A Wandering Heart
Part 4: Silent Heart
by Kim McFarland

Janken came home with a board and some papers. Mica looked up from her sewing. "Hi, Jan."

"Hi."

He sat down, got out some clean paper, and began writing on it, glancing back and forth between that and the sheets he had brought in, which were covered with small, nearly-unreadable writing. This had become a daily ritual: Janken went to The Storyteller and took notes as she told a story, then came back to write it out while it was still fresh in his mind. Mica would wait until he finished to talk to him.

Janken had learned to write fast by abbreviating words, only scribbling down enough letters to remind himself of what they were, so he wouldn't have to interrupt The Storyteller's flow. At first it had been hit-and-miss, but he was getting the hang of it now. Occasionally there were spots where he simply could not decipher his notes, but he had gotten confident enough to fill those gaps after The Storyteller had reminded him that the important thing was the story itself, not her specific words.

When he copied a story out he could hear it again in his mind. Perhaps, he thought, the stories would keep at least some of their flavor in written form, so others might want to read them. And, he hoped, maybe by studying her style he could absorb some of it and learn to be a storyteller himself.

When he finished he laid the sheets of paper out, with a smoothie on each corner to hold them flat while the ink dried. Then he looked around. Mica was gone. He hadn't noticed when she left.

He looked at the item of clothing she had been sewing for the past handful of days. It was a winter coat made of heavy cloth, with a knitted hood and cuffs of pink Fraggle wool. Winter was over half a year away, but it was never a bad idea to get a head start. He wondered who it was for. Many Fraggles had pink fur.

Mica came back in and saw Janken looking at the coat. She said, "Hi. Good story?"

"Yeah," he told her. "Nice work. Who's this for?"

"Rumple. His coat was falling apart by the end of winter."

"Oh."

"I overheard some Doozers saying that they heard music in the tunnels."

"The Minstrels?"

"Yeah. They'll be here soon, if we can already hear them."

"Yeah!"

Soon the sound of music wafted into the Great Hall. Soft and gentle, it filled the cavern like the scent of the first flowers of spring and lured the Fraggles from the tunnels.

The minstrels strolled unhurriedly into the Great Hall as they played their tune. Two of them were Fraggles: Cantus, their leader, playing his two-threaded magic pipe; and Brio, with her small, bell-like cymbals. The Fraggles didn't know what the other three were; they had never encountered other members of their species. Murray, who played a guitar, was a lanky, green-furred creature. Balsam was a smallish, leathery being who played drums, and Brool was a large, toothy, furry creature with a surprisingly light voice and a delicate hand with an unnamed string instrument.

The Fraggles listened quietly and appreciatively to the music. Wembley noticed that there was something different about it this time, something sparkly-sounding, but he couldn't tell where that came from.

When that finished Cantus lowered his pipe and said, "Greetings, Fraggles of Fraggle Rock."

Wembley said, "Greetings, Cantus! What brings you here today?"

Cantus answered, "My path led here, and I followed it."

Murray nodded, thinking to himself that Cantus never ran out of ways to say "Just because."

Watching from the window of their room above the Great Hall, Mokey told Red, "They have a new minstrel!"

Red looked down. "Huh? It's the same five."

"When Brool turns this way, look at his shoulder."

Janken was watching from one of the entrances to the Great Hall. The arrival of the Minstrels was always a joyous event for the music-loving Fraggles. Cantus was more than a musician to them; he was also a respected sage. On the greatest occasions he drew things out of them that they had not known possible.

Soon the Minstrels were sitting on the side of the pond. They all began playing a tune. It was quiet and a little vague, as if they only knew part of it. Before long a young, pink Fraggle began playing a flute. She was hesitant at first, but when Cantus nodded approval she continued with more assurance.

Instruments began appearing in the hands of other Fraggles. Wembley went to his cave to fetch his bongos and Gobo's gourd guitar. Up in the room she shared with Red, Mokey began playing a reed horn. Red couldn't play her drum because she was holding her baby daughter, so she sang.

Janken hurried back to his cave and got his ceramic ocarina. When he returned he listened to the flow of the music for a few moments before joining in. Mica, who was singing, recognized the sound and looked back to see Janken standing against the stone wall, gazing at the minstrels as he played.

The music went on for several minutes, developing in complexity as more voices and instruments were added to the mix, each strengthening the original theme. Then, by consensus, the music ended with a chord that filled the Great Hall like a wave of warmth.

Cantus spoke. "We have wandered farther than I can describe, and played this same tune everywhere we went. It is always different, and yet always the same."

"What's it called?" Wembley asked.

"I cannot name it, because I did not create it. It creates itself anew every time it is played."

Murray said in an aside that could be heard throughout the cave, "I call it Stone Soup."

There was a chuckle of comprehension. Cantus nodded amused agreement.

The Minstrels set their instruments aside and took off their backpacks to rest from their journey while chatting with the Fraggles. Janken saw Brool reach over to his shoulder, lift something off his backpack, and set it on the Doozer bridge behind himself. The Doozers who had been watching stared in surprise at what they saw: a young Doozer, one whose puff of blue hair was not covered by a helmet and who wore a sash instead of a tool belt. She also wore a diagonal back scabbard which carried a Doozer-sized traverse flute.

After a moment of awkward silence one of the resident Doozers, a redheaded female, said, "Are you a Doozer minstrel?"

"I'm a Minstrel-in-training, yes."

The Doozer who had spoken first turned back toward her fellows. "See? Doozers can make music too!" She turned back and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Cotterpin."

"Hi, Cotterpin. I'm Reed," The two shook hands.

"Wanna come visit the Doozer Dome? Everyone else thinks Doozers can't do anything but work all day. You'll blow their minds!"

"Sure!"

The two Doozer girls rode off in Cotterpin's vehicle.

Cantus watched them go, nodding approvingly. Then he glanced over at Janken, who had been hanging back and listening quietly. "You have been standing there since we arrived, but I have not heard your voice once."

"Uh... I just wanted to listen," Janken stammered.

Cantus told him, "To sing one must first listen. Listen to both what is without and what is within."

"I don't really sing," Janken said, embarrassed.

"Everybody sings, though not all sing in words," Cantus told him. "Once you find your song, you never stop singing it."

"I'll do that when I can," Janken said, more for something to say than because he actually believed. He wanted to hear Cantus talk more than he wanted to say anything himself.

The Minstrels stayed in the Great Hall for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Other Fraggles came and went, bringing them food and, often, carrying their instruments, hoping that a tune would start. It always did. Janken watched in wonder as, over and over, some Fraggle would play a simple melody, offering it the way a child offers a flower or a newly-found smoothie, and the minstrels would join in, elaborating on the simple theme without overpowering it, somehow making it more itself. Janken stayed the whole time, listening and trying to think of a tune to give to Cantus, but he couldn't. He didn't have the gift for music that most Fraggles did. He had not even found his song.

That thought made him ashamed. Any Fraggle could sing from the heart. All of his family could. It was as natural as swimming: don't think about it, just give your heart a voice, and out comes the truth. He remembered many beautiful songs sung by all of his parents. Even Sage made up little ditties. Yet Janken had rarely been able to do that, not while anyone else was listening. That was one reason he liked the ocarina: if he was playing a flute, nobody could expect him to sing.

Cantus had a beautiful voice, Janken thought, as rich as aged wood. And though he was an elder, he had not faded or weakened the way most Fraggles did; he seemed to grow ever brighter, his colors as vivid as campfire flames. And though he moved slowly and was always calm, his songs were filled with a fierce joy.

As the evening wore on Janken worked up the nerve to speak to them. "How did you become minstrels?"

The six minstrels—Reed had returned from her visit with the local Doozers—exchanged glances. Cantus answered, "There is only one way to become a minstrel, and each of us has done it differently."

"Is it a calling? Something you have to do because you're the only one who can?"

Murray laughed and said to his fellows, "Hey, the rumors we've been planting have finally gotten around!" He told Janken, "Kinda yes and kinda no. There's gotta be something to start with. You can't be a minstrel if the music isn't deep inside you. But after that you have to work hard at it. It's more than just playing pretty tunes."

"I understand," Janken said seriously. "You all travel throughout the Rock—do you go outside the Rock?"

Cantus replied, "We have never found the end of the Rock. It may be that it does not end, it only changes."

"My family has told me stories. How you got my aunt Red to find her song. How you made Gobo realize that everyone sings the same song. How you showed Junior Gorg that he could be the next King of the Universe. You did all that with music, but it's not only music."

Murray said, "You're gettin' it, kid."

"I don't understand it all. I don't even understand enough to ask what I'm missing."

Cantus said, "You are looking past the surface. That is good. Perhaps you will find the answer."

"That's what I'm trying to do," Janken said politely.

Cantus nodded. "It is late, and the answer is very long, young Fraggle. We will still be here in the morning."

Janken could take a hint. "Thank you. I'll come back tomorrow."

Janken left, leaving the six Minstrels alone. As they set up their tents and sleeping bags, Murray said to Cantus, "What do you think of that kid?"

"I think he has potential."

"Potential for what? He didn't sing a note all day. He hardly even played his flute."

"It took me longer than one evening to find my path. It'll take him some time to find his. He must take the first step, and soon."

Hands in his sweater pockets, head full of music, Janken walked back to his and Mica's cave.

She was holding the coat she had been making, but she was not working on it; her needles and other tools were still in their box. She said, "Hi."

"Hi."

She just looked at him as if she wanted to say something but could not find a way to start. He asked, "What's wrong?

She sighed and put down the coat. She said, "Jan, this isn't working the way we wanted it to. Now I know why."

"Mica?" he said softly as he sat beside her.

She said, "I saw how you looked at Cantus. You've never looked at me like that."

Janken looked away. He could not deny it. She was his closest friend, and he could not lie to her. He said, "It's just a crush. I'm not going to do anything about it. It's not like he'd be interested in me anyhow."

She laid her hand on his. It was warm. "I know. But ever since we moved in here you've been down. I think it's because we're trying to force something that isn't going to happen. Janken, you don't really love me, not that way, because I'm female."

He closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he looked at her hand, still on his. He said, "You're right. Mica, I really tried, and I really wanted to, but... I guess I was just pretending, hoping that would make it real. I'm sorry. I feel like I was using you."

"You weren't," she said softly. She picked up his hand and held it between hers. "You never lied to me. We didn't know whether you're single-sexed or not. Well, now we know."

"If there was any girl I could love, it'd be you," he told her.

She smiled, a little sadly. "We do love each other. Just not that way."

"Yeah," he said.

She put an arm around his back. They leaned together, their heads touching, and were quiet for a while. Eventually Janken asked, "What do we do now?"

"We stop pretending."

"Should I move out?"

"Do you want to?"

He shook his head. "I like being with you. I really do."

"Yeah, me too. And I don't want to move back in with Mom."

He laughed softly. "I wouldn't move back in with my parents. I'd feel like such a kid. And I'd hate to live by myself. I'd miss you like crazy."

"I'd miss you too."

They stopped talking again. There wasn't much more to say. Sometimes it was better just to be quiet together.

The moment was broken when his stomach growled. Mica giggled. Janken said, "I guess I forgot to eat."

"It must be love, then," she teased.

"Ha ha." He squeezed her hand, then cut a slice off the loaf of bread that Boober had given Mica earlier. He ate that, then said, "I'm going to get a radish for a sandwich. Want some?"

"Sure."

He left, then came back a few minutes later with a radish from the pantry. He sliced that up into thin discs and made a pair of sandwiches. They both ate, thinking about different things.

Fraggle Rock and all characters except Janken, Mica, and Reed 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.