Hey, said Alex, would you look at that…

What? said Blurtso. That cloud, said Alex, it looks like a human. Where? said Blurtso. There, said Alex, can’t you see? That’s its head, and those are its eyes, and that’s its television, and that’s its boat, and that's its ATV trailer, and that's its four-car garage… Of course! said Blurtso. How could I miss it?!


               (Alex the giraffe appears courtesy of Alex Dev)
                      http://old.yatalant.ru/3237/albums/2148

Hmmm, thought Blurtso. This is quite a crowd. I can’t see in 
any direction. And I can’t move. All I can do is stand here...



                  Well... I guess that simplifies things.

                     “Pableau learns Spanish”

“As our heroes were thus engaged, Rocinante wandered off to amuse himself with the queen’s mare, while Sancho’s grey befriended the servant’s mule…”

              Hey, said Alex, would you look at that…

What? said Blurtso. That cloud, said Alex, it looks like a human. Where? said Blurtso. There, said Alex, can’t you see? That’s the head, and those are the eyes, and that’s the hand holding a cell-phone, and that’s the other hand slipping off the steering wheel… Oh yes! said Blurtso. I see it now!


                 (Alex the giraffe appears courtesy of Alex Dev)
                        http://old.yatalant.ru/3237/albums/2148

Zut alors! thought Blurtso. Il y a beaucoup d'ânes en France!

Dear Pablo,

School started last week. I am suddenly very busy. I took some time off yesterday to see some paintings. The museum was unimpressive, both as a building and an art collection. However, there was a nice Hoot Owl in the tree outside the window.

your friend,
Blurtso

     

What's the difference between rushing to be in fashion,
                      and rushing to conform?

I’d better get going, said Blurtso, I’ve got so many things to do! First I’ve got to have breakfast, then I’ve got to smell the flowers, then I’ve got to see my friends, then I’ve got to have lunch, then I’ve got to do things, then I’ve got to enjoy what I’m doing, then I’ve got to have dinner, then I’ve got to go to bed, then I’ve got to get some sleep, then… and off he went, to have breakfast, to smell the flowers, to see his friends, to have lunch, to do things, to enjoy what he’s doing, to have dinner, to go to bed… until he finally realized as he dozed off to sleep, that he hadn’t done anything, he hadn’t really done a thing, all day long.

 

 
Hmm, thought Ditto, would you look at that… a leaf caught in the stream. It’s a dry leaf, yellow and crinkly. I wonder how long it will remain there? I wonder what will become of it when I’m gone? I wonder if it will miss me? I wonder if I will think of it when I’m home? I wonder if it will still be here, softly striking the stone?

                        “Pableau learns Greek”



        “Come Odysseus, said Calypso, enter my cave…
       you will not be disappointed by the delights within.”

The University of Evora, a beacon of learning run by Jesuit priests for over two hundred years, was closed in 1759 when the ideas of the Enlightenment were deemed to be too dangerous for the town’s faithful. As a result, the building to which Pableau had been invited, and in which Zurrabela was anxiously waiting, had been closed for thirty years. When Pableau arrived, Zurrabela revealed her location with the softest and sweetest bray that Pableau had ever heard. Walking blindly, he followed the thread of sound until he came upon its Ariadne, and the two entered the building and made their way down a long corridor to the University library…

Once they were alone with the books, Zurrabela closed and bolted the door. Then she lit a candle that bathed the intruders in a circle of light…

So that you know the risk you run, said Zurrabela, I must tell you who I am. I am María Diana Sofía, third cousin to the Queen of Portugal, who, in case of my unlikely ascension to the throne, is being tutored by a Jesuit priest posing as a servant. My true identity has been kept secret to protect me from being sequestered for the ransom I would bring, and for that reason you must always call me Zurrabela, the nickname given me shortly after I was born. Before this University was closed, the crestfallen priest that is now my servant managed to slip away with a master key that opens every door of the building. I removed that key from his chain so that we could meet here tonight. If all goes well, and if you so desire, we may meet again tomorrow, and the night after that, from midnight until three strokes of the bell, at which time I must return to my quinta, replace the key on the chain, and sleep until I am awakened. Our meetings must become known to no one, for I am born to bear the mantel of royalty, and cannot be seen in the presence of a bloodline beneath my own. For the duration of our encounters, we will have the company of one another, as well as the company of an estimable collection of literature from the countries bordering the Mediterranean. While I do not expect you to be conversant in all the tongues in which these works are written, I am myself am versed in Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, French, and of course Portuguese, and will gladly and patiently illuminate the magic of these pages so that, together, we might forge a bond made of wisdom and beauty. In return, I ask only to hear from you of the world beyond my quinta, of the travels you have undertaken and the adventures you have had, for I have lived a cloistered life, and my heart and mind are yearning for a draught of free and open air.



Pableau listened to all that Zurrabela had to say without interrupting, and when she was finished he said, My esteemed Zurrabela—and I use only the name you request—you will find in me a grateful student of all that you have to teach, and an enthusiastic reporter of the life I have lived. Although the better part of glory in the adventures I have known belongs to my best friend—captain of the vessels upon which I have served—nevertheless, the tales I have to tell are replete with generous quantities of joy, excitement, and despair, and will transport you far from the captivity you have borne. I promise, he concluded, that you will find me here, faithfully, each night at the stroke of twelve, and that I shall remain at your side until the third bell rings, at which time, as you have said, you must return to the cloister that awaits you. With this, Pableau offered Zurrabela his hoof, which she accepted by offering her own, and when that lovely extremity—object of his dreams—was placed thus before him, he took it gently, looked her in eyes and said, “Contrato feito,” to which Zurrabela replied, “Contrato feito.”



Hmmm, thought Blurtso, looking up from the page, if Zurrabela is going to teach Greek and romance languages, and masterpieces of occidental literature, I’d better know something about those things. I wonder if Harvard offers classes in language and literature?

      One morning when Pableau opened the bakery,
                    there was a note on the door…

              “Meet me at midnight at the University.”

It took Pableau seven days to recover from the impact of Zurrabela’s visit, and when he began to work again, his concentration was in short supply…



Over and over, he relived the encounter. And her words rang true. He did not know her. He had been chasing a hoof. Reluctantly, he had to consider whether his infatuation was more about him than it was about her. Yes, she had struck a note within him, but it was a note that had been waiting to be struck, and though it reverberated in every fiber of his being, she might feel nothing at all. But still… and despite all that… it was Zurrabela who had struck that note… Zurrabela and only Zurrabela…

The day dawned damp and chilly, long after Pableau had risen from his water-logged straw to fire the bakery ovens. He had been toiling for hours when the first customers arrived, and by then the air in the shop was warm and dry, and even the cracks in the walls were thick with the scent of bread. Although it had been more than three months since his arrival, and though his excursion to the villa had been in vain, Pableau’s resolve remained firm, for despite his repeated failures he knew that the story of the boulanger in search of the hoof was making its way around town, and that notice of his existence would eventually fall upon the ears of the one he sought. He was consoling himself with this hopeful, patient logic as he placed a fresh tray of chantillies in the pastry window, when a carriage suddenly appeared on the street, and before he could comprehend what was happening, he saw the most beautiful donkey in the world descend from the coach…



Are you Pableau the baker? she asked, when she had stepped inside. Yes, said Pableau, I am. And you have been seeking me for over three months? Yes, said Pableau, I have. Having seen only my hoof? And have seen that on only three occasions? Yes, said Pableau. And you have been discovered in the garden of my quinta, she said, by my eyes and others’, skulking about the shrubberies? That, said Pableau, I cannot say, for your eyes may well have seen me, but mine, sadly, did not see you. But yes, he continued, I was indeed on the grounds, for I bribed the gatekeeper to let me pass. I see, said Zurrabela, and now, may I know what you expect of me? I expect nothing, said Pableau, I only hope. Hope? said Zurrabela. And what do you hope? I hope, said Pableau, that yours is the heart I am seeking, and that mine is the heart you seek. But, said Zurrabela, that hope is without reason, for you have sought only a hoof. Yes, said Pableau, that is true, but I know my heart, and my heart knows reasons that reason knows not. But how can you be sure, said Zurrabela, that I seek any heart at all? I cannot be sure, said Pableau, I can only hope. Yes, said Zurrabela, as you have said… May I know how long you will lodge in Evora? Until my dreams are answered, said Pableau, or until they expire.

       

To this last statement Zurrabela did not respond, but only gazed at the flour-covered donkey who had searched for her, tirelessly, having seen only a hoof. Pableau, too, remained silent, meeting her glance with one of his own, a glance that was open, unguarded, and fortified with conviction. Then Zurrabela made a motion to speak, then stopped, collected herself, and left the shop. Pableau remained inside, watching to see if she would make herself seen at the window of her coach, but she did not; instead he saw only what he already knew, an incomparable hoof, waving to the driver, in a gesture to depart.

            Maybe those rocks at the bottom are me... 
     it’s nice to be in the stream on a hot day in August.

     
Marriage is not incompatible with “doing your own thing,”

                   if “your” is a plural adjective.

When it became apparent that Pableau was not going to find the enchanted hoof in a day, or a week, or perhaps even a month, he decided to seek employment at one of the local bakeries. In this, fortune was with him, for the first bakery he approached needed someone to work the morning shift, opening the shop and firing the ovens. As the days passed, Pableau noticed that a certain villa, or “quinta” as he learned to call it, had a standing order for a dozen petit chou chantillies to be delivered daily. Hoping against hope that the consumer of those dozen chantillies might be the self-same shopper whose hoof he had spied reaching for a chantilly in Sagres, he ventured out to the quinta. When he arrived, he was met at the gate by the gatekeeper, who informed him he could not pass.



Fortunately, Pableau had brought a special chantilly into which he had managed to insert a triple helping of whipped cream, and when the guard saw the magnificent treat, he accepted it in exchange for Pableau’s entry to the grounds.



The love-sick baker spent the entire day watching the door of the house, which opened on several occasions, taking his breath away each time, but not once did he see the magical hoof. Finally, tired and discouraged, he returned to the bakery and his room at the back of the shop.