The days passed and I continued to lead a banal and blessed life, blissfully unconcerned with the strange occurrences under my very feet. But at night, persistent roots would sprout as horrible weeds in my humble vegetable patch. Twisted, macabre dreams haunted me during these hours and the withered expressions of the prisoners rippled across an otherwise tranquil pool.
I decided that I had to help; to do something; at least if not to alleviate the suffering of those underground creatures, then to put my own mind at ease. Packing a few candles, some water and some fruit I re-entered the dark portal at the bottom of the garden. Nothing had changed. The passageway smelt dank and fausty, and an otherworldly feeling came over me as I re-emerged into the cave. Once more, the man with the placards carried out his tirade in front of the fire, the shadows danced across the far wall and the creatures watched in fascination.
I walked in front of the wall, obscuring the darkness with my lit candles and this time the creatures paid attention. Although they would not look directly at the light, they felt its presence and shrank back, narrowing their vacant eyes. I offered them water from a flask but they declined the offer, moaning, almost wailing in disagreement. I offered them the fruit that I had brought, some apples and a few juicy plums. Not only would they not take them but the pitiful little creatures would not even acknowledge my humble offering. It seemed that my very presence disturbed them, as a cat amongst the pigeons. I attempted to show my sincerity, I sat down with them and bade them no harm but, try as I might, my proximity was disturbing to them. I sought to free them, desperately wrenching at the chains when all of a sudden I realised a young one, a picture of innocence, was looking straight at me in a quizzical way. This was the only confirmation I had received that I was really there in the shadow cave, for otherwise this could have been a figment of my imagination and what an odd one at that! But this small being saw me. It could see my efforts and in some strange way I knew that it found my behaviour slightly comical. As Mothers watch their children play, in that knowing and somewhat smug way, so did this captive observe me and it really felt quite troubling. What was I doing? Why on Earth was I here in this subterranean cell attempting to liberate these beastly folk? And to what end could I liberate them? Was I to take them back with me to suburban England and have them live out the rest of their lives within the confines of my four walls? Would I release the press on them as hounds on a fox? My entire purpose for being there fell away like a steep precipice at one’s feet. Was there really anything that I could do for them?
One of the candles had gone out and seeing as this was the only stimulus to have evoked some reaction from the prisoners I set about relighting it using some old matches. I felt quite beastly myself, and arrogant, in thinking that I was so superior to these beings that I could simply liberate them with my presence. The child still looked on, his head to one side and eyes moist with compassion. He seemed to be asking the same question that I was: just what could I do to help?
Unfortunately, just as I was contemplating how to help the prisoners, others had already decided for me. As I was awakened from thoughts of despair, I realised that the placard bearer had ceased his dance of deceit only to return on masse with others of his kind. They bade me no courtesy as they set about hitting me with sticks and kicking at me with heavy boots. I tried to gather up my possessions but soon decided to get as far away from here as possible. Frantically writhing down the tunnel, I fled, thinking only of saving my own skin. The enraged creatures followed but as I finally emerged into my garden and slammed the lid down on the portal for the final time I heard from them no more. Shaken and haggard, I left that place and decided never to return as I entered the sanctity of my own home and poured myself a hot bath. I realised that I had left my matches and flask back in the underground lair but did not care. I wanted to put as much space between me and that place as possible. I thought not of the prisoners but of my own wretched experiences in trying to break their bondage and it took many weeks to rid my mind of dark and haunting thoughts.
One bright and sunny day that summer I was cutting the grass as a gentle breeze whispered across the land. My life had returned to normal and I seldom spared a thought for the suffering beneath my feet. A sparrow slid through the air to take a drink from the pond and it was this that drew my attention to the corner of the garden and that fated portal. Was it my eyes deceiving me or was there something strange in the air? A thin plume emerged from the hatch of the tunnel and as I watched the smoke grew into a tall column. The realisation soon dawned on me that I had left a pack of matches with the prisoners, particularly with the bright eyed youth. Had this been the great plan all along, for the prisoners to die by the flame? What had I done? What became the young one, who had caused in me the same mirth and humility that had made me realise my futility in that dark and despairing place? Was there any chance of the prisoners having escaped? I could but hope as the smoke was carried by the wind, as the birds sang and flitted across the skies, as the tadpoles squirmed at the edge of the pond and as I, wind at my face, continued to tend my garden.
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