231. THE SEQUESTERED SCRIBE AND HIS WEALTH

THE SEQUESTERED SCRIBE

AND HIS WEALTH

(a fantasy)

Having renovated both the cottage and the castle,

most things now are quite different. We still ring

the salubrious bells - announcing meals and the like -

but (I've noticed) the tenor of the sound is now

different. Those foreign tongues I hear, still spoken

as they are, are not quite now as jarring to my ears.

I notice Mexican cooks and housekeepers, and the

entire groundskeeper staff, it would appear, are Hondurans

or something. Everything is different, and so much has

changed. It takes time to get comfortable with all this.

-

In a way, I guess it had to be. For instance, I wasn't the

one (was I?) who was about to get up from the library chairs

and book-cases in my study and go fetch or go do these

things. No, my days were spent in a solitary toil, much - much -

to my liking and not about to change. Things could have

fallen apart around me, for all I would have cared. I am a scribe;

all that, and nothing more. So I look at it as good that someone

steps in to willingly do these chores.

-

Tincture of iodine, some balmy scent of a floral mist, the odor

of pine, the wafting aromas of (maybe) cinnamon and cloves.

Odors I really can't place - they've done that too. Smells and

bouquets, medicines and sprays - things I'd never had dreamed

of on my own. It's a rather lovely place, this domicile, this cave,

this 'hostelry' for me and kindred spirits. I wouldn't change it

if I could. I couldn't change it if I would. Either way, I'm happy now.