"There, did you feel the earth shake?" I asked.
"Hardly, sir." he said, "I feel that you're suffering a manic episode brought on by Princess Amy."
Oh, you know about her, do you?" I said.
"I read your blog from time to time."
"Oh? I didn't know you liked my blog."
"I wouldn't go that far, sir. I read it to keep up with your um...."
"Lifestyle?" I offered.
"Close enough," he said.
"Why don't you like my blog?"
"Really, sir, it's not my place..."
"No! I insist. If you're going to be my mentor, there must be no secrets. Spill it!"
"Well, forgive me sir, but I see it as an immature production, lacking in significant form. My own tastes lie more in the direction of Dostoyevsky and the great Russians."
"Fine, whatever," I said, trying to avoid the Russian motif, because Ms. Wonder, that descendent of Count Gregory Orlov, was somewhere about the premises and might sail in like a brigantine running before the gale if she heard the words, great Russians.
"Feldspar, it's not my limbic system that's causing the ranygazoo. It's the witch herself. She suggested to me in a text message, that by writing more I could change my world. She said that it was key to the fulfillment of my fate, which, according to her, mirrors the story of the plaster Buddha."
"Plastic, Buddha!" called Ms Wonder from somewhere down the hall.
"It's plaster!" I called back.
"Gladdis Lyremark Ironarrow," I said to Feldspar, "is a witch who lives in a north-facing cave. She stays home a lot; you don't bother her, she won't bother you. But when a baby in a backpack, a pair of mismatched children, and an invisible sorcerer accidentally wander into her domain--well, enough said I think."
"A story that may appeal more to the theater-going crowd," said Feldspar. "but I'm at a loss to understand why you object to it so strongly."
"Not against it," I said.
"No?"
"Certainly not. All for it, in fact. It's the collateral damage that I'm concerned about. Every time she writes about Gladys, strange things happen to me."
"But why should that be?"
"I was hoping you might have an idea."
"Are you suggesting that her writing is somehow interfering with your destiny?"
"That's right. You have a lightning-fast brain, Feldspar. I'm also suggesting that the three of us are just the people to do something to stop it, if a rock troll, a human and a cat can be grouped collectively as people."
"Mybbthh," said Abbie Hoffman, the tuxedoed feline accomplice that sat astride my computer keyboard.
"It is futile to rage against the darkness, sir," said Feldspar. "Light can't exist without it. We would not see the beauty of the stars without the dark of space behind them."
"Preeeek!" said Abbie Hoffman, and I had to agree with him. Put a sock in it was the thought that came to me but I didn't want to offend Feldspar. I'm sure he meant well. It's just that he's not up with the latest developments in the way that you and I are. I mean, futile to rage against the darkness? That's the very essence of The Way of the Rock, which as you well now is my shamanic calling.
"Maybe this one will convince you," I said. "One of her stories features a witch known as Baba Yaga who eats people the way people eat chickens.
The statement brought Abbie to his feet. "Earrup!" he said.
"Even monsters are divine creatures," said Feldspar, "and belong to the providential order of nature, and this according to St. Augustine."
"Ever noticed how people eat chickens, Feldspar?"
"Really, sir!" he said. "Chirrump!" said a wide-eyed Abbie.
"Plastic, Buddha," called Ms. Wonder again but from somewhere frighteningly near. I realized that I'd have to ratchet up the proceedings.
"It's plaster!" I called back and then in a quieter voice directed at Feldspar and Abbie Hoffman, I said,
"It seems a statue of the Buddha stood in a temple for ages until someone decided to move it. During the move, the statue fell over knocking the plaster away and revealing solid gold underneath. Get it?"
He gave me a look before saying, "A precious something is hidden by a common outer crust..."
"Blah, blah, blah," I said.
"Fascinating," said Ms. Wonder as she passed by the door, in a mysterious way, her wonders to perform.
"Do you know anything about how the witch works her magic?" asked Feldspar.
"Nope," I said, "but not having all the information has never stopped me before."
"I don't know if this is a good idea, sir."
"Never mind your, 'I don't know', Feldspar," I said. "Buck up, sir, it's nothing more than Fierce Living. I do it all the time."
"But sir...."
"No buts. Life is a fairy tale, Feldspar. It just doesn't always end with living happily ever after. I doubt it ever ends well to be blunt about it. But sometimes it's enough for a story to just end. That's how space is made for new stories to begin."
"But sir...."
"Cap it, Feldspar!" I said. "Piramp!" said Abbie Hoffman and I couldn't have agreed with him more.