A Wandering Heart
Part 3: Niven's Laws
by Kim McFarland
Janken looked at the book he had just finished. He had written every page himself, printing in a careful, steady hand. He had even sewn the binding. Mokey had shown him how and, he thought, the end result looked pretty good. The pages were tight and in order; he'd checked twice.
He had been working on it for days and days. Mica thought that he had never invested so much time and effort into any one thing as he had that book. He had recopied whole pages before sewing it together because he was dissatisfied with his handwriting.
It was finished. There was nothing more to do to it. He'd checked it so many times he could no longer read it, he could only see the words. He was just dithering, he admitted to himself. He told Mica, more to force himself to act than to inform her, "I'm going to give this to her now."
"Good luck. Now go," Mica said. She reached out and tugged his tail gently. He grinned at her, then, book in hand, left.
He traveled through winding rock corridors. The Storyteller lived on the edge of the main colony in an oddly-decorated cave. It was one of the few caves with an actual door. Janken had always wondered about that; even Boober only had a curtain blocking the entrance to his home. He had long ago written it off as a personal quirk.
He tapped on her door. She called out, "I'm coming, I'm coming." Before she had finished saying that she opened the door. "Oh, Janken, come in!"
He did. Her home was, as usual, decorated with piles of paper and pictures of Gobo's Uncle Matt. The pictures stayed the same, but the paper formations moved and changed from day to day like living things. The Storyteller asked, "What would you like to hear today?"
"Actually, I brought you something," he said, and held the book out to her. Her eyes widened with surprise as she took it. She opened it and looked at the list on the first page, then smiled. He watched as she turned pages, reading the first lines of each section to see which tale it was.
Janken was the Storyteller's most regular customer. Ever since he was little he had loved coming to her for tales of history and fantasy. Many of them had already been written down; he had spent many hours here reading her books and scrolls when she felt under the weather or her voice was tired. But not all of them were on paper, and in any case a written story couldn't compete with a spoken one. A storyteller made the tales come alive.
Even so, stories ought to be written down, Janken thought, so they would not be lost. He said, "These are the stories you told me about 'the boy' when I was little. I guessed you were making them up for me, and I really liked them, so I wrote them down."
"You've been doing that all this time?" she asked, surprised.
"Well, no. I only started writing them down two Fraggle Moons ago. But I've gone over them in my mind many times, so I remember them pretty well. My favorite was the one about the thimble beetle. Did you make those stories up?"
"Yes, I did," she told him. "I thought you'd like stories about a little boy like yourself."
"Or like my great-uncle Matt?" he asked with a smile.
She smiled back. She had patterned the boy after her childhood memories of Matthew Fraggle. Who better to be the hero?
"I thought so. I also came to ask you about something else."
He suddenly looked nervous, she saw. "What is it?"
"Well... I really like stories, and I'd like to tell them myself. Would you teach me?"
Surprised, she asked, "Do you want to be my apprentice?"
"Yes."
She lifted her glasses and looked at him. She shouldn't be so startled, she thought. He had heard most of her tales more than once. He used to tell her stories of his own, back when he was little. If she had had ever considered taking an apprentice, he would have been the first Fraggle to come to mind. She said, "Then tell me a story."
"Um, all right," he said. "Which one?"
"How about The Great and Wondrous Blundig?"
"Okay." He started to sit down in his usual spot, a cushion on the floor opposite the storyteller's chair. She said, "No, this time I'll sit there. You take the chair."
"Oh, um, okay." He sat in the Storyteller's chair.
She lowered herself to the ground—with some effort; she was not a young Fraggle—and then said, "Go on."
He felt weirdly self-conscious. It seemed wrong for him to be sitting here, in her chair. He began, "The Wondrous Blundig was already a legend back when legends were still being made. Nobody knew where she would come from or what she would look like, but everyone knew that when she came she would replace the ruler of Fraggle Rock.
"The legend had been around for so long that nobody believed it would happen in their lifetime, and lived their lives as if she were only a story. They survived in the rock without singing or dancing, concerned only with safety and survival.
"When she finally did appear, the leader of the Fraggles didn't believe she was real. He believed her to be an upstart using the legend to seize power, and imprisoned her and her companions, No-Neck and Roughchin. But the legend said that she would move the Sacred Boulders, so to prove that she was a fake he made her try. When, at her command, the boulders did move, his people abandoned him and made her their leader.
"Instead of commanding them, as the previous leader had, she showed them how Fraggles were meant to live. She taught them to laugh and dance and sing, to take joy in life instead of merely surviving, and to lead themselves and each other rather than having rulers and laws. They saw that this was a better way to live, and when she was done and left them again the old leader didn't try to take back his role. Even he was happy living for pleasure rather than power, as all Fraggles should.
"Nobody knew where Blundig and her companions went afterward. They may have spread the good word to other Fraggle colonies."
Janken stopped. When the Storyteller didn't speak immediately, he began to feel embarrassed. He knew that that hadn't been a good telling at all. It was too short. He had repeated words and used awkward phrases. But, worst of all, it was merely an account rather than a story, telling the listener what happened rather than showing them. No dialogue, no flavor, no life. When the Storyteller spoke, you didn't see her and hear her words, you saw and heard her story. He said, "Sorry, that wasn't very good at all."
"It wasn't bad," she said kindly.
"Thanks, but I can't really think when I'm trying to tell a story. When I'm writing things down I can stop and think how to say it, but... I guess I talk first draft." He got off the Storyteller's chair. "Maybe I could write down the stories you tell that aren't already written down?"
"That would be fine. And you can practice telling some more. That was only your first try, after all."
"Yeah, thanks," he said with a weak attempt at a smile.
He walked quickly back to his cave, his hands clasped behind his back. He could hardly believe how bad his try at storytelling had been. He'd told stories before and done much better, but they had only been short flights of fancy he had made up. It was easy to tell stories out of your own brain. But a storyteller passed on all forms of Fraggle lore, fiction and fact and everything in between. It was important that it be remembered, and who would remember a dull recitation like his? A storyteller had to capture the listener's attention, otherwise he was just wasting everyone's time.
Mica was there when he came back in. She had a loaf of bread. "Boober brought this by. How did it go?" She turned to him and saw his expression. "What happened?"
"She liked the book. As for me learning to be a storyteller, that's no good. I just can't tell stories well enough."
"Did she say that?" she asked.
"No. She didn't have to. I could hear myself. I can write her stories down, at least."
"That's not what you really want to do, though."
"No. But I guess I've got to settle for what I can get. Being a helper," he said, disappointed with himself.
"I'm sorry." She hugged him. After a second he put his arms around her shoulders, but there was no real warmth in the gesture. There never was.
She was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake.
Fraggle Rock and all characters except Janken and Mica are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Mica, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.