Where the Sun Goes Down
From Tales the Wind Told

By Brooks Mencher

'I am the sun! I am the Sun." But the voice was that of an old man, a voice that sounded older than all the years that you or I have ever known.

"I am the Sun, the Emperor of Happiness. I dance with the Moon!" The old man, who said he was the Sun, smiled and looked at his feet. He was dressed in rags; he had no shoes. "I do dance with her! True, I see her but once a month, when she is invisible to you. Roses, a few, I lay at her feet!"

"I am of the Royal House of Happiness," he said. Was he simply mad? "And do you think being the sun is so easy? My door is always open: to you, to certain planets or stars or meteors, the moon, to the spirits of Earth and sky, the wind . . . to the devil himself! alas.

He was crazy, or maybe he really was the sun. Somehow.

"And if the devil should enter the royal house of the Sun, where never is a door or window closed, he could do me in! Yes! Me! And I would call for help, but who would help the Sun?

Probably no one. The sun is very far away.

"I will tell you, then," said the old voice of the old man. "Only the small people. The very smallest would help . . . a spindly child in a bean garden, or a bat. A squirrel in the forest! Smaller? A spider, a worm (the least of all the people)!! Yet in their might, they will save me from the devil. It will always be that way, for I am the sun. I dance with the Moon, and I am loved."

The tales begins like this: One day the sun stumbled in its path and was unable to regain its balance. It tumbled from the sky, and fell for what seemed like forever, and then darkness fell and all happiness on Earth vanished.

Rigel had been outside at the time, gardening in a small plot of rich, black soil near the river. He was planting sprouted seeds of a melon or squash, and wondered which of the two the seeds might be, because the plants looked so similar at this stage in their development. Rigel and his patch of beans and flowers were not far from his straw shack, which was nestled in the shade of an ancient oak. He had lived there happily for a certain number of years, and he often watched the river and the birds during the day, and the moon and stars and silhouetted tree leaves during the night.

On the day the sun stumbled, Rigel saw the shadow of his arm jerk and shake, and he saw the shadow of his hand and the seeds rattle and vibrate, but without any sound. This was very strange, he thought.

"I am no longer attached to my shadow!" he cried, "Without my shadow, I will surely float away, up into the sky, and I will drift like a seed in the ocean! Like a feather in the wind! But if I can catch my shadow, I will be saved and can finish planting my melons and squash!"

Finally, Rigel's eyes went skyward and he saw the sun wobbling and weaving, looping down and up, stopping, starting, dropping, leaping . . . and he grew afraid. "It is worse than I thought," he said to himself. "The sun is shaking, sunlight and shadows are quivering on the grass on the ground!" Rigel quietly laid his sprouts and tools aside and cautiously walked back to his straw house, careful to avoid the frightened animals and birds that skittered along the path in front of him.

The summer bees darted chaotically along the banks of the river and bumped into trees and birds, and they hit their heads on rocks or on small, surprised field rodents and then fell, buzzing, to the ground. And the birds, with the light dancing crazily around them, bumped into tree trunks and rocks and hit their heads and fell to the ground, and were afraid to return to the air.

High above, the sun worked its crippled way to the west, and all who lived on the Earth below were dizzy from its jumping light and shadows. Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of its path across the sky, the sun fell from the heavens and its light was extinguished. A great darkness fell without a sound. With the fall of the sun, the vibrating shadows became still, and the sadness and fear of humans and beasts did nothing but grow, for no one knew if they would ever see light again.

I have seen the sun in all its glory," Ukko, the old man, said to himself as he walked along the riverbank in the dark. Villages and towns lay behind him and before him, and those through which he'd passed had not welcomed him, for he appeared to be poor, even poorer than the villagers, and seemed to be an untrustworthy vagabond and wanderer. It was widely assumed that he stank, which he did not. It was dark and it had been a sad day for old Ukko. The sun had fallen. The people were afraid, even of him.

How strange it all was! Everything in the world had been normal that morning. The sun rose! It rose as it always had, and surely nothing would change today and certainly not tomorrow. Next week? Never! "The sun rrrooosssseeee!" said Ukko as he walked along. The lives of all the inhabitants of the villages that dotted the land would have been the same next year and the next and so on . . . But. The sun stumbled and fell, and darkness came.

"The sun was a sight more pleasant than the scent of roses or pears!" shouted Ukko. His voice echoed in the dark. No one listened, for the old man was alone on the road, almost invisible if not for the dim whitish light that the moon provided. No one could see him scrunch up his face in despair and disbelief, or limp as he walked. "The sun! I am the sun!" he shouted and seemed to wait for a reply. "I am the sun, Emperor of Happiness," he whispered. He stood there in the path a few seconds, yet there was no answer. He skipped a few paces and it seemed as if he might break out in a dance. "I am the sun! Graceful on a ballroom floor, spinning as I do, my arms held high . . . why? I am the sun!" He twirled and leaped high in the air, and crashed into the dirt on his back and side. "Fwwoooh!" he said. He rolled onto his hands and knees. Then he stood and spun again; he leaped and pirouetted high in the air, and he fell back to the Earth with a great crash. He knocked the air out of himself, and gasped. Then he laughed and stood back up, patting the dust off his trousers and jacket, and he held his tweed rag hat to his chest and said, "I hold five planets in my embrace! I dance with the moon! I travel the emptiness of space and smile! Alas."

But what seemed impossible occurred:

"And then" said Ukko, his voice falling, his head drooping, his arms spread in sadness, "I stumbled. The sun! Oh dreadful day! I tumbled through the clouds . . . at my age! . . . I plummeted with a speed that only the wind knows; down, down, and I fell to my knees and smashed myself to smithereens! A terrible sight! And I felt as if my heart were breaking. Tears streamed over my cheeks! I held my arms out before me, to break my fall, my elbows shaking, my breath hardly breathing, my fire, my fire . . . fading." His voice tapered off into silence. "This Earth, this soil," he looked down to his dusty feet, "sweet as it may be to most, is not my home! I fell to Earth, and I'm alone, forsaken by the heavens." Ukko, as old and stiff as he was, crawled off the river path to sit and rest amid the cool leaves and brush. He waited. The moon made shadows from the leaves.

A cool wind picked up off the river and brought the sweet smell of wild azaleas from the oxbow banks, and Ukko sniffed, and sniffed again, and he smelled the flowers. Flowers and lemon . . . he had rolled into lemon-scented herbs and he smelled thoroughly of lemon grass, or lemon balm or lemon verbena - he couldn't tell which. Perhaps this Earth was not so bad after all, he thought . . . for there were no lemons in the sky.

"I will continue on my way," he said after his rest. He eased himself from the cover of the plants and felt somewhat revived. He brushed off his worn trousers and pulled a leaf from his jacket and a twig from his cuff. "But I have taken a mortal blow this day, and it may be my last, for I feel the cold breath of death upon me . . . Me, the sun! I am heaven's chariot! I am! Well, I was.

"I am shaking," he said, standing in the middle of the path.

"But I have seen a house not far up the road," he said, his voice hopeful. "I remember this with certainty." He continued to speak to no one particular, or perhaps to the trees or to the path at his feet, and he straightened his back and raised his head as though he were sniffing the air for direction. "Yes, a straw house neatly nestled beneath a fine oak tree, which I remember over the years. The tree I remember from long ago, a large healthy oak descended from the ancient mountain oaks. In the meadow. The house - it has not been there so long. The garden! I can find shelter there, for what gardener would turn away the sun! None! Let the sun sleep in the garden amid the beans! The melons! The marigolds! (Is it too early for melons?) Perhaps I am saved! We will see what sort of heart that scrawny gardener might have! Larger than his arm is thick, I hope!" He picked up a crooked branch and used it as a walking stick as he picked his way along the river trail.

There was a knock at Rigel's door. It sounded like the dull rap of a shy or hesitant person. Rigel looked up; he had been sitting restlessly in a chair as he considered the fate of the sun and all the plants and creatures who depended on it. The door swung slowly open on its wood hinges, and outside stood a decrepit old man. He wore an ancient woolen suit jacket the color of dry mustard, and it hung unevenly to his knees. There were sticks and thorns and leaves on his jacket, and splashes of dried food and melted chocolate. The tattered cloth was faded here and torn there, and upon it were sewn patches of various colors and types of cloth, and in some places it was mended with the fibers of cattail stalks. His shoes were not shoes at all, but were tongueless straps of oiled canvas that served as sandals. The aroma of lemon surrounded him in the night. He was out of breath, or perhaps had trouble breathing, Rigel thought, as if something were sitting on his chest.

"I am not saying you may enter," said Rigel from inside the door, addressing whoever it might be outside. The greeting was traditional, for the inhabitants of the villages along the river were a superstitious people who believed that the devil, who roamed the world widely, could not enter a house unless he was invited. It was understood that the devil could make himself look like anything -- a person or fish, mouse or mole -- in his effort to gain entry to terrorize the household.

The old man had heard this greeting before -- from a distance, of course -- and he made no effort to enter Rigel's straw house. Already, he had found more kindness here than in any of the villages, for Rigel had gone so far as to speak to him, had not slammed the door on his nose, which was still sore from his fall. He remained outside in the dark and eased himself down onto a rock where he sat and crossed his leg. After a deep gulp of air, he said, "My name is not important, but you may call me Ukko if you wish. And you may not call me by any other name, for I have no other. I refuse to answer to a name that I have not agreed upon, and that is final. There can be no more discussion of the matter.

"Now, please do not speak to me under any condition" he said, holding up his finger. "If you wish to speak, please address the little bird in the tree that grows but an arm's length from your door. It is a bird of yellow and a bit of red, known in the valley as a firebird because of the brilliant color. They are good friends and eat corn and beetles . . . This bird, my friend, will relay your message to me as best he can, for I have the gift of understanding the speech of birds."

Rigel peered through the window beside the door, and he could clearly see the bird that the old man had mentioned. It was the size of a robin and brightly colored, brighter than a goldfinch, and as Rigel looked, it sang a beautiful song and looked at him with one eye, turning his face to the side to do so.

Ukko continued: "I would like to rest here for some small piece of time, for I am tired and have had a difficult journey, as you might understand. My right leg is feeble, for I have taken a spill, and have fallen endlessly through the sky. Though my left haunch is sound as a loaf of country bread, I may appear to be shaking or shivering at times. Please forgive me! I must walk with the aid of a stick at present, but I have a great deal of strength at my command. Yet, for all my strength and my good left hind leg, I have had no soup or any sort of dinner, and neither have I a place, however humble, to lay my head." And then, out of breath, he gasped deeply and coughed shallowly. "What ever to you say to that, my friend?"

Rigel, who now stood near the door, scratched his nose and then scratched behind his ear. In accordance with Ukko's bidding, Rigel addressed the firebird and said: "I see that Ukko is quite strong. And that his jacket is quite experienced, as jackets go . . . "

"It has been around the world a number of times," interrupted the old man.

"Yes . . . " said Rigel to the bird.

"Thousands, and perhaps millions of times," said Ukko. "It has been over the mountains and plains, the oceans and seas, and has seen the far corners of this Earth, and further still, I assume. No ship has traveled farther; no eye has seen a greater distance. Yet in all my jacket's wide travels, it has never visited this home of yours . . . this castle made of straw! . . . though I, myself, remember thoroughly when you gathered the reeds and grass from which you made this house, and I remember well the garden that you tend with such care. And, need I tell you, in one quadrant you raise a number of round, blue-green squashes; in another, beans (both bush and pole); in a third, corn and a rose bush (red); and in a fourth such vegetables as grow leaves - on the order of lettuces and spinaches! I know these things for I am the sun, and I have often looked down upon the land and your garden, your tree and the river. But I have had a bad day, my dear, for I have fallen, and therefore darkness has fallen."

"Of course he has not visited my house," said Rigel to the firebird, "for I have never seen him before and do not remember his face in any way." Perhaps Ukko was mad after all, thought Rigel. Could he be a man driven insane over time, restlessly traveling from village to village, banished by one and then another village because of his appearance? He needed a home! A house of straw. A tree beneath which to sit and ponder his garden. But would a rogue or rascal smell of lemon, Rigel asked himself? Hardly, and this was very comforting to Rigel, for to him it indicated a certain intellect and sensibility of character. "And his presence here has not disturbed a single thing," Rigel told the bird, "neither mouse nor rabbit is upset about this . . . Ukko." So he decided that the old man, whoever he might be, whether he was mad or simply a misplaced actor or minstrel, was neither danger nor devil. "I welcome him completely, firebird, with barley soup in a vegetable stock, flavored delicately with herbs, and I have a soft bundle made up of straw and corn husks upon which he can sleep, and you may abide in the tree safely."

"Wonderful," said Ukko, "but I will not enter your house, fine as it might be, for reasons of my own, which I will not share with you. I would not inform even a dormouse, silent as they are, of the mysterious reasons that I will remain out of doors and in the dark and cold while you sit alone by your warm fire, or why you must not speak to me." He stood, bowed lightly, and pulled a kerchief from his pocket. This he spread on his lap, preparing for his dinner. Rigel served him a bowl of soup made from barley, corn and peas, a mug of cold water and a slice of seeded bread, all of which he brought outside, and all this Ukko ate. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"I may wish to sleep under the eves on the east side, if that pleases you at all," said Ukko. So Rigel brought out the bundle of straw and husks and shook a blanket over it and spread a second blanket on top of that. Ukko hobbled over to the bed that had been made up for him. "I have been up all day, and then I fell, my lad, and I crawled beneath some bushes and tried to regain my composure, or perhaps write a poem. But what good is Ukko if he cannot glide across the heavens? I am so tired that I wish to sleep all night, though I am certain this will never come to pass," he said with a sigh. "I will not be your only guest tonight, I fear. But remember this: If you are troubled by any other visitor, neither invite him into your home, nor turn your back to him. This, I know with certainty, but I will not trouble you any more on that matter. And neither should you evade his questions, for he is far more dangerous than he appears. There is a devil on the loose, but do not ask me how I know this, for I will not tell you.

"And if you try to find me in the morning and I am not in my bed of straw, know that I have escaped into the world, blanketed as it is in darkness, and you will have to come and find me! And if you have to come and find me, my advice to you, given freely from friend to friend, is to tread west, where the sun goes down, and you will find me eventually. With my magic, I will draw you along a path invisible to any mortal man, and you will find me at my resting place, a pool of clear, clear water, a waterfall lost in the middle of a dark wood."

With that, the old man fell into the bedding and, in his repose, began mumbling old rhymes and shreds of songs he had heard in his travels, and his voice seemed very distant, like the wind, or like the far-off roar of thunder and fire. Only now could Rigel clearly see the old man's face, and he saw only kindness in it, deeply lined as it was and tanned from exposure to wind, though for some reason it was difficult to gaze at it for too long without having to squint.

The house grew quiet. The old man had fallen asleep outside in his bed of straw and rhymes, and Rigel had poured himself a saucer of mint tea mixed with the juice of corn and sat at the foot of his bed pondering the strange occurrences of this day and night, and he thought greatly about this old man who, in his madness, claimed to be the sun. Rigel held out his hand and studied it, and his arm, to see if perhaps it was his arm that had shaken earlier that morning, rather than the sun, but it was not.

He had a sip of tea from the saucer and . . . tap, tap, tap against the pithy wood: a knock at the door!

"Who may that be?" thought Rigel. "Another stranger? I have no crackers to serve, although there is a certain amount of dried bread that, if toasted, could be taken for crackers if there truly is another visitor on the other side of that door."

Tap, tap, tap again. The door opened of its own accord, making a brushing sound as it slid across the woven reed mat that covered the dirt floor of the house beneath the oak tree, and outside in the dark was a diminutive form several paces from the threshold. It was playing a violin, the bow sawing back and forth, all in shadow. It had short, bony bowed legs and short, wizened arms, hardly any neck at all and a pointed nose that protruded from a hood.

As the creature approached, the sound of his fiddle grew louder until at last he stood on the very threshold itself, playing all the while, his bow sliding across the strings back and forth. He wore a cape the color of green mud, and a red scarf, and he seemed to be of a nervous disposition. He had neither shoes nor socks, and smelled like burned paper. His dark cowl was pulled down over his eyes. He had strands of brightly colored satin ribbons streaming from the fingers of his bow hand so that as he played there seemed to be a raging flame of red, black and bright orange encompassing him.

"I am not saying you may enter," said Rigel. His voice wavered, for he was afraid! "I am passing the night here in my home and I have many friends, so I must ask you to behave yourself and let me sleep and we will see what tomorrow will bring, whether the sun rises or whether it does not!"

The small person at the door considered this to be no welcome at all, and he stopped playing the fiddle, and stood with his nose not an inch from the door, had it been closed.

"The sun has stumbled," said the fiddler. His voice was sharp and grating, and he spoke quickly in bursts of words. "Everyone is saying so. We are in a devilish situation, my boy, and there are some who are convinced of our doom!"

"I am not," said Rigel. "We must wait and see."

"We will see. It is several hours before dawn," said the stranger, "and they are saying that the sun will not rise again, that night will continue on and on, replacing the day entirely and, they are saying, there will be one continuous night and we will only know the 'night of the night' by the presence of the moon, and that the 'day of the night (which should still be called 'day,' if you ask me)' will be known by the absence of the moon!"

"Well," said Rigel slowly, "if it is true that the sun will never rise again, I will not be able to garden, nor the birds to fly or the fish to leap. Joy will vanish from the Earth and there will be no colors. Even the least of the people, the worms, will wander, disoriented in their own way, unable to feel the warmth of the soil above. In any case, good night!"

"This is precisely what they are saying" the hooded figure continued, placing his foot next to the threshold to keep the door from closing. "The geese of the valley have mentioned your garden and spoken of the confusion of the worms as well. They say we are doomed. The villagers, too, say 'Doomed!' in one loud voice. And, furthermore, you may call me Grandfather, for I have come to visit you in this terrible time." He looked to the side, as if trying to hide his face even in the dark, even beneath the folds of his hood.

Rigel was silent for several minutes. Then he said, "You are not my grandfather in any way, and I know what I know, which is that we are in no manner related by blood or by bond. It is a strange night indeed, darker than dark, and I am visited by this creature with strange characteristics and of a nervous disposition who claims to be my grandfather yet smells of charred paper. I say you are the devil!"

"Your house is in the middle of the meadow," explained the fiddler, pleading his case at the doorway to Rigel's home. "All paths lead through it or to it, don't you see, or, as in the case of the geese, over it. For worms, under it! It is easy to find and my wandering has brought me here, Grandson! But please, call me Grandfather and invite me in for soup and crackers. I have had a long journey and I am also lonely for your company, Grandson."

"No," said Rigel, "I will not call you that name, and you may not enter. But I do ask you that you behave yourself and go along on your way, and may your journey be a happy one."

But the stranger began playing the violin again, and very loudly. Then suddenly he stopped. He simply could not make any headway as a visitor to Rigel's home, so he tried another idea. He knew his last chance was to trap Rigel into giving him information about the old man, Ukko, who was the real reason for his mysterious visit.

"I must ask you, in passing, have you seen an old man on the road lately?" asked the fiddler in a voice that had been sweetened with syrup.

Rigel thought quickly. "I know this creature is the devil," he thought. "Now he is trying to find out something. Probably about the sun." Rigel knew that a person cannot lie to the devil without being detected. All the villagers knew this . . . The reason was simple: the devil, being a king of lies, knows a lie when he hears one!

Rigel decided that Ukko actually could be the sun after all, and not an old man at all, and that, in any case, he had seen him only at his doorstep and not on the road, so he said, "No, I have seen no man on the road recently."

"Hmm," mused the devil. "Then did you see the sun yesterday?" he asked quickly, trying to make his voice even sweeter. But Rigel could see him squint his left eye.

"Of course, it rose and stumbled in the sky. The shadows shook and rattled," said Rigel.

"Hrmph," said the fiddler. "My dear Grandson, is there anyone with you in your house tonight? Perhaps sleeping after a long journey, perhaps ill and so on and so forth?"

But Ukko had wanted to remain outside, which seemed strange to Rigel at the time. "No," said Rigel, "this is not the case. There is no one but me in my house tonight, but I have many friends, and if I were to call out, many would arrive in no time."

"I see. Then tell me this!" said the fiddler, raising his voice, "Did you speak to an old man yesterday, did you discuss things with him . . . the weather, his adventures . . . or did you speak to the sun, or address any man or person who may have come your way sometime between dawn and this very moment!?" The inquisitor thrust his head forward and leered at Rigel, but then he smiled sweetly.

But Rigel had spoken only to the bird, and not to Ukko, so, truthfully, he said, "No, I have not spoken to any person, man or sun, today but yourself. And I have grown tired of your questions, sir, and demand that you leave me in peace for the rest of the night. Good night!" And with that Rigel pushed the door closed in the fiddler's face and quietly went to a nearby window to watch the peculiar creature leave.

But the fiddler didn't leave. He stepped back from the door just far enough to place the violin to his chin. He began to run the bow across it, pulling out the first few notes of a song. Then he played faster and louder. Shortly, he began to leap up and down on the ground in front of the house, playing the violin more rapidly and more furiously, leaping, stomping, sawing with his bow, louder and louder, his black cape and red scarf flying over him and under him, the black and red and flame-orange ribbons on his hand swirling like fire, until the walls shook and the ceiling wobbled and the very ground rolled, and still he continued to play!

He jumped and spun and slammed his feet down over and over until Rigel's table and chairs tipped over and his mugs bounced off the shelves and fell to the floor, and they all broke to pieces.

The fiddler jumped and screamed and fiddled until the straw house finally crumbled to the ground in pieces, and no wall was left standing, no ceiling or window remained, no table or soup could be seen, and all was rubble and dust and scattered straw.

Then the fiddler snorted, turned on his heels and stomped out into the darkness. He held his violin above his head in one hand, like a club, and stabbed out into the dark with his bow, slicing through the air with a whistle. And he was gone.

Where was Ukko? Rigel searched the wreckage of his house. He wanted to tell the old man that it was safe now that the demon fiddler was gone, but Rigel could find no sign of him. He circled the house once, then again, and he found nothing but broken pieces of wall, which he carried off and piled up nearby. And still there was no Ukko. The only thing left was his wood stove, which was really little more than a tin can with a smokestack in which he burned bark and pinecones and chips of wood that he picked up in the forest beyond his meadow. So Rigel lit a fire in the stove in the open meadow beneath the oak tree, and set water to boil for tea. What else could he do?

He sat in a spindle-legged chair and thought. It appeared obvious that the old wanderer had roused himself; he was nowhere to be seen. So, that being the case, he obviously had taken a trail or road to the west, the direction he said he would go. He would probably follow the river since that was the easiest route. Rigel looked around as he sat in the chair by the stove; not only was Ukko gone, but the brightly colored firebird was nowhere to be seen. And Rigel had a home no longer, and the sun would not shine again on his garden, and he felt alone in the world.

"All things being equal, I believe I should set off to the west and see what my fortune brings," he said, his voice a soliloquy in the night. "I will trust that Ukko's magic will guide me, somehow, and if I chance to find him, well, that will be excellent and nothing less. I will begin walking in the direction west, where the sun goes down, and there I will find Ukko. If he is not the sun, as he claims to be, I may further find the actual sun and discover its difficulty and do what I can to help."

He took a sip of the tea he had made and stared up into the stars. Where was the moon? Being a good gardener, Rigel realized that this must be the night of the new moon, the night on which it is not visible in the sky. He often had wondered where the moon hid on the night of the new moon, but he could hardly even guess. When he finished his pondering, staring up at the empty sky as he had been, his eyes fell back to Earth, and his ears heard a rustling sound in the bushes nearby. A chill went up Rigel's spine and he stood by the chair and said, "Who are you? Another visitor? I can ill afford a third! And I am not saying you may enter my patch of land, now that I have no house!"

"I must ask you, immediately, not to speak to me" said a soft voice in the darkness. "Not the smallest word. If you have anything to say, I ask that you address . . . the spider that is spinning her thread in the spindled legs of your chair. For I know that chair is yours, and that you have spent many a quiet evening knitting in your chair, and occasionally reading, though you had very few books, and now have even fewer."

Rigel, who had taken his seat once again in the chair, leaned over and looked between his legs and there he saw a large white spider who was busy spinning a web between the front two chair legs. "I am not saying that the voice I hear in the shadows, is welcome here," he said to the spider, "although I would say that you, little spider, are most welcome and I hope you choose to remain in the area around my garden, which would be a good home for you. I am a gardener, and therefore am fond of spiders. I would, however, like to know who is behind the voice that I hear."

A ghostly form drifted out from the darkness into the area that was meekly lit by the fire in Rigel's tin stove. It was neither tall nor short; it was slender but not thin, and its body appeared to be wrapped in a scarf or gown of gray silk mixed with gray-blue, mixed further with gray-blue-white and blue-white and white, and the cloth was wound loosely over the head and face, and over the body, disguising the person or spirit entirely.

"The spider may remain with you in your garden if she wishes, or she may choose to live separately, also as she will," said the voice. "Yet while I am here, a short time indeed, she remains in my company and to her you must address your comments.

"I am the moon, Rigel. Why am I not in the sky? On this day I may roam the Earth and do what I wish. I am a spirit, and in the spirit world I live. But on one day each month I leave the spirit and I am here. And so I have done forever. I do not wish to dance, I assure you, for the sun has stumbled in the heavens and has fallen. Who can dance without the sun? Will I ever dance again? I cannot say. Whatever do you say to that, my dear Rigel?"

Rigel squinted, trying to see the moon more clearly. To the spider, he said, "Why am I so confused, little spider? Why is the moon not in the sky, and not glowing white or hiding amid the branches of trees? And why is the sun traveling the Earth in disguise, as a gentleman of mature years with a short beard that was clearly white, and whose eyebrows are both bushy and white? Who can answer these questions, and, further, what am I to do? Alas, my friend, Ukko, the sun, who slept outside my house and to whose bird I addressed my questions, has traveled to the west, and it is my understanding that he wishes me to follow him and find him, and yet I do not know why."

The spider twisted the starlit threads of her web, and spun more, walking along the circumference of the web, seemingly oblivious to Rigel's lamentations.

"You must follow the wanderer, as you have called him," said the moon. "And you must act quickly, for he has been hurt severely and will soon die. He has asked you to follow, but the task will not prove to be easy. There will be traps to prevent your aid and there is no room for error. You will find the sun resting beside a clear lake deep in the forest. Time is of the essence, but I cannot help you for I must return to the sky above. You will not be able to call on me until the 28th day, for I will be far above your Earth. But on the 29th day, the sun will die unless you can save him. Without the sun, the Earth will sail into the heavens in darkness, without a guide, and even the moon will lose her glow, for my light is the reflection of sunlight. The five planets will tumble and fall, and I myself will drift away, never to dance with the sun again. Until that day, you will have only your wits and whatever friends might help you in your journey."

With that, the moon's voice evaporated like a mist. Her silken wrappings rolled in a wind that wasn't there, and slowly she rose into the sky and disappeared, for the night of the new moon had passed.

Rigel decided he would have to leave his meadow in search of the sun. What else could he do? He walked out to the garden one last time. He could see it fairly well, for his eyes had grown accustomed to starlight. Soon, he knew, his plants would wilt and die. There was no sun! He leaned over and picked up a handful of soil and smelled it. It was very rich, and plants grew large and tall because of it.

"I will bring nothing with me," said Rigel. "What do I have? Some straw batting. A shovel and a hoe! Little more. But I will be lonely, for I have no friends to accompany me."

"I'll go," said a small voice at his feet. Rigel looked down. "I'll go if you carry me," it said. Rigel could see a glistening on the soil, and he knew he was looking down at worm.

"I am a worm and I have no legs," it said. "I am a delight to all gardeners, but you are my personal gardener and I know you well. You have treated me with fondness and I have often heard you singing the old songs as you plant seeds and corn. I have no hands or feet and live my life in the cool dark soil. I never see the sun, but I have always made a point of basking beneath the soil that his warmed by the sun and cooled by the moon.

"I hear you are traveling west on a difficult road," continued the worm, "and it is my wish to go with you, although I am neither attractive, like the moon, nor a good conversationalist unless we can discuss composts and leaves and such things that rot and feed the Earth and trees."

Rigel thought for a moment, and said, "Yes, we should go together. Do you need a few moments to pack some mulch or something to eat?"

"No, I should be fine. I have heard, roundabout, that we will be abroad for 28 days, until the moon returns, and if this is the case, then I will eat my meals with you on the road, or, rather, beside the road while you rest, if that is appropriate."

So Rigel and the worm left the garden and meadow and took the footpath along the river, which led into the forest. Rigel put the worm in his teacup, filled it with soil and some crushed fruit, and began his walk. He was very sad, but he did not know exactly why, for he was no longer alone.

"Rigel," said the worm, "I am not sad, although I, too, am leaving home. But I see that you are sad and I am not. I have a lump of fruit pulp that you have given me, and I think about the moon and her beauty. And whatever may lie ahead, I will have some fruit and think of her."

"Then I will do the same," said Rigel, and he began to walk.

Their journey soon brought them to the edge of the meadow where the forest began, and though it was dark, they could see by the bright starlight. As they continued into the wood, following its trails and creeks, its rivulets, their eyes grew even more accustomed to the dark and their ears grew used to the silence that lay across the land like a blanket. They walked uphill and down, and the first week passed. Rigel walked barefoot at times, and at other times he wore sandals. The worm remained in his cup, but took an occasional squirm at night beside the path, careful to avoid trouble because he was certain his services would be needed in rescuing the sun. He kept saying to himself, "The sun has fallen, and I will help him to his feet, and from his feet to the sky, from the sky to the heavens, for I am a worm and I have neither elbows nor hands. I dream of the moon and I dream of peaches, at times."

In the second week, Rigel and the worm were near a tall tree that creaked and groaned because it was so tall and any bit of wind high in the branches would move it. There was a strange fluttering motion above their heads and Rigel automatically ducked and searched the air. Were there birds this deep in the forest? He held his breath, and looked above to see what was making the silent fluttering motion near his head. He heard a voice, thin and high, and something landed on a low, thin branch of a short, thin tree and hung there awhile as if expecting Rigel to introduce himself. But, being a stranger to the forest, Rigel did not introduce himself and watched the tree branch and waited.

"I am a bat," said the voice. "I am a bat and I eat insects and various things but I will not eat a spider and neither will I taste a worm no matter how troubled my life might become. And I will not pester a child, nor tell jokes that might upset you, and neither will I sing any songs that are not ancient, for the old songs are the best.

"Further," the bat continued as he hung from the lamp, "I am fond of pools of water, whether in the city or the mountains, whether in forest or glade. I have not a feather, and I have no nest, for I am a child of the night, and am not a bird. I have not slept in more than a week, for I sleep only during the day, and the sun has fallen and is near death. What can the moon do? Alas, the beautiful moon is troubled in her heart, but it is the sun's heart that is at risk . . . "

"We are on our way west," interrupted Rigel, "to where the sun goes down, which is a crystal clear lake deep in this forest, and we propose to help the sun in any way we can. I have walked and walked with a teacup and worm, and we have passed many trees, trails, hills and mountains. Numerous animals have followed us for a few leagues before turning back to their warrens, and there is a great sadness on the land and great trepidation, for no one knows if the sun will ever shine again above the Earth."

"What about your spider?" asked the bat.

"I know nothing of a spider," said Rigel, and he studied his hands and arms and whatever clothing he could see, looking for a spider.

"Spider, spider, riding on your shoulder!" said the bat.

Rigel looked right, then left, and there on his shoulder was the spider to whom he had spoken when the moon had visited him.

"That is the moon spider, as you can see," said Rigel. "It is the color of the moon, which is white, and you can see through it a little bit, so to speak, and its body is round like the moon, and she weaves her web here and there in the patterns that please her most. But she does not belong to me, but does belong to the moon."

"I am a creature of the night," said the bat, "and the moon is my first love. I have heard from many corners that she fears greatly for the sun, and I wish to serve the moon by accompanying you and the moon spider and worm on your mission to the west, and we will see what we will see."

"Yes," said Rigel. "Because you are a friend of the moon, you may accompany us to the west, and you may ride on my other shoulder because the spider is on the first shoulder and I am carrying the worm who left with me from the meadow one week ago, in my teacup."

"It will take you four weeks to wind your way though the forest alone," said the bat, "or you may not make it out at all, becoming lost. But under my guidance from above we can walk the paths and deer trails without error, without compass or map, and never lose our way. We will pass the five huge trees, walk beside the seven splashing creeks, glide down the hills and valleys, until at last we reach our goal in only three weeks."

The four of them continued their journey, sleeping under the cover of leaf and branch, eating whatever they could find or was given to them by the animals who lived there, and within a few days of resuming the journey, they beheld a small commotion in the thick tree branches above them and a large gray squirrel leaped to the ground in front of them, ran in circles several times and then hopped onto a nearby tree stump that was the height of Rigel's waist. Its tail twitched.

"I am a squirrel," said the squirrel, "and I have been awaiting your arrival since you left the meadow." He sat on the stump, and scratched behind his ear with a quick flick of his hind leg. "I have many sources of information. Animals and leaves . . . they tell me things. Because I am a squirrel," he said, scratching again, "I have a vested interest in the sun and a place in my heart for the moon. What am I without them? Lost! Which brings me to my point and that is this: I wish to travel with you and take part in whatever it is that you are about and I will help in any way I can and gather nuts and bits of refuse that we might eat as we walk to the west where the sun goes down. Whatever do you say to that?"

The bat, who had been riding on Rigel's shoulder, looked at Rigel and said, "That creature is a squirrel. This we know. I have seen squirrels glide from branch to branch through the air. Therefore, the squirrel is respectable and should travel with us, though the way might be dangerous."

"That animal is a squirrel," said the worm, sticking his head out of the dirt in the teacup that Rigel carried. "It eats nuts and berries, and sometimes flower blossoms if the flavor is good. Therefore, it is respectable and honorable, and should accompany us and make every effort to save us should be get into difficult situations or times of trouble."

Rigel looked at the spider on his other shoulder, but the spider simply sighed and made no statement. So Rigel said, "Because the squirrel is fond of the moon and sun, and flies from tree to tree, and eats peaches or other fruit that he likes, he should come along with us from this point forward. Soon, we will be nearing the end and there will not be many days left before we must find where the sun has gone to die. I need what friends I have, and I count us now as five, the same as the number of planets.

They continued their journey, following a small rivulet through the forest. As it wound about the trunks of trees, and flowed between the hills, the little creek grew wider and wider until it became a small stream with bends and deep curves and circling eddies. As they stood near the edge of the water resting, the moon spider felt it was time to leave Rigel's shoulder, and she walked down his arm and then his leg until she came to the ground, and with great speed made her way to the water, and Rigel and the rest of the band followed behind.

Saying nothing, the spider stopped on the riverbank where there was an eddy in which the water was circling and circling, and there were several leaves in the water. When the smallest of the leaves came closest to shore, the spider leaped onto it and with her web she pulled herself and the leaf back to shore, and she presented the leaf to Rigel.

"I'm afraid I don't know the purpose of your gift, spider, but I believe I will take that leaf and place it in the cup, on top of the soil under which the worm lives. So, I would like to thank you very much although I find all this very mysterious and it makes me have a number of questions."

"Let's put all that aside," said the squirrel, "and be off, for the day has begun, though there is no light; and time, to us, is like gold. But more, the lack of time to us is like a dagger! Let us take spider's leaf and ask no questions until this evening or later, and be on our way. Our dear sun's fate is at stake, and our moon is much on my mind."

"I can think of nothing but the sun and moon," said the bat in her high voice. "We must be off, for day would be breaking if there were a day."

They traveled hour after hour and day after day, never knowing for certain what time it might be, or exactly what day it was. They had followed a trail away from the river until the trail tapered off and vanished, lost in wet ferns. They continued, picking their way westward among bush and tree, until the land became nothing but sand and the sound of the wind blended with the sound of a waterfall. They came to a clearing and the light of the stars was almost like day to them, for they had been in the deep dark for so long. They came to a clear lake that was nestled at the foot a high, slender, waterfall in the middle of the forest.

The shore of the lake was strewn with gemstones, which were created by the light of an evening sun striking the splash of the waterfall. After many centuries of sunsets, the shore was covered with diamonds of all sizes, rubies of red sunsets, emeralds of flashing green, blue sapphires and golden citron.

The cascading water was white and the rest of the lake was crystal-black, which made the diamonds and rubies glow as if they were on fire, and the entire shoreline was lit by the spectrum colors of the stones.

On the western bank they could see a huddled shape. Ukko! He sat near the water, unable to rise, sunk into his ragged wool jacket, his head down and face invisible. His small firebird was huddled in the sand beside him. Lined up in front of Ukko were 28 stones, and with these he had counted the days, hoping that Rigel would arrive in time to save him. He had placed the 28th stone in front of himself only hours before.

Rigel and his four companions waved and began to run around the small lake over to Ukko, but just as they were halfway, an unfortunate event occurred. They could not proceed! Their legs seemed glued firmly to the sandy bank of the lake and they stood like statues, unable to move forward.

It was then that they heard the fiddler playing. The music was distant at first, as it had been the night of his visit one month ago, and grew louder as the fiddler walked closer. He smiled and said, "The sun needs you very badly, I suppose. It seems that one day as he spun through the heavens, someone, certainly not I, knocked very sharply on his door, and, well, the sun is a very friendly fellow as you must know by now, and, of all things, he said, 'Welcome!' Can you believe it?"

Rigel looked at Ukko, who nodded that this was the case.

"Who would answer his door like that?" the fiddler said. "No one that I know. Certainly not if such riches as these were at stake," he said, motioning with a flowing arm to the gems that covered the beach. "But, you see, the visitor was a bad sort, a real devil, and threw a shard of bitter ice right at him, ice from the heavens, as hard and sharp as any stone or blade of metal, and his heart was struck! He stumbled! It was a terrible sight, I assure you. And all I had to do was follow him to his secret spot!" He shook his head and looked over at the old man. Then his gaze returned to Rigel.

"I have a proposition, Grandson," he said to Rigel. Then he stopped playing, and let his violin and bow drop to his sides. "Let me adopt you as my grandson, and I'll do what I can to loosen up your feet so you may save the sun. We will have all the riches we could ever need, as you can see! A little stitching and a bandage of some sort would probably fix up your old friend. Whatever do you say to that, my future grandson?"

But Rigel stood his ground. "No," he said, "I am not your grandson and will not become your grandson in any way. Surely there must be some other thing which you would demand?"

"One small item, I suppose. Very small. And . . . have you seen the moon in the last month or so?"

Rigel tried to move his left foot but could not. He had been visited by the moon one month ago, 28 days, but the moon was wrapped in silk of three colors so he had not seen her. "No, I have not seen the moon in more than one month," he said, knowing that the devil was up to its old tricks.

"Ah. I see. Um, have you spoken to the moon, say, during that period of time, then?"

"I have not spoken to the moon in the slightest," said Rigel, for he had addressed the small spider as the moon had requested.

The fiddler frowned and showed his teeth. "Answer my riddles, then, and I will free you!"

"And if I am unable to answer?" asked Rigel.

"Then you will become my legal grandson and we will live together and I will teach you many foul things, and eat rotten food and never bathe or speak sweetly, and you can serve me in any way I wish and keep me company always!"

Sadly, Rigel was forced to agree, for the sake of the sun.

The fiddler thought a moment and said:

Rigel scratched behind his ear. What a curious riddle. What could it be? Rigel tried to think of an answer but he could not. He was very tired from the journey. He sat down in the sand and listened to the roar of the waterfall, and he looked over to Ukko, who seemed to be waiting for Rigel to answer. He looked down; the teacup was still in his hand. And poking its head out of the dirt was the worm.

"Worm!" whispered the worm. "Worm! Robins eat me, trees rely on me! I live in the dark soil and am loved by gardeners, especially yourself!"

"A worm!" shouted Rigel, and the word had the effect of knocking the demon fiddler off his feet and he landed on his back as if he had tried to do a back flip and failed. He squirmed back to his feet, and, with a sneer, he said:

Once again, Rigel searched his mind for the answer. Up and down, down and up?

"Yes," whispered the gray squirrel, who had been hiding in Rigel's trouser pocket. Only Rigel could see him as he looked down, because the squirrel's head was kept low. "In autumn, I carry twigs and grass up for my winter nest; in spring I run down to dig up acorns that I buried the year before, for there are no new acorns yet! I hibernate, and then I play!"

"Squirrel!" shouted Rigel, and the devil was struck with a coughing attack. He doubled over and coughed and coughed until he coughed up garbage, and he fell to the ground and it was several minutes before he could regain control of himself.

Rigel tried again to move his feet, and he was able to shift them a few inches this time but was still stuck in the sand. Now the bat, who had been resting upside down, hanging off the back of Rigel's shoulder with her feet firmly clenching the cloth of his jacket, pulled herself up and whispered in Rigel's ear. "The answer is a bat," she said quietly. "No feathers, no nest, and etcetera. I sleep during the day, I hunt insects at night!"

"A bat!" yelled Rigel, "and I will never be your grandson! Free me!"

"Never!" screamed the devil. "Answer this, or die! One last riddle, my dear. Oh, yes, one final quiz for you, and no help from your little friends this time!" He rubbed his hands together and recited this:

The fiddler smiled as he finished his final, terrifying rhyme. It was clearly the most difficult of all his tests. Rigel squirmed on the sand and still could not move. One more riddle . . . certainly this could not finish him off. Look at the sun! Ukko was barely able to sit up. He raised his head and looked at Rigel, and then with great effort he moved his hand to his shoulder, signaling the boy. So Rigel looked at his shoulder and there he saw the moon spider.

The spider had taken the leaf out of the teacup days before, and had woven it into the cloth of Rigel's jacket in such a manner that it appeared to be afloat upon his shoulder, just as it had been floating in the water. The spider climbed onto the leaf and waited.

What were Ukko and the spider trying to tell him, Rigel wondered. Where was the moon? She should be here, for it was the 28th day, according to Ukko's counting stones. He felt alone, despite the company of his fellow travelers.

No sooner had he thought of the moon than she appeared beside the lake. In a soft voice, she asked, "Where did my spider find my leaf, Rigel?"

Rigel's thoughts turned back to the spider on his shoulder. Where had he found the leaf? Where had she floated on the leaf?

"River!" shouted Rigel. "River!" His words were like a blow to the fiddler, who fell as if struck by a brick. He lay there, staring up at the dark sky for several minutes and everything was silent except for the waterfall. Groaning, but without a word, he crawled to his feet, placed his violin under his arm and turned. Then he was gone and was not seen again by Rigel, by the bat or squirrel, worm or spider.

It was the spider who spun a delicate web on Ukko to heal the wound caused by the sliver of bitter ice, but it was the reappearance of the moon that would remain with Rigel the rest of his many days on Earth. When she returned, the silken wrappings were gone, revealing a beauty that is remembered only in the poetry of the people, handed down generation after generation.

She floated over to Ukko and his 28 stones, and her very presence revived the sun. Ukko stood up, and he began to dance on the sand. "I'm so very happy!" he shouted. "Day! It will soon be day!" He leaped slowly, suspended in the air, and flipped, and, though Rigel had grown used to the ragged appearance of the sun, it still seemed odd to him that an old man in an oversized wool jacket, trousers that were too long and were stained and torn and wrinkled, could move with such grace, or could be the sun at all. He was a wonderful dancer! He danced with the bat, with the worm (which was an amazing sight!) and with the squirrel and spider. He spun with Rigel, and then chose as his partner, the moon.

Their dance was never mentioned by Rigel to any other human being, though he lived a life far longer than most. Perhaps he had no words for it, or maybe he was reduced to tears at the very memory of it . . . he never said. What person, human or animal, has has been close enough to see the dance of the sun and moon? None! . . . almost.

"But one day, Rigel said to me, 'Worm, here is a short tale of the sun and the moon, and do you wish to hear it?'" said the worm. "'Tell me this story, short as it may be,' said I, 'for I would love to hear a tale of the sun and moon, such as the wind might tell when it is passing through the treetops.'"

Rigel whispered:

Tales the Wind Told is available in paperback from Lulu Press