(You can also hear it here.)
Ye olde timey village of Whispering Whispers was a pleasant place, with beautifully manicured lawns and houses made of brick and stone and wood and at one point cotton candy (that one turned out to be a bad idea after the first rainstorm.) Stationed wagons rolled down the cobblestone streets. Special wagons with two wheels, pedals, and handlebars zipped down designated street lanes, often by villagers wearing very tight pants with cushioned bottoms. And those sunglasses, you know, the curvy ones. The village elders met at a local “morning tavern” that sold hot beverages made with magic roasted beans that gave everyone special powers, if jitters was a special power. The shopkeepers welcomed the yon travelers to peruse their goods and wares, as long as they wore tunics and shoes per the health code.
This particular morn still held winter’s bitter chill, but with that dash of a warmer spring sun, Goody M’Elma Mae, with long brown hair, doe eyes, and wearing a simple blue dress and white shopkeeper’s apron, swept the front porch of her family’s shop. It was a cornerstone of the community. The Robinson’s Pickle Orchard and Emporium had been around, well, since the village was started. And it had always been run by the Robinsons, M’Elma Mae, her husband Clem Bo Senior, and their young son, Clem Bo Senior Jr.
When I say it had always been run by the Robinsons, I mean exactly that, dear listener, for hundreds of years, run by M’Elma Mae, Clem Bo Senior,and little Clem Bo Senior Jr. With time, other villagers grew older, with wrinkles and grey hair, or no hair. They passed on, and their children and grandchildren grew up and old, and so on.
M’Elma Mae, Clem Bo Senior, and little Clem Bo Senior Jr. looked exactly the same as always. And until recently, that’s just how it had been.
This morning, business was hopping at the Robinson’s Pickle Orchard and Emporium. The village of Whispering Whispers was preparing for its Spring Festival, and everyone was abuzz! Busy villagers stopped by, smiled, made small talk, and placed their orders for the Robinson’s selection of fresh-picked pickles, right off the pickle trees. And this Spring Festival would be extra special because the village was welcoming a new family! The Narwhals!
I don’t mean the narwhal fish with long tusks. That would be absurd. These Narwhals were people with long tusks. They had moved to the Village of Whispering Whispers to be the new caretakers for the village’s community pool and jellyfish sanctuary. And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as the narwhals met the Robinsons, things got interesting.
Lady Narwhal, upon this early spring morning, wore a pink chiffon frock, white gloves, and a bedazzled felt tusk warmer. She happened upon the Robinsons’ Pickle Orchard and Emporium. M’Elma Mae, who was without a tusk because she wasn’t a freak, smiled and welcomed Lady Narwhal. “Well Met. Welcome to our humble Pickle Orchard and Emporium. We offer the best fresh-picked pickles in all of Whispering Whispers.”
Lady Narwhal took off her gloves and daintily placed them in her bedazzled monkey fur fanny pack. “And a hearty how-some to you as well! What a fine assortment of pickles you have! Say, I am new to the village and wonder, how long has your family had this pickle orchard?”
A husky man’s voice broke in, and in walked Clem Bo Senior, wearing a wool tunic, parachute pants, and large bell peppers for shoes, as was the style of the time. He smiled broadly and said, “good morn to you, m’lady. We Robinsons have had the good fortune of serving this fine village since, well, since as long as it’s been here.”
A question fluttered across Lady Narwhal’s eyes, backed up, then came out through her mouth part. “You’re saying, the Robinson family, your parents, and grandparents, and so on?”
M’Elma Mae and Clem Bo Senior gave each other quizzical looks, then laughed. “Oh no, for heavens, no. Just us. We don’t even remember having parents ourselves, although if we don’t have our hands full with little Clem Bo Senior Jr. Where is that silly rascal anyway?” The question was answered by a little boy’s scream outside the shop.
The three adults bolted outside. Clem Bo Senior, Jr. and little Eunice Narwal were by the village gazebo in the center square. Little Clem Bo Senior Jr. grasped his little right hand as blood ran down his palm and off his fingers. Little Eunice Narwal cried out, “Momma! Momma! It was an accident!” She was so frightened her head shook, causing her bloodied forehead tusk to bounce back and forth like a gruesome conductor’s baton. Any jerk watching this would have found the sight hilarious.
Lady Narwal pumped her frock ratchets, thus hiking her dress to convert to sport mode, and she raced to the children. M’Elma Mae and Clem Bo Senior followed behind, but man, those narwhals can run!
They examined Clem Bo Senior Jr.’s right hand, which had been gouged through. “You could shove a pickle through that,” thought Clem Bo Senior, and considered taking a picture for advertising purposes, but then he saw the upset look in his little son’s eyes. “Son, what happened?” Clem Bo Senior Jr. was trying to talk between panicked breaths, but just couldn’t.
Little Eunice Narwal, who was about the same age but not a panicked dimwit, spoke. “We – we- we were playing swords” She pointed to Clem Bo Senior Jr.’s wooden sword on the ground. “I accidentally got his hand. I didn’t mean to. I swear!” Lady Narwal pulled a handkerchief out of her bedazzled monkey fur fanny pack and wiped her daughter’s eyes and bloodied tusk. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy believes you.”
M’Elma May folded part of her work apron and put pressure on Clem Bo Senior Jr.s right hand. Comforted and calmed by his mother, he spoke. “It was an accident. I was reaching to see if I could push her tusk away and got my hand poked. She didn’t mean it.”
After a while, both children calmed, and the parents sorted things out, as usually happens. Hands and eyes and that freakish tusk were cleaned off. Lady Narwhal said, “Although it was an accident, I’m sorry you got hurt, little Clem Bo Senior Jr., and I’d like to make it up to you all. Please,accept my offer to host dinner tomorrow evening. We are new to the village and would love to get to know you.”
M’Elma Mae and Clem Bo Senior smiled. “That would be lovely! We would love to. What can we bring?”
Lady Narwhal waved a dsmissive hand. “Oh, don’t go to any trouble; you’re our guests.”
M’Elma Mae suggested, “Please. How about a nice pickle-rhubarb pie?” Everyone smiled, for it was no secret that M’Elma Mae made the best pickle-rhubarb pie in the whole village. Lady Narwhal smiled wide, said “deal,” and shook hands with M’Elma Mae.
Then little Little Eunice Narwal copied her mother, as annoying children do, said “deal” and held out her right hand to shake with little Clem Bo Senior Jr.
It was then that Lady Narwal noticed the little boy’s right hand had already healed!
That next night, at Narwhal Manor, Lord Narwhal, who was also not a fish, but a weird ass human with a tusk, along with Lady Narwhal, and Little Eunice Narwhal greeted the Robinsons for dinner. As promised, M’Elma Mae brought a freshly baked pickle-rhubarb pie, and a big tub of mayonnaise for dipping. Graham, the butler, took them with his white-gloved hands and carefully carried them to the kitchen for dessert.
Narwhal Mansion was much like any other large mansion decorated by narwhal folk, so I shan’t go into detail describing the interior. You get the idea. If you’ve seen one Narwhal mansion you’ve seen them all.
The Robinsons were led to the drawing room and entertained by a harpsichord-playing cat. Then everyone dined on the best olive loaf salad, olive loaf and deviled ham pudding calzones, and the best braised olive loaf the Robinson ever had, along with sparkling olive loaf juice to sip. Refreshing.
Lord Narwhal was curious about the Robinson family history. Curious and a bit concerned. ”I do say, Lady Narwhal informed me, oh excuse me, “ Lord Narwhal had gotten a chunk of olive loaf stuck on his big ass weird tusk, and had trouble removing it, “Graham, Oh Graham, It’s happened again.”
”Very good, sir,” called Graham from the other room. He came in and deftly removed the offending loaf. “Anything else, sir?”
”No, Graham, thank you. As I was saying…oh, dammit! Graham. Graaa-ham, Grammy!” he yelled, having now impaled a dinner roll on his tusk. Once that was cleared up, he continued, “Lady Narwhal informed me you have been, well, how should I say, the proprietor of your orchard for quite some time, many, many years I take it?”
”Yes! It’s funny. Nobody had ever asked until now, so we didn’t give it much thought ourselves, but yes, we have been around for, well, hundreds of years now. My, how time flies!”
Lord Narwhal’s eyebrows furrowed. ”But how, how have you lived so long?”
M’Elma Mae shrugged her delicate shoulders. “We don’t know, really. We’ve just always been here. And as long as we are here, we will do good for others. That’s why – with the profits from our orchard, we built and/or funded the new fire station, the children’s hospital, the center for housing and job assistance, and the food bank to name a few. We just focus on doing good.”
Lord Narwhal nodded. “Yes, that sounds great and all, but to be alive for so long doesn’t seem, no offense — but not natural.”
Clem Bo Senior politely retorted, ”None taken, but we’ve never considered it a burden. Frankly, we tend to forget about it, and go about living the best lives we can, and appreciating every beautiful day we are fortunate enough to have. And, if I may say, something that IS natural is that cream of olive loaf jello mold. Naturally Delicious!” They all laughed. Then dessert was served, and they all had a wonderful evening.
But something weighed on poor Lord Narwhal. That night, he tossed and turned, heavy with concern for his new friends. Finally, Lady Narwhal gently woke him with a cattle prod. zzzzap! “M’Lord, what’s on your mind?”
He was covered in sweat. “Oh. Oh, dear M’lady. I worry. I worry that our new friends are… CURSED!”
She smiled. “Oh, sweet man, so worried about others. There is nothing you can do about it tonight. So please relax, rest your tired eyes, and go back to sleep. There, there. “ She said soothingly and gave his weary brow a gentle bedtime cattle prod. zzzzap!
The next day, Lord Narwhal met with the village elders in the “morning tavern” and drank the magic bean juice of jitters. He told the elders his concerns, that it simply wasn’t natural for the poor Robinson family to live that long. It had to be a curse, because he was not aware of anything else it could be. And curses, all curses are bad, that’s why they are called curses! “After all, how long have you known the Robinsons?”
Elder Elmer scratched his chin and said, ”Well… since I was a little boy.”
Lord Narwhal asked, ”And, have they changed one bit, gotten any older, so much as a wrinkle or grey hair?”
Elmer replied, ”Well…now that you mention it, no. Why, that sounds odd now that I think of it.” The elders nodded in agreement. “What do you think it is?”
Lord Narwhal somberly placed his palms on the table. ”My friends, I am worried that this poor family… is CURSED!”
The elders were shocked! How could it be? How could it be that this family, known to all their whole lives, who spent every day smiling and living their lives to their blissful fullest – had been cursed all this time! ”A Curse? A curse? This is horrible! What can we do?”
Lord Narwhal set his eyes in – “Goddamit! Graham, Oh Graaa-ham, It’s happened again,” as part of a bagel stuck in Lord Narwhal’s tusk. Graham, who was enjoying a beverage and the morning paper on the other side of the morning tavern, said, “Right away, sir.” And removed the offending bagel.
Lord Narwhal set his eyes in grim determination. “I don’t know yet, but I assure you I will end their terrible curse.”
Days and weeks passed, and the village of Whispering Whispers’ Spring Festival was almost here! The Robinsons had spent that time, as they had spent all their time, preparing for the festivities, raising their pickle trees, and helping their fellow villagers. Heck, even little Clem Bo Senior Jr. helped his papa fix the leaking roof on the nursing home, all for the payment of knowing those dear elderly residents were comfortable.
And Lord Narwhal had not forgotten his promise to help, either. Being a studies fellow, he poured through wiki scrolls on foul curses. He even went to the community library, recently remodeled with funding from the Robinsons. In there, he found it! “A Practical Guide to Lifting Curses” in Ye Olde Library section CXXXIII.
Lord Narwhal, being a great and caring man, stayed up late, night after night, studying this tome until he found the counterspell that would lift the Robinson’s cruel curse. A tear ran down his lordly cheek as he thought of that poor cursed family, probably sleeping soundly at that moment after a fulfilling day of joy in a life that had gone on for all too long. “I’ll save you, my friends. I swear it!”
The day of the Spring Festival arrived! There were street performers, fun games for the children like bobbing for vipers, and lots and lots of retail booths. And the Spring Festival wasn’t the Spring Festival without the Elder Speech to kick it off. It was a bit more formal than the other ceremonies, but important as the village gave thanks for the turning of seasons, the brighter days, and the warmer breeze.
The Robinsons, as they had since the beginning, ran a corner booth selling not just their pickles, but pickle relish smoothies! And this morning, all the villagers seemed to have a special twinkle in their eyes as they came by for their smoothies.
”Thank you! Happy Spring Festival, Miss Heede!” said little Clem Bo Senior Jr. as he handed Miss Heede, the schoolmarm, a cup brimming with thick clumps of warm pickle relish and melted butter.
”Well, thank you, Clem Bo Senior Jr.. And, let’s just say, I hope you enjoy your special spring festival today too!” She winked at him and walked off.
M’Elma Mae poured chocolate magic shell on frozen pickle spears and said, ”That was so sweet! But every day is a special day with a heart filled with love.”
Clem Bo Senior pointed to the gazebo and said, ”Say hon, look over there at who is with the elders!” In the middle of the village square, standing in the village gazebo, was the usual group of village elders who gave the opening speeches, but not just the elders, Lord Narwhal, Lady Narwhal, and even little Eunice Narwhal stood there smiling and proud. They caught Clem Bo Senior looking and smiled and waved. ”Are they giving a speech as well? That’s wonderful. The Narwhals have really fit in nicely!”
In a moment, Elder Elmer shuffled up to the microphone, tapped it, and said, “Fellow villagers of Whispering Whispers. It brings me great joy to announce this year’s Spring Festival!” The surrounding crowd exploded in applause. ”And..this year we are starting things off a little differently than usual. And for that I need the help of our latest member of this great village, Lord Narwhal!”
Cheers and applause as Lord Narwhal stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you. Thank you, Elder Elmer, and thank you, everyone, for inviting me and my family into your community so warmly. And especially, especially I would like to say thank you for the warmth and love and friendship shown to us by a very special family – the Robinsons.” With a great burst of applause, everyone turned to the pickle stand. Many villagers were nodding and winking happily at them. The Robinsons blushed and smiled modestly, as was their way.
Lord Narwhal continued, ”They have been with this community, well, forever. And they have made it a priority to live every day to the fullest – and to love and care for those around them. It’s no small remark to say that Whispering Whispers would not be the village it is today if not for the wonderful Robinsons. They’ve helped build or fund the fire station, the children’s hospital, the food bank, the nursing home, the refugee center, the new church, the community center, and well, most everything,” he said with a smile. Again an explosion of applause. Lord Narwhal then invited the Robinsons up to the gazebo.
With quizzical looks, the Robinsons walked over and stood on the little stage. “Do we have to give a speech?” Little Clem Bo Senior Jr. asked, and everyone laughed.
Lord Narwhal ruffled the boy’s hair and said, ”No, little Clem Bo Senior Jr. But we as a community have a very special gift for you and your parents.” With that, the little boy smiled.
M’Elma Mae said, “Please. That’s unnecessary. Every day with wonderful friends like you is our gift. We are blessed.”
Lord Narwhal took a breath, not sure how to break the news to his recent, but dear friends. “Yes. Every day, the three of you radiate love and happiness. And it’s been generations. And now it’s our time to pay you back.”
As one, everyone in the crowd pulled up dark hoods and took out red books. Lord Narwhal’s face turned stony serious. ”You’ve been under a terrible curse, that has made you live on and on in peace and joy.”
M’Elma Mae’s smile faltered. ”No. Not a curse. A blessing. We’ve never felt…”
Lord Narwhal shushed. ”It’s okay. We know what’s best for you. I know what’s best for you. And as a way of thanking you for all you have done, we are going to lift this terrible curse of eternal bliss.”
”Wait. What?” asked Clem Bo Senior.
Lord Narwhal slowly and patiently explained. ”All curses are terrible, and this one, this evil curse placed upon you has made it that you never get sick, you wake each day feeling joy in your spirit, you find meaning in everything you do. “ And brokenhearted to think of his poor friends like this, he asked, “It never ends, does it? The happiness?”
M’Elma Mae cocked her head and pulled her son close. “We.. um.. what?”
But Lord Narwhal paid no heed. He knew what was best for them, for they were clearly cursed. How could cursed people know what was best for themselves? He turned to the crowd and shouted, “Now!”
And as one, the crowd began chanting in a strange language. The sky darkened, and an icy wind, colder than any winter blast, blew through the village. Lightning and thunder crashed and rolled. “It will be over soon, my friends. No need to thank me!” The wonderful town of Whispering Whispers poured their hearts into reading the counterspell, to free the Robinsons.
Little Clem Bo Senior Jr. cried out, but the child had the voice of an old man. “Stop it, please!” M’Elma Mae cried out, but her throat was weak and hoarse, her flawless porcelain skin thinned and wrinkled before her eyes. Clem Bo Senior watched his skin do the same, with liver spots blooming everywhere.
Little Clem Bo Senior Jr. felt something spin around his face in the wind. At first, it felt like he was in the middle of a cotton candy machine, but it wasn’t cotton candy; wisps of hair flew off his scalp. He tried desperately to grab at them and maybe put them back, but was distracted by his skinny bony fingers that were once a rounded child’s hand. He screamed in terror!
The crowd, realizing the spell was working, knew they were helping to lift a curse and kept chanting. Then the spell was over. The dark skies lifted, the icy winds died down to a pleasant spring breeze, and happy spring sunshine beamed down on the crumpled Robinsons.
The Robinsons, now curse-free, lay on the gazebo floor. Too withered and weak to move, they sucked in painful gasps of air and looked around with bulging eyes from their near-skeletal faces. ”It hurts. It hurts so bad,” they wheezed.
”What did they say?” Someone in the crowd asked. Lord Narwhal listened to the raspy moans. Clem Bo Senior said, “Kill me, please kill me,“ but it was so weak as to be inaudible.
Lord Narwhal announced, “I think they are saying they feel much better now that the curse is lifted!”
The entire village cheered! Yay for lifting the curse and doing a good deed for their friends, the Robinsons. This Spring Festival turned out to be the best one ever! The village was uplifted by their good deed, and celebrations lasted all day and into the night. The Robinsons lay on the gazebo floor, wheezing and sobbing.
Villagers took turns telling the Robinsons, “You’re welcome!” and shook their hands, but they had to stop the hand shaking part because the Robinson’s bones were so weak and brittle they kept snapping through their parchment skin.
And Lord Narwhal, who had done a good deed for his best friends by lifting that awful curse, became the hero of this story.