The Tower of White

The Arrival

“I am Cesar and you are Timothy the Younger; it is true?” His smacking lips reduced the question to barely understandable.

“I am Timothy, but I am not the Younger, though my years are few,” the young man responded as he retreated a step to avoid the spray which accompanied the rumpled man’s chew-filled talking.

“You are the son of Timothy of High Pastures, are you not? You are the youngest of three brothers, ARE YOU NOT? You have been summoned by The Master, HAVE YOU NOT?” Cesar had become quite agitated, his half eaten sausage flying about, as if warding off a swarm of enraged bees with half a greasy snake.

“Please sir,” Timothy begged, “my father, Timothy, died last Spring, leaving me the eldest male and the son responsible to feed, clothe, and shelter the family, or so I am told by my brothers, my sister, my mother, and several cousins. That is why I responded to the notice that The Master had posted regarding a position at the Tower. A position, I might add, that is a bit unclear as the notice did not describe the duties nor the wage paid therefore. Yet it is a position in which my interest is intense and sincere. That is why I added my name to the list at the bottom of the notice. So, you see I am no longer the Younger, but I am only elder in terms of my responsibility and namesake.”

Stunned by the logic and clarity of the young man’s rhetoric, Cesar silently placed the sausage in the pouch hanging from the waist-cord of his tunic and motioned for Timothy to hand him the two tied bundles carrying his possessions.

“Come with me,” Cesar said more calmly and with unexpected clarity of his own. He turned and led Timothy through the city’s main gate to his waiting cart. Awe-struck by the city’s size and the hustle and bustle of the people, Timothy looked all about, trying to comprehend it all.

“Your first time here?” Cesar asked as he put the bundles into the cart motioning for Timothy to get in the back.

“Yes, this is my first visit. It is so exciting, big and busy, all these people…” his voice lowered with his diverted attention until it was absorbed into the sounds of the city. Cesar smiled as he climbed to his seat and urged the aged donkey into motion.

The morning sun was but a sliver between the clouds in the deep valley between the two highest peaks in the distance. The river flows through the deep valley to the docks near the main gate. The highlands that rise to the peaks have been Timothy’s family home for generations. Most of his kin have lived their entire lives in their village and the surrounding pastures; tending sheep and selling wool and meat to the traders who come to the village from the city.

The wide and white stone avenue that leads from the docks, through the main gate, up the hill to the university is lined with whitewashed buildings, vendors, artists, musicians, shops, pubs, and busy people of all colors and classes, rushing about.

At the top of the hill, the Tower of White dominates the “place of the learned,” as the university is called by those who travel there in search of answers, of knowledge.

“We must hurry. I fear we are late. We must not make him wait,” Cesar said fearfully, loosely gesturing in the direction of the Tower. The aged donkey, much experienced in these matters, found the center of the white way, made of smaller cobblestones, and quickened his pace. Cesar smiled as the answer seeking travelers moved aside and, in increasing numbers, were on both sides of the cart headed in the same direction.

“Where are they going?” Timothy yelled over his shoulder toward Cesar. From Timothy’s seat facing rear, legs dangling, the walkers all seemed as if they had been placed under a spell of some kind, gazing forward, marching upward, left-right-left-right.

“These are those who are the near learned, the former learned, and a few learned mixed in with the learning to be learned. Some teach and some are taught, most do neither and some do both,” Cesar said smiling in the glow if his wisdom. The young man would certainly enjoy and appreciate his comments and the logic behind them. He celebrated with a bite of sausage.

“That’s sad,” said Timothy. Cesar nearly choked and flushed with rage he threw the sausage which hit the aged donkey at the base of his tail. Startled, the animal skipped sideways two steps, almost hitting a tall man with a large book under his arm. The man did not look up nor acknowledge the incident.

“What is the matter,” Cesar managed to speak, “why is it sad?”

“Look at them, sir. Knowledge is comfort, learning is a treasured gift from God and should be addressed with happiness and optimism. These men have no purpose in their search for truth or they would not approach it with the look of defeated and dislodged refugees trudging toward a fearful unknown.”

“May the gods save me, young man. I think I am beat.” By his tone, Cesar had clearly given up in his imagined battle of logic. He looked over his shoulder past Timothy, at the road behind them, apparently longing to have his sausage back.

The aged donkey had perked up, his pace quickening, sensing his approaching home and, most likely, Cesar’s loss of both wordplay and sausage. At least that seemed to be the thought that crossed Cesar’s mind as he frowned at the donkey’s swishing tail. Cesar had known this creature for years and its deep disrespect for him was common knowledge; especially as the sausages took their toll and grew Cesar in ways beasts of burden must hate.

Timothy had not responded to Cesar; he was lost in his thoughts. Perhaps speculating on what might lie ahead; perhaps searching his brain for a formula that would make sense of all of this — the notice, the job, The Master himself.

Timothy broke his silence after a few moments and asked “Sir, where will these men go; to the Tower, a chapel, an assemblage of some kind?

“They will join a queue at the Tower, waiting for a consultation. Then they will leave or take a seat at the university, if one is available to be had.” Cesar was not aggressive in his answer. He seemed to resign himself to merely imparting the requested information efficiently and without emotion.

The aged donkey continued happily, the Tower was very near now.

The Passage

The sun was high and the gleaming Tower of White had grown and grown as the cart approached. Now it overwhelmed everything that surrounded it and all who approached it, including Cesar’s charge.

The red-tile-capped cylinder reaching up from the center of the huge white building was pure and beautiful. The Tower’s sides were straight and tall. Flawless and fresh, the entire structure looked as if it was newly whitewashed.

The rows of steps and tall columns on the front of the building gave it an air of solemn importance. Majestic windows, high above the ground, lined its sides.

The cart hesitated for the queue to part, allowing passage. Timothy looked toward the front of the queue. There an old man was standing on the first step, the next to enter a large oaken door with shining brass handles and hinges.

The young man’s eyes left the old one and slowly traveled, following the queue, down and down, past him and on, the travelers in their trances, smaller and smaller, until they seemed to disappear into the river far below. “How long must they wait,” he said to no one, puzzled, deep in thought.

“Should I get out here,” he yelled to Cesar, breaking several close by trances, attracting brief glances, then back to emptiness.

“No, you must enter through the passageway,” Cesar responded in a half-whisper to keep the nearest travelers from overhearing.

Startled by the secrecy, Timothy remained silent as the cart inched forward through the queue.

Cesar turned the cart into the alleyway at the north side of the Tower building. Sharing the alley were the receiving doors of several shops.

The sign read “Fats and Renderings Only” above the door, on the side opposite the Tower building, in front of which the aged donkey, with a sigh, ended his long journey.

Cesar stayed in place but turned to face Timothy, “Take your things and go through that door, head down the basement steps. At the bottom, follow the candles to the right, through the passageway.”

“Will you go with me?” Timothy seemed to sense that Cesar was about to leave his presence, perhaps forever.

“No, sir. I am not allowed into the passageway. And, if you return to the docks, another loyal and humble man will transport you and your possessions.” Cesar seemed saddened also. And fearful.

Clutching his bundles, Timothy climbed out of the rear of the cart which immediately lurched forward as Cesar urged the aged donkey forward, into disappointment.

“I hope you fare well, old friend,” Timothy quickly shouted to Cesar. Though they had only just met, Cesar was Timothy’s only friend in this confusing place; a man he had relied on, trusted.

“And you, kind sir,” came the reply, his voice, like Timothy’s, brimming with emotion.

Suddenly Timothy wheeled around, “Wait, did you say, IF I return?” But it was too late. Cesar, the aged donkey, and the cart disappeared around the corner at the end of the building. Timothy slowly, cautiously went through the door and down into his dimly lit destiny.

The Meeting

Inside the damp, cool basement the glow of candlelight came from a narrow, stone-lined tunnel. By its direction, it apparently led under the alleyway into the Tower building. It smelled of onions, Timothy noted as he struggled through it with his possessions.

Candle-by-candle, gray stones passing slowly, Timothy reached the rough wooden steps leading upward to a large white door. A sigh signaled his accomplishment as he opened, passed through, and closed the door.

He found himself in what looked to be an empty cloakroom, with bare shelves and hooks along the sides; a second door was closed at the opposite end. He placed his bundles on a shelf and headed for the new door, certainly the entry into the building.

With the caution and apology one might have when entering someone’s home unannounced, Timothy opened the door. The light and the beauty of the place he found there thundered into his senses.

A huge hallway, twenty feet wide, thirty feet tall, polished marble floor, paintings on the ceiling between gold leaf designs, tall windows along one side, columns topped with large ivory elephants along the other; all blending in beauty and mystery, solemnity, and graciousness. Serious things obviously happened here.

The hallway extended down the side of the building and turned to cross the front. Perhaps it completely surrounded the place, Timothy thought, making islands of the interior rooms. Double doors, ten feet tall and mostly standing open, provided entry to the interior islands.

Scrape, scrape. The strange sound caught Timothy’s attention.

Scrape, scrape. He turned toward the doorway that seemed to lead to the sound. Scrape, scrape. Louder came the noise; caution slowed Timothy’s advance.

Scrape, scrape. He entered the room, another wondrous place. The size of a small field for planting, a ceiling tall enough for gulls to soar, several fireplaces around the walls, stained glass skylights, hand woven rugs, lounging couches, and a feasting table. Wondrous indeed.

Scrape, scrape. In a corner, facing the wall, a feeble-looking old man sat on a carpenter’s bench amid a sea curled wood shavings.

Suddenly, without warning, the old whirled seated, knees to chest, twisting his sackcloth robe around his buttocks. “Aaaiiieee,” he screamed, thrusting a fanged piper made of wood, “ahahahah” he grunted waving the cane-like wooden viper defensively, yet wildly, from side-to-side.

Timothy’s eyes went wide, he tried to step backward but his legs were frozen in fear. He started to fall backward as the old man renewed his aggression. “Aaaiiieee” he screamed once more as Timothy fell to the marble floor, his body now shaking violently.

The old man, still brandishing the wooden viper disappeared into darkness as Timothy lost consciousness.

Paco and the Duty

Timothy’s eyes began to dance beneath their lids. His thumbs and fingers soon joined the dance. The coolness of the satin robe he was now wearing was very pleasing; he drew it close, he smiled, then his eyes opened wide, afraid, not sure of what.

Upright he came, now sitting, still startled. The silver tray tray next to him, its food and drink tumbling loudly to the floor. The clattering brought focus to his new resting place, an elegant chaise.

“Be calm, my son,” the black robed elder said with a soothing tone. “You have nothing to fear but living a meaningless, unproductive, and wasted life without even knowing that which you have missed nor caring to know it.”

A bit puzzled, Timothy warned, “Be cautious sir. There is an insane woodcarver about with…” his voice dimmed as his recognition of the elder brightened.

“Yes my son, we are the only living spirits present,” the elder said in recognition of the recognition. A houseboy captured both men’s attention as he entered and began clearing the spilled tray and its former contents. “Of course there is always Paco here, we must count him among the living spirits present. Am I correct Paco?”

“Partially correct, Master,” Paco replied, “If one calls this living. Will there be anything else, Master?” He had finished his work and the room was restored to order.

“No thank you,” the elder said with a sincere smile, his attention turning back to Timothy. “Paco has been here for over three decades now, he said to Timothy, who was wondering if any more food was forthcoming as he listened to the old one. “I have grown to love him; first as a son, then a brother, and now a trusted servant. We have studied the workings of the universe together,” the elder continued.

“Are you the Mast…” Timothy’s question was cut short with a motion of the elder’s hand.

“Yes, I am.” The Master walked to the closest fireplace, took a crystal bowl from the mantelpiece and brought it to a table at the end of Timothy’s chaise. Slowly, in solemn ceremony, the removed a golden chain and key from his neck and placed it in the bowl, nodded to Timothy and returned the bowl to the mantelpiece.

“Is your father wise?” the Master asked.

“He is, and he can read and write.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, I can. My father has five books and I have read them all. I wish I had another, for I learn much from them.”

“What have you learned that is important, in your view?”

Timothy thought for some time, finally saying “I particularly remember three questions for determining a course of action. First, What outcome is wanted? Second, Where will that outcome take you? Third, how will this outcome help you and others?”

The Master smiled and nodded. Timothy fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Is Paco the only other person in this large building?”

“Yes, he takes care of things while I work with those who come to me. His real name is Melchior, which struck me as an inappropriate name for a houseboy, regardless of his station. So I tried shortening it to Mel, but both of us hated that so I quit calling him anything. After several years that proved to be too confusing so, with careful thought and lengthy consideration, I decided to rename him Paco.”

“Why do you carve serpents?” Timothy asked.

“I do not. I carve wood. Serpents are just the medium. Actually, they are walking sticks disguised as serpents. I look at a tree and I see hundreds serpentine walking sticks bundled perfectly to conserve space.” The Master’s smile faded, “Up now, we must get to work, the day is almost gone,” he turned and walked briskly toward the door to the great hallway.

“But I have more questions Master,” Timothy rose and hurried to catch him.

“And I have answers, all the answers, even some for which there are no questions. You will see. You will be satisfied. Have confidence.” The Master paused in front of a closed door with golden hinges and a large golden lock.

“This room, “ he said, “is the Tower Room containing The Book. All that is truly known in the universe and beyond is contained therein; all the secrets of all the workings of all things. Its pages are alive with imagination and promise. It is linked directly to the Highest of Powers, through the tunnel in the sky. It is locked and only the Master of the Key may enter. It is closed even to Paco.”

“What do you do here?” The awe in Timothy’s tone was clear.

“Enough questions, let us continue to the Chambers of Consultation,” The Master said as he proceeded down the great hallway.

Around the corner, along the front of the building, were two doors that were smaller that all the other doors Timothy had seen thus far. They were numbered I and II.

“These are the Chambers of Consultation,” The Master explained. “a questioner enters through an outside door, drops a Silver Ducca into the slot which rings a bell, then waits in the dark. I enter through these doors and sit in the dark too. We are separated by a wall with a small screened window covered by a sliding door. I open the door and the questioner asks his or her question. Women must pay a little more, it is traditional and they do not seem to mind. If the Ducca bell has not rung, I remind the questioner of the payment. Once paid, I answer the question, slide the door closed, log the transaction, and go to the other Chamber. Oh, yes, the timer. Exactly thirty-five seconds after I slide the door open a bell signals the end of this consultation and I close the door immediately. As I am leaving I pull a lever which signals the next questioner in line to enter. And so it goes."

“When do you go outside? Where is the door? Timothy displayed such eagerness to learn that The Master’s eyes widened.

“I never do, never have, cannot, will not. The passageway is the only ingress or egress. But we transgress, let us return to the topic at hand. Paco brings me my lunch over there,” he pointed to a small room across the hallway from the Chambers of Consultation. “It is called The Master’s Alcove and is quite uncomfortable, but lovely.”

“Those are my logs,” The Master continued, indicating a wall of shelves, full of large volumes, at the back of the Alcove. “I have found it important to chronicle, classify, and index transactions. You will come to understand.”

“Why must I under…” once again The Master gestured the question away.

“My consultation hours are nine to eleven in the morning and one to four in the afternoon, five days per week. I tried evenings, but I found the questions less serious and stopped. Oh, and I take no questions when the moon is full, too many crazies out there.” The Master seemed anxious for Timothy to understand.

“What do they do with the answers?” the young man asked.

“All knowledge, or lack thereof, is built on answers leading to questions leading to answers leading to questions. Having answers supersedes the need for more questions once a process becomes comfortable to those who use it and rely on it for its own motion. I have studied this and feel quite satisfied with its soundness as this is a process that requires no basis nor particular end point. It cannot be oversimplified or complicated.”

“I think…” Timothy’s voice trailed off again as he watched The Master hurry away, disappearing through a door near the end of the great hallway.

The Master immediately reappeared and shouted “Rest now, my son, you will need your strength tomorrow. Paco will show you where.” He smiled at the young man and disappeared again through the doorway, slamming the door behind him.

Paco appeared in the next doorway and beckoned him follow.

Another grand room welcomed Timothy. “These will be your rooms,” said Paco. “Through that door is your bath with a pool and hot spring. Pull any golden cord to summon me, I am at your service. Would you like something now?”

“Something to drink would be appreciated,” Timothy responded. “By the way, do you like the name Paco? The Master told me that he renamed you Paco.

“I do not like it very much but it seems to please The Master for some reason,” Paco’s look was not a happy one.

“If you could be called anything under the sun, what would it be?

“Myron the Magnificent would be my first choice, but I would settle for just plain Myron.”

“Myron is nice, adding the Magnificent is somewhat pretentious, however."

“Yes sir, you are right. Pretension is the failing of many servants. Will there be anything else sir?"

“No, just something to drink. Oh, where did The Master go and when does he rise in the morning? I want to be ready."

“I believe he is in his quarters. He is up at sunrise and breakfast is shortly thereafter. It is served in the Main Chamber. Also, you and he will dine tonight at sunset, also in the Main Chamber ”

“Your reference to time in terms of the position of the sun is interestingly confusing as there are no windows in this room.”

"Worry not, sir, I will make you aware of the time. I will be back with your drink shortly."

"Thank you, Paco."

Paco quietly closed the door as Timothy explored the grandeur that surrounded him.

Later, after a bath, his beverage, and a brief nap Timothy heard Paco’s light knock. “Dinner, sir,” he said through the door.

At dinner The Master talked at length about life, science, the arts, and the human condition. Timothy was fascinated.

“Senility is like a fountain or a river or both a fountain and a river, an unending stream of new experiences, over and over,” The Master declared, among other such declarations.

Timothy asked several times what his job at the Tower would entail and how much he would be paid. His questions were answered with “You will see soon enough,” stated several different ways.

After an excellent dinner and brandy, The Master donned his sackcloth robe and retreated to his bench to carve as the apparently did nightly. He ignored Timothy and soon the young man retired to his room sorry that this most interesting day was ending.

The Book

It had been a fortnight since Timothy had passed through the passageway. Neither he nor Paco had seen The Master since the dinner of the first night of Timothy’s stay. Paco swore that he did not know the Master’s whereabouts.

There was great unrest in the queues. They now stretched from the docks to the Tower, back to the docks and to the Tower once more. The boats had stopped delivering travelers as there was no more room for them. All were angered by the delay, the seemingly endless wait. Rocks thrown by the most angry of the travelers began to strike the tower. The less angry yelled threats that struck almost as frightfully as the rocks.

Those who were not angry were afraid of those who were. Everyone, including Timothy and Paco, felt it — something very bad was about to happen.

“Paco, I have to act or they will tear this building to shreds and the two of us with it,” Timothy declared with an authority that gave Paco hope.

The young man rushed to The Master’s Chamber and donned the black robe and cap. Running now, he neared the Chambers of Consultation. Out of breath, palms wet with fear, he reach for the door on Chamber I; but he stopped.

The revelation struck him. “First I must know,” he said to no one.

The crystal bowl on the mantelpiece in the main chamber still held the key on the golden chain. Timothy took it, ran to the Tower Room and unlocked the door.

A shaft of light from above, almost blinding, came down the Tower and focused on the Book. Displayed in a formal manner on a silk-draped alter, it was closed and very, very thick.Timothy approached it slowly, reverently, as if in the presence of a supreme being.

The Book would give him the answers he needed to serve the questioners and, in turn, all mankind. The knowledge contained within its covers would flow through him to all those who sought the building blocks of the advancement of thought.

He reached out his hand, closed his eyes and opened the cover.

He heard the rocks hitting the Tower above him as he slowly opened his eyes to gaze on the wisdom of the ages. His view of that wisdom was obscured by the whiteness of the pages. He turned them faster and faster, frantically looking for a word, a phrase, and answer, anything.

The last page contained the words: “This is the one answer you had to have, take it and use your wits and wisdom, remember your questions.”

Another rock hit the tower with a crash.

Timothy left the Tower Room, secured the lock and ran to the Chambers of Consultation. Paco, was waiting there, ready to assist.

“Set the signals and open the questioner’s doors” Timothy barked. Paco responded quickly.

A loud cheer rang out and the rocks and threats no longer hit the tower. A great weight was lifted as the traveler’s trances in the queues replaced their anger and frustration. The quiet was deafening.

“Myron, bring me log books for each Chamber,” Timothy glanced and smiled at his trusted servant.

“Yes Master,” Myron replied, smiling back.

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September 1987 First Draft Written

© 2017 CLThomas Published on theprose.com per agreement. Other reproduction for use by written permission only.