Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3: The Feast

            The palace of Ukulele Town was a majestic sight. It was a huge assortment of asymmetric minarets, each one coloured differently, but as brightly as humanly possible. The central structure was, however, unlike the rest of the city. Just like the wall, the central palace was a plain yellowish white of sandstone and stood with a majestic blue dome as its pinnacle. Even from a great distance, I could tell it was intricately fashioned with mosaics of deep sky blue and violet pictographs.

            I stared at this marvel of a fortress following Naomi’s finger, when suddenly Yasmim’s voice brought me back to reality. “O! The Feast! Of course! We’re all invited to that! What a silly notion, being invited to the feast! O! Some people are so strange!”

            I looked behind me at Yasmim and Naomi, “We’re all invited? Really?”

            “Yes! Of course. Do you want to go to the feast?! It is just the loveliest thing. At yesterday’s, we had just the juiciest pears, I swear….”

            “Yesterday’s? What do you mean yesterday’s?” Naomi interrupted.

            “Why of course! Here in Ukulele Town there is a grand feast every day. Unlike where I come from….” We did not hear the next few words for as Yasmim spoke, a marching band came from across the corner and filled the avenue with the sound of a charismatic marching tune. Whatever she said the two of us couldn’t hear.

 “…and it’s just the nicest thing, with dancing and singing, but the feast’s here as just as good.”

We both looked at her confusedly, for a minute and then as she stared back, until she kept on speaking, “We should go now if we want to go to the feast. It starts as soon as the sun sets.”

She pointed at the horizon behind her and I noticed for the first time that the sun was falling and the evening sky was already turning reddish with the twilight.

Yasmim began to walk us forward, dragging us by our hands and smiling. The plaza we were in was partially quiet, but as soon as we passed a corner, the entire street came to life.

“Is that the place where they have the feast?” Naomi pointed up towards the blue domed palace.

“O!” Yasmim yelled back, over the sound of several quires who were also riding around on unicycles and attempting to dance ballet, “Yes! That is Lavinia’s Palace! Isn’t it beautiful, just look at it shine!!”

Paper airplanes from the balconies and the open windows fell and flew in circles around the two, “It does, it really does!” Naomi continued. Three men were walking behind us with paint brushes, and buckets of black paint, driving to outline their walking shadows.

“But who is this Lavinia?” I felt the need to interject.

“Lavinia! Is Lavinia! You would count them: One Lavinia and then two Lavinia and then stop because there are only two!” Yasmim continued to yell.

“Two?” Naomi asked.

“O! Yes, well, who doesn’t want to name their kid after the queen? So the nice Georevsky family named their lovely daughter Lavinia. But she confused a lot of people, so they never did it again. And the second Lavinia is just as happy as the first. She’s an accountant now.”

“O!”

“Yes.”

Yasmim, who was walking at an amazingly fast pace, picked up her guitar from around her neck and began to strum wildly. “Come on guys! Let’s improvise!”

She stared at us, anticipating whatever song we could come up with. 

“Wait a minute wait a minute!” I tried to keep up with her as her smile only grew and grew, “I mean, I get that this is Ukulele Town… but where are we?” I motioned towards our surroundings.

She did not flinch, or answer, she only played faster and faster. She quickened her pace as well, until we were nearly running alongside her.

“Come on guys! A Song! Find a song! We need to find the song!” She yelled at us, as she simply went faster and faster.

“What song?! What are you talking about?” Naomi now asked, barely able to keep up.

“The song! The SONG!”

“What are you talking about?!” we sang back in unison.

“The SONG! The SOOOO….”

Before she could yell at us the word song again, she suddenly slammed into some man, who was casually walking in the opposite direction. Naomi and I, who were only a few passes behind, also tripped on the flailing of falling limbs. We tumbled, skinning knees, doing fantastic somersaults.

I lost sight of Naomi and Yasmim, as I found myself flailing in the air and crashing against a very enthusiastic trombone player who also seemed to be break dancing. The two of us doubled on the floor and I heard the crashing of brass on the sandstone brick streets.

At first, all I could feel was confusing and buzzing of incoherent sound. But then, first I felt the sharp pain in my skinned limbs and then the tugging of a few helpful hands. Raising my head, I soon saw a few, well dressed kind gentlemen trying to aid me. I allowed myself to be lifted up and dusted off by a few random toddlers who then ran off playing various sizes of pan flutes.

Turning around, I found the trombone players, examining his trombone. Concerned I may have broken his instrument, I walked over to him. However, the man, who was young, simply looked up gave me a thumbs up indicating that he was okay, with an extremely enthusiastic smile.

Around us about 30 people had gathered around who began to cheer and clap ecstatically, at the undamaged musician.

Looking around, I found Naomi had crashed into the canvas of some artist, who was now crying and cursing Naomi in some unknown language. Naomi covered in green and yellow paint was backing up apologizing incessantly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry! Really, I’m so sorry.” Turning around, she saw me and walked over, looking a little dazed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Then she let out a small giggle and she looked over behind my shoulder.

I followed her gaze and saw that Yasmim was over near the sidewalk, looking very serious at some pile on the ground. We walked over and discovered that the pile was in fact, to our dismay, Yasmim’s guitar and her cracked and broken glasses. Standing next to her was the man whom she had crashed into. He was hooded in a long black cloak and was very ominous, almost like the grim reaper.

Getting closer we realized we couldn’t even see his face. However his voice was accented and rather high pitched, sounding quite kind, unlike his figure. “ I’m very very sorry. I didn’t see you.”

Yasmim, who was kneeling next to her annihilated guitar and glasses, looked up to the man, and squinted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I really shouldn’t have been running so fast.” She seemed ready to cry.

I approached Yasmim and, with a hand on her shoulder, told her, “We’re very sorry. It’s a tragedy.”

She stood up and answered, “I know.”

I turned around to examine the man. The opening of the cloak which should have revealed the man’s face was completely dark. He put his hand into the hole, as if he was thinking.

“I am very sorry! Really! I didn’t see you!” he apologized again.

Yasmim, now walking away from the scene, called back, “It’s okay. I mean, you can’t have a guitar forever. I had that one for nearly 10 years. It was my first. And my glasses, well really, I mean who needs to see?” As she finished I noticed a tear roll down her eye.

The man, raising his hand to his face called, out, “Really! O NO! I’m so sorry!”

Then the man, reaching into his cloak, called back to Yasmim, “But I can make it up to you.”

Then as if by magic, the man pulled out a brand new, black guitar. The beautiful guitar, intricate and shiny, he handed over to Yasmim who gasped in disbelief.

“O! It’s beautiful!” She thanked with a nod and then began to play the tune from before, slowly.

The sound from the guitar was as beautiful as it looked and sounded just as pure.

The man then reached into the hole in his cloak for his face and took out a pair of glasses; slightly different to those Yasmim had worn.

Then he gently put them on Yasmim and said, “For you.”

Yasmim, almost crying called back, “Thank you so much!” And continued to play.

The man, still concealed, then reached in his magical cloak and pulled out yet another guitar, this one white and as beautiful as the first and began to play the same tune.

Yasmim, smiling again, asked the man, “Do you want to improvise!?”

The man, in his high pitched happy replied, “Yeah!!” In a way, I could tell he was smiling as well.

Then suddenly the two ran off, playing the tune faster and faster, till they disappeared around the corner. The last words I heard being, “Where’s the song!!?”

And the man’s voice, “This way, this way!!”

Naomi and I only stared in confusion as to what had just happened, as the crowd which had gathered around us to see the spectacle dissipated back into the streets ordinary chaos.

Finally, I looked at Naomi and asked, “So what should we do now?”

She, as if fascinated at the question, looked around excitedly, “I don’t know, there’s so much we could do!”

Now, excited as well, I looked around me at the rivers of paint, now distinctly red, at the pages of written poems beneath me and apparently various golden discarded instruments. And even now discarded, one very large, double wide keyed piano, tattooed in white across the top, saying, “Somewhere someone needs a lift.”

Then I looked up and saw the brilliantly blue palace. “There!” I pointed, “Let’s go there!”

Naomi looked up and smiled, “The Feast! O! Let’s go to the feast! That sounds like fun.”

“I wonder what time it begins?” Inquisitive, I walked over smiling to the nearest, pedestrian ,who gave a smile in return. He was passionately playing the cello, almost impossibly fast, but put his instrument down as I approached.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me what time the feast is?”

About every person passing by behind him suddenly looked down at their watches and yelled in surprise, “Right now!”

Then they all scrambled off in different directions in a hurry.

The man I had addressed looked at me without moving and smiled slightly, “Well young man, I believe the feast is beginning at this very moment.”

Surprised, I looked around, “Really sir? Now, what time does a feast here regularly start?”

“About now. I believe.” The man did not lower his smile.

“Well, thank you,” I made to leave but delayed, curious, and asked the man, “Are you not going?”

“No.” He answered, already half lifting his cello to play again, “I never do.”

“Why not?”

He looked into my eyes and began to play a tune I barely recognized, “No, I’d rather not. Best to stay here.”

He continued to play, softly and gently.

“Why?” I asked.

 “There is something.” He spoke between strokes of the arch, “I believe worth waiting for.”

Then he closed his eyes and played on, with the same, gentle, calm smile as before.

I walked back to Naomi and, as excited as before, I exclaimed, “The Feast is now!”

Ecstatic, the two of us began to walk off, towards the obvious path, up the avenue towards the elevation where the palace stood gracefully.

As we walked slowly the sunshine and the heat waned and the day dipped into the afternoon. It must have taken us about 30 minutes up the street, before we noticed the first melodies sipping from the vast structure up ahead. It was a soft, beautiful tune, which flooded the streets. The street, now empty, was completely silent, except for this one melody. They had all suddenly been deserted by all their patrons, leaving behind unfinished canvases, unused instruments and discarded papers and clothes.

Upon hearing the sound, I looked at Naomi and called out, “Come on!”

We quickened our pace to a jog then a run then a dash as the music got louder and louder till we could quite literally hear each resonant instrument. And then we were at the door of the humongous palace. The palace, atop the tallest height of Ukulele Town, presented spectacle view of the entire city and its lights. The licking flames of the entire city shined like orange stars from up above. By now, of course, the night had already settled and the entire horizon was dark and beautiful.

The Palace, however, was lit and out of every oval window glowed the shining lights within. The entire building illuminated like a full moon which shines in reddish light. Naomi and I stood before the door, which was completely open. The doors, probably 30 feet tall, were engraved of copper and bronze. The entire doorway was so bright I couldn’t see what was within; all I could see was some moving shadows and the sweet sound of the orchestra which played within.

Naomi next to me mumbled, “Wow.”

I nodded and the two of us began to walk forward into the light. I was forced to close my eyes.

Once I felt that the bright light was not as intense, I opened them again and beheld a home unbelievably majestic.

Every wall was covered in colour and beautiful murals. On one side they could be as elegant and intricate as the Mona Lisa and the Sistine Chapel and on the other they could appear to be drawn almost as if by a four year old.

            Every wall was covered in thousands of torches and the entire roof was composed of one single massive dome, which was covered in the beautiful mosaic of blue and violet seen from outside. The mosaic was of violet coloured words in a language I could not read. It twisted into a spiral, till at the centre of the dome the words were eaten by a depicted dragon with green scales.

            The rest of the room was covered in beautiful stained glass windows of a rainbow of colours, depicting different poses of a single woman. Examining the windows I came to understand that this must have been Queen Lavinia.

            In each window she appeared in a different pose. In some she was slaying a dragon and smiling, in some she was picking carrots and smiling and in some she was walking in the desert crying, but smiling. And in one she was playing one very large, double wide keyed piano. And smiling.

            The entire palace opened up into one massive foyer, beautifully lit. The entire space was covered with attendees and visitors, each silent and elegantly dressed. They all had either a brush or an instrument or a pen in hand, but they kept this to one side, static.

            They all stood, almost completely silent, except for occasional excited whispers amongst themselves. Some occasionally moved to the music, but all of them looked up towards a particularly well lit balcony, which was in the spot light. A massive spiral staircase led to the ledge, which was the focus of everyone’s attention. To the side was a slight platform were the orchestra performed its beautiful chorus of melody.

            I took in the amazing scene with awe, when I heard Naomi’s voice, “There she is!”

            I looked and saw where she was pointing. It was the old, bent over woman, dressed in rags. She stuck out quite well from the masses of people, and she was walking slowly.

            Suddenly Naomi ran off in her direction.

            Surprised I tried to stop her, “Naomi! Wait!” but she was gone without a care.

            Trying to follow her, I realized the old woman was walking up the stairs which led to the balcony. Frightened we would make a scene, I called out again and again for her to come back, “Naomi! Wait, wait Naomi!”

            However she did not hear, and pursued the old woman till the three of us were at the top of the balcony, the two of us gasping.

            I touched Naomi’s shoulder, surprising her, “Naomi! What are you doing? Wait.”

            She looked back then around, realizing where exactly she was standing and blushed, “O! Oops.”

             Then the old woman, who turned to look at us, and stared at us. Intimidated, I almost whispered, “We’re sorry miss…”

            She looked at us, and then she raised her hood to reveal a terribly young face, a beautiful face with a twisted amused smile and brownish twisted, matted hair, long and in several rastas and braids.

            She smiled at us for a second, then opening her eyes wide addressed the crowd shedding the rest of her bland ordinary grey clothes for a colourful rainbow dress. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs a chicken scream as if a rooster announcing the morning and yelled to the crowd, “O MY GOD!”

            And then she started dancing the chicken dance on the balcony.

            The entire crowd beneath cheered in appraisal and enthusiasm, clapping and whistling. And then I realized, looking at one of the stained windows depicting Queen Lavinia playing a Ukulele and smiling, that the woman dancing on the balcony was none other than the first Lavinia.

            Queen Lavinia, of Ukulele Town.

Chapter 4: A Quest

         

          The two of us just stood there, our mouths open, aghast. As the crowd cheered, we simply stood on the balcony with the Queen of the city, unmoving. She began to dance around us, letting out an amused laugh. Then, grabbing my arm, she began to dance with me, doing some sort of waltz, which I could not follow.

            I tried to speak over the ecstatic speaking, “Um… hello….”

            She let me go and stopped, staring at me, her face suddenly serious and her stare fixed on us both. “Who are you?” She sounded fake sarcastic and disgusted at us, then she let out another laugh and began to dance around us again.

            Naomi attempted to answer calling out, “My name is Naomi, and this is Amir.”

            She smiled and gave us something like a little curtsy, “Naomi is a beautiful name! But Amir? What kind of name is that?”

            She looked me up and down and then let out that laugh again.

            I shrugged and then asked, “What kind of name is Lavinia?”

            “Hey!!” She pretended to be hurt, then she laughed her laugh again, grabbing Naomi to dance the same way she had with me.

            Her laughter, I figured, was like the happy sound of a dog panting and shaking its tail, as if it couldn’t contain its excitement.

            As I watched her dance with Naomi I realized how confused I really was, so, raising my voice over the music coming from the orchestra beneath, I asked, “Are you the one who invited us here?”

            As soon as I had asked the question, Naomi flew out of her grasp into my arms, and she looked toward the massive crowd beneath. She yelled at the top of her voice, “Everybody dance!”

            Then she waved to the orchestra beneath and there was a sudden silence. Then a very long instant later a tremendously loud song shook the entire building, the sound of some swing song and the sound of about ten thousand feet dancing incessantly. The entire crowd began to swivel and dance.

            Lavinia then turned to us, smiling as always, and grabbed our arms leading us to the stairs. Walking down slowly, she bobbed her head from side to side with the music, laughing and enjoying the music.

            She turned to me and in a slightly more serious voiced addressed me, “Amir, what kind of music do you like?”

            Without even time to answer, she continued, “I like either the dancing kind you know, the kind that moves your feet, almost like the current of a river, or like a very strong wind at the top of the mountain. You know the kind that goes, Liddle Liddle Leee! But I also like the kind of music that’s like, O! What a lovely whisper.”

            She looked in my direction, opening her eyes wide, as if expecting some sort of answer and reaction. I looked both ways, then in an uncertain voice answered, “What… does that sound like?”

            “WELLL!” She continued suddenly in an exaggerated voice, “They sound like the water itself, and they move you, but not like dancing, no.”

            How do they move you?” Naomi had leaned in, legitimately interested in what she was saying.

            In a loud voice, Lavinia looked over at Naomi and declared almost jokingly, “PLEASE, I am trying to have a conversation! Geez!”

            Then she looked back at me and continued, “Some people, am I right? Now, it does move you, like dancing, but not dancing. No, you move, but in here." She made to point at my chest, but then just poked my nose and then laughed.

            Then she looked up at the roof and, stopping completely, the three of us almost at the bottom of the stairs, and talked, as if to herself, “And it sounds… it sounds… it sounds…”

            She looked back at me with a smile and finished, “Like this!!!”

            Then she clapped her hands and in an unnaturally loud voice for how gently it sounded, called out, “RAQEM! RAQEM MY DEAR!”

            There was suddenly a deep silence as the entire ball room was silenced by the sound of the call. The dancing stopped, the music stopped and even the talking stopped. Naomi peered over the rail of the stairs, at the now still crowd and muttered, “Wow.”

            The entire crowd was still smiling, waiting, almost anxiously.

            The lonesome sound of footsteps approached as a figure emerged from a door parallel to the floor, beneath the balcony. The sound of footsteps on the marble floor, till a man came into view. With slightly dark skin and large calm eyes, he wore very fancy attire, a black suit with a rose and everything. He was the only person I had seen yet, who was dressed rather normally.

            Approaching Lavinia he asked in a calm, suave voice, “Yesss?”

            Lavinia smiled at him and said, “Hi.” Almost laughing again she then added, “Raqem, could you please bring out the sacred Ukulele from the catacombs? I think it’s needed.”

            Raqem, expressionless, stood still, looked at her, with eyes almost conveying annoyance and asked, “Really?”

            “Why not?” she asked back, now letting go of a slight giggle.

            “Well, Madame, this is the fifth time in a row and I must say, it isn’t wise to display the sacred Ukulele so freely.”

            Lavinia, looking disappointed, put on a pouty look and then complained, “Pleeeeease…”

            Then, after a pause of about 12 seconds, and a very heavy sigh, Raqem replied, “Alright then, if you insist.” Then he turned around from whence he came.

            “Thank you!” She turned to me and then added, almost whispering in my ear, “It’s worth it, trust me.”

            Raqem, from a distance called back, “You could at least store it somewhere not as damp and dark!”

            She leaned into my ear and whispered again, “Totally worth it.”

            Me, Naomi, Lavinia and the entire crowd of Ukulele Town waited silently for a few minutes, until, Raqem, his fancy attire now covered in dust, returned. His footsteps sounded on the smooth marble floor as he approached, but now he cradled with him an artifact of carven wood.

            As Raqem approached, I managed to peer into the man’s arms and spied the instrument. To my surprise it was not quite what I had expected. The small stringed instrument was of simple, plain yellowish brown wood. The plain wood was unremarkable, unshaven, stained and even slightly cracked on one edge.

            I looked at the unattractive instrument, as Lavinia lifted it from his arms. Then Raqem bowed and retreated, leaving us all to gaze unblinkingly at the piece of wood, as Lavinia lifted it for all to see. A gasp fell upon every mouth in the foyer and then Lavinia brought the instrument to her chest and fingers. There was a sudden hush, as I pulled in close to Naomi and whispered, “Is that thing really sacred?”

            She looked over at me and shrugged, “I don’t know.”

            Then, Lavinia lowered her fingers upon the stained, colourless strings and plucked carefully.

            At first, I really didn’t hear anything. But then a slightly gentle ringing began to grow into the back of the walls. It was a beautiful, soft sound, resonant and kind. At first, I looked around, unaware as to where such an attractive sound was coming from.

            Then I realized it was coming from the Ukulele. The strings gently plucked by Lavinia let out perfect harmonies and filled the room with the aroma of soft melodies. Everyone closed their eyes, including myself to purely hear the song she played. It rose, it dropped, flung from side to side, taking us all on a feverish ferry ride. And then, the song set us down on some desolate shore and calmly retreated back into the waters of beautiful music, where all sweet melodies come from.

            I opened my eye to find Lavinia’s bugging eyes staring right at us, as she had finished her song. I was not startled; however, I was at peace with the song, as was Naomi, who simply let out her breath, relaxed. From the rest of the foyer, I felt a calm breeze, as if the entire crowd had done the same. Except for Raqem, who was still bowing, his arms stretched out. I saw him lift his eyes to gaze at Lavinia and roll them, as if tired of the same happenings all the time.

            The entire room was calmed and at peace, until, all of a sudden, Lavinia, sucking in all the air she could afford in her lungs, let out her mighty voice throughout the entire hall, “ITS LUNCH TIME BOYS AND GIRLS!!”

            Then the orchestra let out a raucous of noise and song, and everyone in the crowd looked around in anticipation. Lavinia, with a wave of her hand, signalled the doors leading outside of the main foyer and hundreds of servants and workers piled out, carrying baskets, tables, chairs and covers of all colours and sizes. They scattered around, immediately busy at their work setting up tables for some magnificent feast.

            I stood, motionless, still aghast at the magnificent sound of such an ugly, ordinary instrument until I felt the familiar tug at my sleeve. Lavinia, chuckling again, pulled us forcefully off the stairs and into the now well stirred crowd. Pushing through the masses, she went addressed Naomi, “See! Didn’t  I tell you it would be well worth it?!”

            She looked at me, “Hmmmm… didn’t I, didn’t I tell you. Just marvellous, no?”

            I nodded, “It was, it surely was, but where is it that you are taking us now?”

            She giggled again, "You’ll see, you’ll see."

            We wadded through the people till we arrived to one of the many doors from whence the servants had entered. I looked back to see hundreds of platters of fruit pile in through the door and Raqem, following, arms folded behind his back, close behind.

            As we escaped and the busy workers faded behind us, we entered some sort of kitchen, from where hundreds of cooks were well at work, all working on multicoloured smoothies for the feast ahead.

            Then, passing even this, we took a series of spiral staircases, till I was thoroughly confused and the music had completely vanished from my ears. The four of us must have been rather far from the main party. I now could only wonder what our fabulous party host had in mind. I smiled, only thinking about till.

            Till I returned to look at our guide and find for the first time she was not smiling, but looked as serious as possible. Dead serious.

            Suddenly uncomfortable, I began to desperately want to know what fate she had in plan for us. What was this? Had we done something?

            We moved on, up the stairs, until we reached a rather cosy, warm room, furnished with sofas, chairs, books on all the walls and several beautiful paintings with peculiarly regular styles as compared to the ones downstairs. These were beautiful in a traditional sense. At the middle of the room there was a blazing fireplace. As we entered the wooden doors to the room, Lavinia let go of us and, motioning to a velvet sofa, said, “Please, have a seat.”

            Her voice was monotonous and did not resemble her attitude from before in the least. She was quite literally not the same person as before. We sat, morbidly serious, in reaction and we heard the creaking of doors. At turning around, I caught the last glimpse of an equally serious Raqem, shutting the doors to the room. These put the room into a gloomy reddish light provoked only by the fireplace.

            Lavinia took a seat in front of us and looked at us intently.

            For a second, I realized that there was something she had been hiding all this time from us, from those people downstairs, something she was about to make clear to us.

            Naomi opened her mouth to speak, but Lavinia lifted her hand as if to say, please wait.

            Then, in a calm, still soft, but now still voice spoke, “You’re probably very confused at the moment as to what is going on. Many things about what I’ve just done must seem strange, but let me first start by saying, Yes, it was me who asked you to come, in disguise.”

            She waited a second, as if allowing this to sink in, then she continued, “There is a truth, I have hidden from my people, and hidden from everyone except from Raqem, my most trusted. The rest I have kept in the dark through a façade. I have tried to keep my people calm and ignorant for as long as I can remember. There are those who would expose the truth, as you may have seen.”

            I immediately thought of the screaming man in the market place. “This I have tried to avoid with all my strength and you may have a problem with that and ask why, but the only answer that I can give now is that they are not ready for the truth.”

            She paused again and looked over her shoulder at the fire, as if hesitating what she was about to say.

            Finally I bumped in and asked, “What is the truth?”

            She looked at me and then sighed, “The truth is that I do not want my people to know that Ukulele Town is doomed. It has been since it was built, almost 200 years ago. At first it was only a matter of drought and drying up of the wells that fed us. Then it became a matter of disease and violence from the outside. And now, soon approaches the great finale. There is a great calamity that is soon to come. I feel it, the tension in the city is felt, but there is just a perfect way to ignore it.”

            She sighed, almost depressed by the truth she had just told. “It is these arts and feasts and songs and dances and paintings. I made it all, I brought the arts and culture to Ukulele Town to keep my people happy, to keep them unaware, unaware of the plagues that creep into the city and the violence of the outside world, getting ready to consume us. I became as happy as can be, and they did as well. Only then could I keep the façade, could I delay the destruction of my city. Here no one knows what lies outside.”

            She stopped, almost exhausted by the effort of telling us this horrible news. I stood still in utmost shock. How could this be? How could all the beauty of this city be only a trick, a ruse?

            “How could you do such a horrible thing?” Naomi beat me in asking.

            She looked at us, pain in her eyes, “At first, yes, this was the beautiful home of culture and the arts, but then when our demise became evident to my mother, she worked to keep this alive, to keep her people ignorant. If they knew, the city would fall apart and all the beauty within it as well. Don’t you see it? Don’t you see the beautiful poetry, the beautiful paintings, colours?! O, and the melodies, the songs they sing! This is not a trick, it is a defense. Is it not worth keeping it all alive?”

            I looked down at the red carpet in sadness. She was right, I knew, the people of Ukulele Town were doomed and they knew nothing about it.

            “I don’t understand.” I interjected, “How do you know of this disaster? What will happen?”

           “There is a great evil, and it has corrupted everything in and out of Ukulele Town. It came about during my mother’s time, and the city was near collapse. She saved it, but could not stop the inevitable, that this corruption would eventually destroy us. Either through plague, or war, I do not know. It has already invested the lands of Nitzanland, over the borders of my kingdom; out there, there is death. But here we have stayed safe, a last stronghold. But now it will be our end.”

            She then twisted into her seat and began to cry silently. The sight was so sad, a tear rolled down both mine and Naomi’s cheeks.

            “Is there anything we can do?” Naomi asked, sad, but as sincere as could be.

            However, this played with my mind, for I then remembered she had been the one to call us, she had invited us to be told about this. Surely for a reason.

            Now full of hope I asked, “Why did you call us? Why did you tell us? Is there something we can do?”

            The crying stopped after a few seconds and the questions had had time to float around. She lifted her head out of the seat. “I do not know if you can. But I do think something can be done.”

            Both of us in unison asked, “WHAT!”

            Smiling, in tear drenched happiness she replied. “You see, when my mother struggled with the city, she would have failed and let the entire city be destroyed, were it not for one man. This man, a prophet from a distant land, foresaw the evil taking effect and warned my mother. His name was Tucker Barrows.”

            She pointed at a portrait on the wall to the left of us. It was ginger bearded man, with a stubble and a moustache. The man smiled slightly but was at the same time, dead serious in his portrait. He held a parchment of paper in one hand and had a bike situated behind him.

            “This man saved this city, and then left my mother. According to her, he had the key to save us from this evil and left the city to do so. Then he vanished to time and history. My mother died attempting to find him and the salvation of these people.” She motioned down to the floor, “But perhaps she did not try in vain.”

            She continued, almost hopefully, “I called you two because I knew you were not from here. I knew I needed someone who could do what I am about to ask, someone not from here.”

            “What?” I asked.

            “What?” asked Naomi.

            She hesitated then continued, “My mother, before she died, found the initial route taken by Tucker before he vanished. She could not go any further from her kingdom, and neither can I. But YOU! You can find the route, follow his footsteps, and find what he found.”

            I looked at Naomi with a small inch of doubt, but did not find the same in her, she simply looked deeply into Lavinia’s eyes and replied, “We will! We can! We will do anything for this place.”

            Lavinia, tears in her eyes, looked at the two of us, “Really, you would brave the wilds of Nitzanland, its beasts, its savages and all the cursed evil that inhabits it? For me, for this place?”

            I looked into her tear soaked eyes. She was so sad, so needing of this. “Of course," I replied. "Of course we will.”

            Then she jumped from her seat in joy and hugged us on our seats.

            “Thank you!” she yelled, “Thank you for this!”