can be useful only when you're retreating from some intense trauma; even then it shouldn't be for too long a time. Anonymity for a man like you brings only bitterness. It protects you from judgement and strife, yet also brings the absence of love. To love you must let go of your treasured security which, after all, is merely illusion."
..."How can I love when I'm confronted with insidious violence and have no control over my own life?"
..."My friend, our fate rises and falls with our surroundings. Great convulsions, wars, in which individuality is erased and we become cogs in a great machine are uncontrollable and, in a sense, so, too, are everyday events. Life brings much happiness and much sorrow and it's not always we who control their movements."
..."You speak of events and the motion and interaction of the world and individuals and I see you're at peace, yet I'm not, and as these motions are uncontrollable, so is my anger in the face of my helplessness."
..."My friend, it's the realization and acceptance of our helplessness that's our true freedom and security. These things find their expression in love."
..."We hold freedom to be an ideal, yet the pressures to conform, the subterranean channeling and manipulations of men's minds and hearts crushes self-expression in the most vile way! It makes a mockery of our love. All I see around me are lies! Are all our ideals little more than lies?"
...Gableplunk's breathing was hard. He leaned forward, his arms on his knees. His breathing slowed, became more restful. He glanced at the slowly-moving roadside and said, "I can't find any love in this world."
...The old man watched Gableplunk's eyes as they peered into the darkness. He broke the silence and said softly, "To find love you must tap your inner strength. Love must be given if it's to exist at all." The old man spoke gently, "Perhaps you're too weak to fight for your place in the world. Some rebel and some are crushed. You must face yourself in your own truth before you can grow strong, even if it's unbearable."
...Gableplunk winced at the gentle voice but he couldn't grow angry at the old man. He knew he spoke honestly though he was puzzled that the old man seemed to see weakness. "I'm not so weak. I had a place. I just don't have one now. Is the weakness you see my inability to conjure up love and compassion?"
..."My friend, in you I see much compassion, however, I also see much isolation and in isolation love can not exist. Love must be given if it's to exist at all."
...The old man spoke again. "And this channeling you speak of has value. It gives men a sense of direction, a sense of purpose in life, something you're lacking."
..."Yes," Gableplunk replied, "but what is it if it's programmed into us without our free choice?"
..."What's free choice?" the old man asked. "As children, our apparent antitheses are our parents; as adults, it's society and as seekers of knowledge, the universe. What choice have we but to seek the answers to our questions and when they're answered to understand the meaning of the questions and thus the meaning of free choice? Even our seeking's only the antithesis to the uncontrollable, and in this way, it isn't, in fact, its antithesis, but its sameness."
..."I understand what you say in my mind," Gableplunk replied, "but in my heart there's only rage and suffering and I'm shamed by it."
...The old man had spoken as much as he judged his companion could comprehend. Human nature decrees that people seek expansion and a man fulfils his needs only by exceeding his limits, however, to over-exceed often leads to confusion and the loss of precious balance. "Will you play?" the old man asked.
..."Yes, I'll play and I'll sing of my sadness."
...Gableplunk reached into the carriage for his guitar. He mounted his harmonica on his neck stand and tuned the two instruments. Slowly and softly he began to play.
...For a time the two instruments played in counterpoint. He plucked his strings in a five-fingered style. The shrill sounds of harmonica blending with the rhythm and robust tones of the wooden instrument coalesced to an almost tangible feeling of sadness. Slowly, with mounting feeling, his tempo increased. He changed meter and time effortlessly and shifted to a waltz signature. Plucking a pick from its fastening above the nut he strummed the instrument and moved into a chord pattern. Interweaving harmonica with changes from the chord of the major key to the minor seventh of the fifth, then to the fourth and repeating, in fast waltz time he sang

Little does he know
That he won't be goin'
To see the sun rise
Today

"Commander Zhurkov"

..."A sad song my friend," the old man said. "It's fortunate that even in sadness your humor doesn't desert you."
..."Laughter's only a hair's breadth from self-pity," Gableplunk answered.
...He continued to play while he spoke. He strummed and flatpicked chords and short melodies, changing keys, meandering over the fingerboard as he sought understanding in his heart, a way to change his life.
..."How does a man change? It's so difficult. There are so many things holding me back. I catch fleeting glimpses into my being, a moment of understanding, and I'm awed by the enormity of the task. I don't know where to start."
...His playing turned sharper, took on a more determined tone. He began to accent the downbeats and play short bursts on his harmonica.
...The old man spoke: "A way to change is to substitute one form of behavior for another until the rewards reaped from the substituted form outweigh those obtained from the old form. Then the new becomes more valuable than the old and the old fades into the background."
..."As a method," Gableplunk replied, "it may be useful for minor changes in behavior. Obviously it'd require will and vigilance until the new form was firmly seated yet minor changes in behavior aren't what I desire. I need a great revolution within, a change so great that it destroys much of the old and the new arises not from an act of will but from an act of obliteration!"
...Gableplunk found changes on his guitar, expressing great movement, revolution! Simple chords flowed forward in time, inexorably telling a story.
..."Perhaps you're right. I'm old and for me minor changes are deeply satisfying. You're young. For you nothing less than a great change in consciousness will suffice. There's no help I can give you. You must seek and find according to your own nature; only then will your changes be your own truth."
...Contemplating, Gableplunk and his music became one, each infused with his determination and desire. Like chamber music his instruments wove a gossamer fabric, yet his feeling was like a symphony; feeling and motion fused, swelling greater and greater with each movement; suddenly he broke into a plateau, a calm before the storm! With simple down-strokes he began a crescendo, mounting in feeling, mounting in power until he burst into the light of a great blue-white crystalline star! Picking, he sang in unison, his voice rising in a chromatic octave to the ninth

Thundering herd
Violent rumble
It's the sound of
Apocalypse!

Repent! sayeth the Lord
I am your Master
Repent!
And my kingdom is yours!

Meadows of bliss
Fields of lemon
Sun so warm
You'll flow in heaven but

Fire and ice
Chill the marrow
Flaming ashes
Terror and sorrow

"Apocalypse"

......Huh. I thought I'd gotten rid of all those TOMs... tired old metaphors - he thought. I don't want that archetypal sludge in my mind. I don't want anything in my mind unless I put it in there myself. That goes for childhood conditioning, too.
...They arrived at Gableplunk's drive. The old man brought the carriage to a halt. Gableplunk looked into his eyes and found no expression. The moment was suspended, motionless. Words remained unspoken. All was obvious yet mysteriously secret. No dreams were shared, only the stillness of the night and Gableplunk knew: the present, past and future were one. The old road in the valley in the mountains held all expressions. Nothing was hidden; there was nothing to be hidden.
...While holding his guitar he jumped to the ground and pulled his pack from the carriage. Again he looked at the old man. Nothing remained to be said. He stepped back. The old man urged the horses forward with a click of his tongue. Slowly he disappeared into the night. Gableplunk was alone.
...He turned and walked to the side of the road where road and drive touched. An inpenetrable wall separated the two. Moonlight illumined the night. Trees hung over the old stone drive. Gableplunk strapped his guitar to his pack and stepped gingerly into the blackness.
...Soon his eyes adjusted to the lesser light and he walked more confidently. The drive was smooth, well-kept. No branches swept Gableplunk's path.
...He walked uphill. The trees thinned. The drive took a turn. Gableplunk saw a building appear. High above the road a huge rock formation cast eerie shadows. He glanced back. In the distance, telephone wires severed the lamp post light where the road turned and vanished into the darkness.
...A second building appeared. Silhouetted in the moonlight and dark tree tops, a huge barn dwarfed the main house. Three stories above the ground, the loft door swung back and forth, squeaking.
...The drive led behind the house to flat ground. Gableplunk stood in the moon-lit yard between the two buildings. He lifted his eyes to the stars, put his pack down and lay next to it. Open, he became empty. The wind brushed his face. It was a dry wind.
...An hour or an eternity passed. Gableplunk didn't move. Forest creatures ran through the underbrush. The rustle of a branch brushed aside or a twig's snapping was a sign he was no longer alone. From the thickets, eyes peered at the new creature. He was strange, lying in the open where the hawk would surely find him.
...Gableplunk stood. Eyes vanished. Quick stirrings in the underbrush signaled danger. Crickets were silent. Gableplunk sensed the minute changes. He called softly to the forest, "I am your friend."
...He found the back door of the house unlocked. The kitchen was bare. An old wood stove remained. The refrigerator door was half open. He searched the walls and found the lights turned off. The faucets were dry. Only the old hand pump worked and Gableplunk washed and drank.
...Unpacking, he lit candles. He explored the bottom floor of the house. Three rooms, and a veranda overlooked the path he'd followed a short time before. In the distance the river glistened. Gableplunk followed its sheen as it twisted through the trees and disappeared around a tree-laden prominence.
...He'd sleep on the veranda. After propping his bedroll against the wall, he blew up an air pillow. "Dynamite!" he exploded. He found the bottle of wine and opened it. The pop seemed to echo through the valley. Drinking deeply, he toasted to his new friends in the underbrush. "You're so shy. Come out and we'll party." The crickets answered with incessant ringing. Gableplunk drifted. Sweet music of the mid-night came softly on the breeze. Stars and the deep blue of the night sky hovered over the far ridge. The river was a streaming of frozen silver. Only darkness lived in between. Gableplunk's eyes closed; the characters remained, softly speaking, caressing him with their voices, singing silently to the soul slipping out of its restraints, sharing the flight of the night winds. On the far ridge lived an owl who called to Gableplunk, "Come to me; I am your friend."