Sozzel the Jongleur 3, Strange Reflections

By Ken Lehnig

The Jongleur walked through the alehouse door once again into the dim and din. Here the Storyteller was acknowledged and urged on and on. He felt anxious but well prepared to offer some strange reflections, dark stories, and poetry to puzzle, shock, and entertain. He set up his hat for tips and smiled at the expectant faces. The raggedy man gave a shrug and a shake and climbed up upon the stage and yelled out, "I’ll acquaint a dire or humorous tale of foolishness and happenstance in a lunatic world. So belly up,gratuit the sommelier - fie to this misspent day
and sozzel the jongleur."

The third in a series of collections of dark and offbeat poetry, short stories by Ken Lehnig. This book also includes a one-act play.

PG-14 Some caution this collection contains adult themes.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Lehnig
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476292014

Ken Lehnig

Ken Lehnig lives in San Diego and is a long-time singer/songwriter, producer musician, poet, author and podcast host for Creatives with Ken Lehnig on Spotify, Breaker, and Goggle Podcasts. Ken's music is on Spotify and most music sites."I have always been interested in the dark at the edge of the light. The reality of the light and dark reality is both in the lit physical world as well as the more dimly lit world of our psyche's. What inhabits that place? What do we do when all that we know is not enough to explain what appears before us?I suppose the relationship between the dark and the light was solidified when I acquired a life-threatening auto-immune disease that introduced me to unbearable pain and put me in a wheelchair for 4 years. Most of the short stories and poems in my books were written during that time. I have looked long and well into the dark, clear that it was to me my destination and have recovered and remain to be a Creative."

Book preview

SOZZEL THE JONGLEUR 3

Strange Reflections

A weird and eclectic collection of short stories and poetry

By

Ken Lehnig

Sozzel the Jongleur 3

Strange Reflections

Deep Dry Dark Publishing

Copyright © 2012 2020 by Ken Lehnig

Smashwords Edition

Cover by David Dodds

Illustrations by Ken Lehnig

Sozzel the Jongleur 3 Strange Reflections

Table of Contents:

1. Refuse

2. The Assassin

3. Spiritus – a Poem

4. Sons of Man

5. Stairs

6. Door Darkly – a Poem

7. Seeking Solace

8. Knight of the Dragon

9. Not in Stone – a Poem

10. A Time and Place

11. I Never Dance – a Play

12. Respite River –A Poem

13. Brando’s Bane

14. A Letter to Constable Brighton

15. Birthday Night 1957 – A Poem

16. Hall of Expectancy

17. Balance

18. On the Dark Road – A Poem

19. Palo’s Situation

20. Night Letters

21. Troll of Lampwick – a Poem

22. Goodman Thomas

23. About the Author

The night is chilly and the full moon shines down, casting sharp shadows where invisible things crouch, and watch, the comings and goings of the living. The jongleur pulls up his collar and walks into the warmth and golden light of the pub. He unstraps his sack, and pulls out an old guitar. The dour patrons are quiet, and perhaps a little fearful of a stranger in their midst. A bright and happy song is offered, but does little to change the somber mood. So he puts down his guitar and begins to spin tales, and poetry, to entertain, and perhaps even to send a shiver up a spine or two.

He stands upon the bar and recites:

I picked proper strings

and let the rim shot fire

against the cracked plaster’s

calloused ear

so many loud drunken tales and stories told

some haunt,

lingering still,

in smoky shadows

Bereft of kindness

this shelter offers little

but a tune and spirit

down some sad memory

whatever webs I deem to spin and ply

really only lies about other uneasy worlds

so sozzel the jongleur

The old sot smiles

and his filthy cohort dance

a jiggle of old bones

and graceless promenades

rough hewed, true to the gravel tones I entrain

no eminence grise

no gift

could I yet endue

But through parlance

it behooves me to find comfort

where my tongue’s lilt

has gained some merit

My kin,

the rag tag and bobtail

fuddle and frolic

let go this day’s nettle and lift your saddened heart

and sozzel the jongleur

So for the mood

I’ll change the cadence and intone

a brighter and witty air

‘bout fools and finer folk

whose willful and wily ways did bring them ruin

what trickled down

alas and all

only the familiar penury

This night no final call,

too real this song to let it rest

we’ll share a strain

I’ll acquaint the dire or humorous tale

of foolishness and happenstance in a lunatic world

belly up,

gratuit the sommelier

fie to this misspent day

And sozzel the jongleur

And then he begins:

There certainly is a mystery as to how and why people do as they do. The complexities of the human psyche keeps courts and mental health professionals busy as bees and for all the efforting about and pontificating on what is known not much changes. Here is my first tale of a prairie town, trying to be something somewhere on the western edge of our twirling Galaxy.

REFUSE

A gully-womp was on the way and there was preparatory work to do. The great old head-o-thunder heading this way was not going to stop The Ceremony. Nothing short of the Lord’s hand a-washing it all away and that ain’t likely to take place. Not today.

Nort Ende Inn

Will it be another then Mr. Sidiwich?

The barkeep asked with his back to the large man at the bar. He marked in a book noting how many whiskeys the man had ingested. It was ten shots and two beers since six this morning. He shook his shaved head. The odds would take no noticeable change until Willehm Sidiwich got to twenty shots. At that point he may miss, ‘might’ miss, the center of a half-gold piece thrown into the air, such was the make of the man. A lot was at stake and he needed the gunman at his best.

A weasel of a man slithered over to the bar and hissed out a question.

Sir…I takesss your weight to be at 220 and ssssome and your tallnessss at ssssix and four.Mr.

Sidiwich turned suddenly and snarled. Because this town only has one mortician does not give you leave to be rude or presumptuous. I would just as soon put you in the wood box you have made for me. Maybe if I shot you in such a way as to have you appear dead. I know the doctor hates you as much as he does me. What a tickling thought - you waking in the ground fighting for your retched breath.

The man whimpered and slinked away still measuring with his eyes.

Does the graveyard rodent think it’s me that will have pennies on my eyes and dirt on my face? He knows how it works or is he hedging his bets?

The barkeep turned, pulling at his long goatee absently, to watch the little man scuttle out the door.

He’s probably off to get the same read on Mekeal as we speak. He takes his work very seriously. It makes me rest comfortable that ethics and commitment was assured in the handling of my remains.

The big man went over to the nearest table and sat down. He shuffled the cards that were set in the middle of the tabletop. The barroom was empty except for the two men.

Are you a superstitious man, barkeep? the gunman squinted his eyes. What’s your name? I don’t like callin’ a man by his vocation.

The barkeep did a quick wipe on the bar and moved to the table. Willehm motioned him to sit down and cut the deck on the table. He showed the card to the barkeep.

That’s a good card for you Five of Spades.

My name is Franch. I own the place- ‘twas me that called you here - what’s the card mean? Franch sat down looking at the card.

It is a card of change, adventure, movement. I wondered when I’d meet the man who hired me - figured after a while it was you. Wondered why you never said anything? Didn’t know for sure since I never seen your face. You think callin’ me in was smart, with me not even knowing you? I always figured when the time came, I’d be on the other side of town. How long you been here, Franch?

Since the beginning. I was one o-first to find color. Pulled enough out of my claim to set me up.

Since the beginning-means that you keep an eye on the ways of balance. Sidiwich shuffled the deck again. You have your place here in the north and there is the other in the south. Between you and that southern proprietor, Brinebarer ain’t it? -’Tween the two of you, you herd-keep this controlled riot of a place at a keen balance. You both take it upon yourselves to remove irritants, nonsensical abuses, outright affronts and random stupidity, rearrange agreements that are unfavorable to you, such competition that neglects the politeness of due and propers. I’d say all in all you keep things running smoothly enough or I would not be here. The big man cut another card. It came up an eight of clubs.

This be me! Death card this is. Some call it a General’s card but every card I cut is a death card. I only have one talent and that is to kill without remorse. I don’t dream bad nor shed a tear one way or the other. You have any idea how much killing you have to do to have that be in a person? Mr. Edmound Mekeal and me are made of the same offal piled up into the muscle and sinew made well for the pulling of a pistol from tanned holster hide. I’m not a superstitious man, I just know there ain’t no coincidence. We all end up where we are supposed. Tell me a story of the history of this place Mr. Franch.

Franch got up and pulled a bottle and two glasses from behind the bar. He poured as he stood. He lifted the cut glass shot and let the dimming sun break into colors as it passed through the amber filled glass. He swallowed in a gulp- blew out a breath. "I knew of you and that’s all I needed.

Someone knowing of me don’t mean much in the long run. There ain’t but a lot a rumor and plain silliness. There is not one tiny speck of glory in the killing of a man. Deal us a hand and I’ll tell you a tale!

Soute Ende Inn

The bartender watched as the boss walked down the stairs. He nodded and took off his Apron and left out the back door leaving just the two men alone.

I trust you slept well? The Boss asked the man sitting at the table.

When one is right with the Lord sleep is an easy thing …free of Demons. Shaleen Brinebarer is my name and I comes to this place with the first.

The Innkeeper at the south end of town walked over and stood over the glossy surface of his bartop. He admired his face in the reflection and smiled. He took a sip on a cup of coffee left by the bartender. He didn’t really like the cut of the gunman he choose. There was of course no doubting the man’s talents, even with lace at the cuffs and smelling of flower water.

Luck was upon us then, continued the Innkeeper, more ‘en we had deserved. We found good stands of woods - hard and soft, favorable game, clean running water, well water dug down with a proper dowse within shovel digging depth, and the finding of the purest yellow. ‘Twasn’t even a point for any quick and killing anger, greed being in all men, so much of the yellow that was found. Turned out there was plenty for all - north and south mines been running steady ever since. Ten thousand souls roll through here in a year time, all rich, leaving their hard earned money and foolish blood in the street.

Mr. Edmound Mekeal was sitting in the shadow with his back to the wall. He appeared nervous as he listened to his employer. His right hand drummed on the tabletop one finger at a time as if he were playing a piano. A young woman came over to ask if his nerves needed a quick soothing. He shook his head and sent his blond waist long hair a-sway like a horse’s tail. He shook his head and thanked her for her concern and took a long drink from a tall glass. He finger combed his handlebar mustache, took out a handkerchief and wiped the glass dry, pouring another drink from the bottle on the table. A ritual he repeated each time he poured another drink. The girl made a note on a piece of paper. The wiping of the glass meant something to her and she slyly moved to the swinging doors. He dressed like a prissy preacher but didn’t make her feel wrong in asking what seemed obvious to her. Her profession gave her keen insights into the varied needs of men. She couldn’t help but giggle - she found Mr. Mekeal incredibly handsome. The manner of his refusal, so very polite, made her think that she would send Thomas the Printsetter over after she got back from the Oddskeeper. Maybe Thomas could help Mr. Edmound to relax. She felt cheated somehow. It would have been nice to lay with a man who smelled that good.

Boss, I’ll think I’ll take a walk, it being such a busy and pleasant day. Not going to be much for my kind of entertaining till later I would venture. I’ll go help the town ladies with the decorations...go see if Mrs. Lockspur needs a hand up.

That’s fine - be back in a couple hours though, to check in. Don’t let the heat get to you. Fair measure I always says. To the gunman he says.You see Mr. Edmound if you treat your employees as family it makes for a happy work place. ‘Tis how a town should be run as well. To the girl, just going through the swinging doors he shouts. I may have some need for you. Oh, and I had a thought- will you see Thomas on your stroll?

The girl smiled. I may - I’ll tell him to come by. She slid away, flashing a smile at Edmound, with the wispy sound of lace and linen.

Brinebarer leaned on the bar staring at his guest for a moment then started his monologue again.

When I sized up who was here, that is back then, when we first come here - it was plain that Philligon Franch was the man with which to deal. We took it on ourselves to put order into a twister of a place. I almost said society and we weren’t even close to that. A place needs a philosophy and those that can see to its making - if you get my meaning. That kind o’ thing comes with a lot of eliminating those with no God given grace for its capacity. Some come to make a better life of it; them thinking that what was crooked could be made straight. Some sees the right and, for reasons known only to providence, cannot but find themselves lost in a quagmire of their own disastrous choosing. Then there are those that waste no time on any thought that doesn’t have them be the better in the end, no matter what means gets that end met. One could rush to judgment to name those evil ones seen beyond redemption…I hold some pride to count myself one of those men seen as beyond redemption, for there are degrees in that standing. My saving may be lost to the next world, should there be one - my only hope for redemption, in this one, is an understanding of my nature and a faculty for successful and fluid enterprise. In that, Babel, itself, is not high enough a tower and my cleverness will overcome any barrier in misunderstandings. I believe I know what must be done, for the people, for it all to work. As I read it, the misunderstanding would be with those with the burden of a lesser degree of intelligence. They couldn’t grasp the need for a common philosophy to live by. One could surly be at a disadvantage to estimate ones talent for enterprise being more than a mere shadow of your own and Mr. Franch’s. With action and language, pure as poetry, you would expound on the necessities of a proper pecking order and homage or they would find themselves sans breath, beyond earthly motivation, past this mortal coil, huh?"

The chair creaked a bit as the slender man re-crossed his legs at the knees.

Brinebarer continued.Well said. Death can be a valuable and useful thing. A properly created martyr can create a quiet peace and optimistic expectancy. Although I do always search my shadowy and complex soul, to determine if bone breaking isn’t enough to rewire such a dull mind. I have known men and women enough with goodly amounts of intelligence and not the wit nor pail to carry it in. Fools come dumb as stone and some as bright as a star, I always says.

Mr. Edmound pulled out one pistol and aimed it at Mr. Brinebarer’s head.Do you see a fault in your philosophy, Sir?

Mr. Brinebarer didn’t flinch. He poured himself another cup.I will take that action as theater and not threat. I have foolishly left out the others in my story. Ones that have a truer interest to you and that is… conversions...saved souls. Religion and philosophy, politics and theology -we will shape it for God and man.

Nort Ende Inn

When more came, they did, when gold was found. Reason was called for and a certain amount of necessary culling. In time - balance was achieved and a camp took on the looks of a town. Loose and roughly ordered it most certainly was and for the work …still is. But make no mistake at the number of sleepless days and nights it takes to keep proper order. I’ll take two. The man took the cards dealt."Both these emporiums, north and south, were responsible for the graveyard being such a popular