Part 1: 3 - The Storyteller
1988, The Cartwrights meet the storyteller
Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Last week: We met Maeve and Todd Allen in Edinburgh, 1980
2 - The Heart of a Horseman
Part 1 | History is an Angel
3 - The Storyteller
Lisa Cartwright
April 17, 1988
San Diego, California
Sunday turned up shiny and fresh after a cool misty Saturday. The hills were bright green and the banks of the freeway were lined with blankets of blinding magenta flowers on the way to the bay. Dani was soon turning cartwheels in the grass between Lisa and Tim while they set up the kites to launch at Spanish Landing. The breeze was perfect for flying, and onlookers had already begun to gather.
Lisa’s new dragon performed like a dream in Tim’s skilled hands. Its long body curved and careened against pillows of scattered clouds while passers-by pointed, and jaws dropped. “You’re getting really good at building these, Lisa!” Tim shouted as a jet roared past.
When the noise abated she returned the compliment, “And you are getting really good at flying them!”
“I wanna try!” Dani pleaded.
“Let’s get one of the smaller ones out,” Tim said.
“No. Pleeease! I want to fly the new dragon!”
He was so patient. He showed her where to put her tiny fingers and held onto her hand while he did the controlling. It was enough for her to feel part of the flying and she was grinning big. Before long she had had enough and was back to cartwheeling and bringing out her favorite kites to show to people who stopped to watch.
Lisa noticed a young woman who ducked in from the sidewalk to say something to Tim. She was overdressed for a tourist, not gaudy, but expensive. Lisa glanced around to see if there was a camera crew following her. After a few moments, Tim smiled and thanked her with a wave. She waved back at Lisa, and continued on her way to wherever she was going.
Later, as they packed up the kites, Lisa teased Tim, “What was your new supermodel girlfriend talking to you about?”
His brows knit for a moment. He said, “Oh, the girl. She said we should check out the shop across the street from the Bradwyn Hotel in Old Town. They might be interested in your kites. She also said the hotel has a storyteller in the front courtyard at 1 pm. It’s free to the public. What do you think? Grab lunch and go over there?”
Lisa nodded, “That sounds great.”
Dani skipped up to them. She was dancing around gripping a shiny black crow feather she found, waving it with her arm outstretched like it was the tip of a wing. As Tim lifted the box of kites, she said, “I’m hungry!”
“Perfect, because we’re going to get lunch now,” said Tim, scooping Dani up in a swinging hug.
Lisa pointed to the feather. “You’re going to have to wash your hands before we eat.”
Tim picked up the box of kites. “The Bradwyn. That’s the new one at the north edge of Old Town, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” said Lisa, “I haven’t been in that area for a while. I remember reading something about the neighborhood protesting when they built a new hotel. Now that I think about it, yeah, it must be The Bradwyn.”
“Didn’t your grandmother live near there?” Tim asked.
“She did. That park was close to her house. We used to go there a lot when I was a kid. There was a storyteller on Sundays.”
Dani tugged at Lisa’s sleeve, “Does a storyteller read books to you like in the library at school?”
“Well, they might,” Lisa answered. “We’ll find out. When I was a kid, the storyteller told stories without a book. It was more like a play with just one person playing all the characters.”
Dani quietly considered this for a beat and then said, “I hope it’s like that!”
Tim parked in a lot across from a sign that read, “The Bradwyn Old Town Hacienda Hotel” and the three walked to the Old Town Mexican Cafe for crispy beef tacos and fresh tortillas with butter. The childhood memories were so intense and bittersweet, Lisa became lost in them. She was barely aware of Tim and Dani chattering and laughing about the antics of the fat finches begging while they ate. Before she realized it, Tim was paying the check, and they were walking to the hotel courtyard for the promised storytelling.
Lisa hadn’t been down this way since long before Dani was born. She had never seen the hotel in person. But there it was, built right on top of the park where she used to play as a child. Even the giant oak the storyteller used to tell stories under was gone.
Everything was different, but maybe that was better. It was a lovely building designed in a Spanish missionary style. It had a wide colonnaded square in the front with Saltillo tile and colorful clay pots tastefully planted with agave and other succulents. Bougainvillea crawled at the corners, and one very healthy-looking Eucalyptus stood at its center. It was surrounded on one side by a semi-circle of some very familiar-looking worn oak benches. She didn’t remember any eucalyptus at the park when she was a child, but this one had to have been there before the hotel, it was such a big tree.
“Hey Dani,” Lisa said as they sat, “I think these are the exact same benches I sat on when I was a little girl and your grandpa and grandma would bring me here to hear stories.”
Dani’s eyes widened and she looked around at everything.
Tim said, “The hotel has only been here for a few years.”
“I’m telling you,” Lisa said, “everything is different, but these are the same benches.”
The sunlight between the fluttering eucalyptus leaves blanketed them in a swarm of dappled lights. The sway of motion was singing gently to the back of Lisa’s consciousness with a sweet Elvis croon, Love Me Tender. She let out a deep sigh.
When she looked back toward the trunk of the tree, a diminutive brown woman was standing there, wearing a long black skirt and a flowing red blouse cinched at the waist with a wide belt. She was bedecked in beaded bracelets and necklaces, her hair in a long thick silver braid draped over her left shoulder.
Lisa leaned into her husband and whispered, “My God, Tim, that’s the storyteller, Miss Clara! The same storyteller. Only her hair is more gray.” She tapped Dani on the knee, “Dani, give her that feather you found.”
Dani, who had been staring intently, startled. She said, “No. Why?” and pulled the shiny black feather into to her chest protectively.
“You don’t have to, honey, but if you do, the storyteller will tell the story specifically to you. It makes it extra special.”
Dani twirled the feather over her lap for a few moments, debating. “Will I get it back?” she asked.
“Yes, Sweetie,” said Lisa, “If you want it back, we’ll come get it afterward.”
Lisa held herself back from pushing Dani to act. Tim gave Lisa’s hand a squeeze behind Dani’s back. Of course he was pleased. Lisa was participating. So much of the past hour she had been wandering away from them in her mind thinking of her mother.
More people started to gather on the benches while Miss Clara sorted through her bag. Dani was not a shy child. It was no surprise that once she had considered the possibility she would get her very own story, it was too much for her to resist. She soon popped off the bench and trotted up to the storyteller, black feather outstretched in her hand as if it contained enough magic to make an elephant fly.
Miss Clara smiled warmly at Dani, who stopped square in front of her and held out the feather. The storyteller carefully grasped it by its quill between two fingers, lacing it through a buttonhole over her heart. Then she cupped Dani’s hand in hers for a moment and whispered something to her. Dani came skipping back to the bench, grinning, long dark hair flying behind her in waves.
“What did she say?” Lisa asked.
“She asked me if I like horses.”
Lisa gasped slightly. She and Tim exchanged a wide-eyed glance. Tim teased Dani, “You told her ‘No Way,’ right?”
She leaned in for a hug and climbed back onto the bench between them, her short legs swinging in front of her.
A moment later, Miss Clara transformed herself before their eyes and the magic of the story began. The small dark woman grew animated. Her eyes glowed, her hands moved and expressed every emotion, like a dance. Lisa lost herself in the performance, as did everyone around them. She was a child again, sitting with her parents under the oak tree in the park. At the same time, she was Dani’s mother sitting with her beautiful little girl and her charming best friend, feeling the storyteller’s magic.
Miss Clara always had a way of mixing the common elements of fairy tales from around the world into an irresistible brew that captured the psyches of everyone in a crowd. She never told the exact same story twice.
That day, she told a story of Prince Ivan and his promise to the princess of a neighboring kingdom to win her hand in marriage. To prove himself worthy, her father, the king, challenges Ivan to return his herd of perfect white horses, stolen by an evil wizard. It’s a dangerous quest. The king likes Prince Ivan, so he lets him borrow his favorite horse, a talking black stallion known as the Horse of Wisdom.
With the counsel of the horse, Prince Ivan goes through several trials and traps set by the wizard before he learns that the herd of horses have been hidden in the underworld. To bring them back, Prince Ivan must track down and capture a phoenix, a bird with the power to bring beings back to life. He eventually keeps his promise, returning to the kingdom with the beautiful herd of white horses and receiving the king’s blessing to marry his daughter.
The performance lasted a solid hour. Dani remained rapt throughout, leaning forward elbows to knees. For Lisa, watching Miss Clara was like going back in time. Tim squeezed her hand and rose from the bench when the performance was over. Dani was tugging on his other hand, “Can I get my feather back?”
When the three approached Miss Clara, she handed the feather carefully to Dani while telling her in quiet confidence, “You have far to go and many promises to keep, Miss Dani, just like our Prince Ivan.”
“Thank you!” Dani chirped, holding the feather to her heart with both hands. She galloped over to Tim. Lisa turned to follow, but the storyteller gently grasped her hand. Her eyes on Dani, she said, “You’re Alessia DeLuca’s girl?”
“Uh, yes, Lisa Cartwright,” said Lisa. “But . . . I was not much older than Dani the last time I saw you. And my daughter has never been here.” She shifted her feet, her hand still held by the storyteller. “How did you know?”
Miss Clara continued, “Your little girl looks just like your mother did as a child.”
Lisa was a little spooked, but endeavored to remain friendly. Was it so surprising that the storyteller knew her mother as a child? She did grow up in the neighborhood.
A knowing look hit the storyteller’s eyes with a glint of sadness. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “Your mother has passed.” It was somewhere between a statement and a question. She squeezed Lisa’s hand and let it go, holding her own hand up, signaling her to wait. Then she ducked to pick up her large floppy pack.
Lisa didn’t know how to react. “I don’t know . . . We have to go,” she said, her stomach quavering.
“Wait a moment, please.” She pulled a pencil and a small notepad out of her bag and scribbled an address on it. “Come by sometime. Bring your daughter. I have another story for the two of you.”
“That’s very kind. Thank you.” Lisa smiled, waving while she folded the note into her pocket and backed away.
When she located Tim and Dani, they were already at the corner waiting to cross the street. Tim was pointing to the shop on the other side where a dozen small colorful kites were fluttering from the eaves. It turned out to be a typical tourist shop, which contained not only kites, but also greeting cards, magnets, posters, and t-shirts.
Tim and Dani snooped the shelves and displays while Lisa talked with the shop’s owner. She came away with an expected, “Your kites are beautiful, but too expensive for us to sell here.”
Dani unrolled a small poster to show Lisa as they walked out of the shop. “Look what Daddy bought me!”
It was a herd of white horses galloping through a fairytale forest, radiants of light glinting through the trees. In a wispy serif font was the quote, “God forbid that I should go to any heaven in which there are no horses.” ~ R.B. Cunninghame Graham.
“Very nice.” Lisa raised an eyebrow at her husband’s indulgence.
“It’s academic. History. Apparently, Graham was a friend of Teddy Roosevelt. They rode horses together up in Monterey. The clerk was very informative,” Tim said through that perfect set of dimples.
“The horses are just like in the story, Mom!” said Dani, her eyes bright.
“Serendipity,” Lisa said, cocking her head at Tim in play. “It’s a pretty poster, Dani. We’ll find a place for it in your room.”
“I’m going to be like Prince Ivan,” Dani announced.
Tim laughed, “Not the princess?”
“No, Daddy.” said Dani, scrunching up one side of her face, “She doesn’t do anything. I’m going to ride the Horse of Wisdom and save all the horses, so there will ALWAYS be horses!”
Next
Part 1 | History is an Angel
4 - Fortune
1980, Maeve is singled-out
This story is like a warm embrace when I read it - just a lovely quality :)
Great chapter ❤️