“Blurtseau hangs by a thread”



Ma chère Soiselle,

Once again I pen your daily note. And once again I receive no reply. The days have become weeks and the weeks months, and each minute an eternity. You do not write. You appear not at your window. The faithful messenger who delivers my notes sees only your chambermaid at the door. I am adrift on a sea of doubt, and I see no shore in sight…

          

My dear Blurtseau,

With heavy hoof I inscribe the sounds you have long feared to hear. I am gone. I have fled with the prince. I am his, and he is mine. Proximity has conquered distance. I know this will cause you pain, but I hope we can remain friends.

adieu,

Blurtsoiselle

                        ....................................................

Blurtseau Lundif could not believe what his eyes had read. It was as if he were deciphering a language he did not understand and his guess at its meaning was surely mistaken. He read the words again. And again. Finally, he realized the letter was not written in a foreign tongue, and he did comprehend its meaning, and Blurtsoiselle was indeed saying what her words were saying, and she had given her heart to the prince, and her affections, and her soul which had been the North Star guiding Blurtseau through his endless nights. And he was annihilated. “I must find Pableau!” he said out loud. “For if I do not find a pair of loving eyes to assure me I am alive, I will simply cease to exist.” And in his greatest moment of misfortune, fortune was near, and when he cried out, “I must find Pableau!” Pableau—who had just returned from his morning errands—heard his friend’s cry and rushed to his side, saying, “Here I am my friend, here is your dear and trusted friend Pableau.” And those thirteen words were, for an annihilated soul on the edge of extinction, a silver thread which Blurtseau grasped with every fiber of his being, knowing that if he held on, and never let go, that the thread would slowly restore him to the world of the living. “My friend,” said Blurtseau, “I who have been reduced to ashes and rubble, and scarcely have a breath to offer, owe you the world.” And the two donkeys embraced, as if clutching to life itself, amid the boulangerie smells of flour, yeast, and baking bread.