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Dylan and the Dead

27th Sep 2020 in

Before you get started reading, you can read about the history of the Grateful Dead folk story here: The Grateful Dead; The History of a Folk Story, by Gordon Hall Gerould, published in 1907. Another great book, but which is unfortunately hard to find, is Grateful Dead Folktales, a collection of Grateful Dead tales by Bob Franzosa, published in 1989. Also, regarding the band The Grateful Dead, listen to a wonderful song by The Grateful Dead called Box of Rain. Not only was it written in 1969 by Phil Lesh for his dying father, it was the last song Jerry Garcia performed before his death in 1995.

Audio Version of an earlier version of Dylan and the Dead 


Dylan and the Dead

by Kent Duryée
 

Introduction

Many of us are familiar with the band called The Grateful Dead. That band of traveling musicians found the name "Grateful Dead" in a dictionary, and the definition supplied was that it was an ancient folktale cycle. The band played music together, providing Dionysian-like festivals for their fans, for over 30 years.

The name "Grateful Dead" was originally given to a cycle of folktales that began over 2000 years ago. The folktales were passed down orally through the ages. Some were written down and still survive, but sadly, most are lost to history. In these tales, a traveler would come across the remains of someone being mistreated, and they would selflessly ensure the proper burial or cremation of the remains. In return, the deceased would later reward the traveler with incredible gifts.

Robert Franzosa edited a book titled Grateful Dead Folktales which was published in 1989 and contains 13 historical Grateful Dead folktales. In the introduction, Franzosa says, "Most Grateful Dead folktales possess points of contact involving a journey by the hero and a goal of the hero to unite with a woman." Dylan and the Dead, then, is a story influenced by the original, ancient Grateful Dead folk cycle.


One

A tale of peregrination, personal growth, and the perils of pecuniary gain.
Sometimes it takes a horse, a corpse, and an undertaker to find true love.

Rain fell from gloomy clouds that loomed over the verdant, rolling hills. Dylan and his horse Roger were at the top of a long row of cliffs that soared straight up from the ocean. Far below, the churning sea crashed against the rocks, spraying foam wildly into the air as seagulls cried out overhead. Shielding his eyes from the rain, Dylan stared out at the vast ocean. The powerful northern wind signaled this storm was just beginning. After all, volatile weather was common in the Foggy Islands during spring. A clear, cloudless day was a rarity this time of year. His small breakfast fire of dry peat moss sputtered pitifully against the rain, slowly losing its battle to stay lit. Dylan had already had his breakfast of old, hard bread toasted on the peat moss fire, so he didn't notice the fire was dying, or seem to care about anything except searching the sea. He was looking for something specific but was uncertain where to find it.

Roger stamped the ground impatiently, anxious to go somewhere less wet and gloomy than their current surroundings. The horse exhaled forcefully through his lips, spraying spit that the wind plastered onto the back of Dylan's exposed neck.

"What the..." Dylan wiped the back of his neck and examined his hand, which was covered in slime. As if he didn’t know, strands of grass and bits of apple revealed the culprit - the horse he had recently fed. "Thanks a lot," Dylan said sarcastically. "I'm trying to work here, and you're blowing spit all over me. Bloody wreck of a horse!"

Roger shook his head and stamped his hoof forcefully into the grass, then theatrically stretched his neck, lifted his head, and rolled his eyes down toward Dylan. He blew through his lips again, spraying Dylan once more. He cursed and grabbed the dangling lead. “Fine, let’s go if that’s what you want,” Dylan growled, stamping out the peat moss fire before setting off with the impatient horse

After trudging northward for several miles against the wind and rain, Dylan stopped, cursed as he wiped his eyes, and stamped his foot in frustration, splashing mud everywhere that hadn’t been muddied yet. "What am I doing?" he wondered aloud before climbing onto Roger's back and urging the horse into a trot. By mid-afternoon, they crossed the Bridge of Dee and arrived at the large seaside village of Aberdeen nestled at the top of the cliffs overlooking the ocean.


Dylan and Roger had been traveling together for weeks since leaving Dylan's home on the family farm near the town of Whithorn in search of three necessities: first, seeds for the crops they would plant back home; second, bolts of linen, which Dylan's mother, sister, and grandmother would sew into tablecloths, clothes, and other items to sell at market.

Dylan had successfully found all the seeds needed and had them sent to the farm, but he struggled to find linen. The flax plants that linen is made from had suffered from poor weather lately. Additionally, wealthy merchants from nearby lands had recently bought all the linen fabric and thread they could find.

Oh, and in addition to the other items on his list, Dylan was also looking for a wife.

Two

During his long trek from the farm, Dylan had spent most of the money his father had given him. Seeds were relatively inexpensive, but lodging and food added up quickly. While he was not prone to gambling away his funds like some travelers, he did indulge in a bit of gambling here and there. Similarly, Dylan avoided wasting much money in pubs, though he would occasionally treat himself to a drink.

The word "pub" is short for "public house" and a pub is typically attached to an inn where travelers lodge and sleep in between meals at the pub and whatever they're doing in town. In the Foggy Islands, pubs have always served as community hubs where locals mingle with visitors, quietly chatting over ale or other fermented drinks. Sometimes this discussion and drinking can turn quite lively, however. In fact, finding a “quiet pub” had been another of Dylan’s goals for quite some time as he and Roger walked through the rain. By the time they actually reached the town of Aberdeen, however, Dylan had decided that even a very noisy pub would do, and that was a good thing because science has yet to discover the existence of a “quiet pub”.

A strange effect comes over people when they enter a pub. Most often, they involuntarily shout, "Pints for the house!" This cry always sparks a noisy hustle and bustle as drinks are passed around, lasting until the next person enters and shouts the same. Then the cycle repeats. Amid the excitement, someone may take offense at another's remark, igniting a brawl amid the cheer. Between the clamor, those who entered hours ago try leaving, spurring raucous goodbyes and triggering more shouts for drinks, renewing the ruckus. Few people actually depart a pub.


Dylan had left the family farm near Whithorn, a small village in the southwest of the Foggy Islands, about six weeks previously. He and Roger had traveled northeast, searching for linen that just could not be found. That was why Dylan had decided to head to Aberdeen on the east coast of the island. It was larger than most of the other communities that surrounded it, and he hoped to find a job so he could replenish his money supply. Also, there might be linen available as well. And of course, he also considered that the chances of finding his true love might be better there than elsewhere, so Aberdeen it was.

Roger and Dylan arrived in Aberdeen on that rainy, stormy afternoon, following the muddy road through the town center to the stables. The stables appeared clean and cheery, made more inviting by the aroma of fresh hay wafting from the open doors and the occasional happy snort of a horse enjoying the dry warmth inside. As they stopped outside, Roger perked up his ears. Dylan spoke to the stable master, then reached into his pocket for his coin purse. Counting his dwindling funds, Dylan realized he had even less than expected. He knew that soon he would need to find work, or head home without the linen and, most frustratingly, without meeting his future wife. Again, hopefully, Aberdeen would fix both of these problems.


Dylan had been eagerly searching at sea for his one true love earlier that day, not yet realizing that finding a future spouse rarely happens through deliberate seeking alone. For most people, discovering their life partner involves at least some mystery and surprise, rather than simply going out and accomplishing it as a task. Dylan was bright, having inherited his mother's quick wit and his father's aptitude for numbers. However, like many of us, he struggled to understand love, though he desperately yearned to find it.

Having paid someone else to watch Roger for a while, Dylan made his way to the pub, which not only offered company, but a meal, a bath, and a dry bed to sleep in. Dylan had been sleeping outside under his woolen blanket for five nights now, and not only was he soaked through to his bones, but he also desperately needed a bath, and was so hungry he could eat a horse. (But not Roger. For all his cursing, Dylan loved his horse.) The pub offered all four of the things Dylan craved at the moment, so he hurried across the street in search of what the stableman had told him was Pennan's Pub.

Just then, a man suddenly crashed through a door and landed face-first in the mud at Dylan’s feet. Raucous laughter erupted from inside, and the mud-covered man rolled over with a groan. "Pints for the house!" he announced feebly. The victor of the brawl emerged to help him up and offered a congratulatory hug and a towel. Dylan had found the pub.

Three

Inside, all was warm with a huge fire in the fireplace. The massive timbers framing the building glowed a deep brown and the candles lighting the room gave a golden sheen to everything their light struck. Dylan navigated through the room to the long wooden bar in the back, where he asked the young woman tending bar for a room, bath, meal, and song in order of priority. After paying her requested price in gold coins, he turned to climb the stairs to his assigned room.

At that moment, a man entered the pub and roared “Pints for the house!” as was the custom, and Dylan found himself suddenly confronted by the appearance of a pewter mug of ale in his hand. Knowing that to turn down the hospitality of a stranger in such a case was asking to get his head dipped in the mud rather roughly, he raised the mug, toasted the newcomer, and drained a good portion of the beverage. Foam on his lip, he lowered the mug and glanced around the room. No one was obviously staring at him, so he quietly climbed the stairs, taking pains not to make a creak or squeak, arriving at the upper landing without being noticed by the crowd below.

Someone was watching Dylan though. The young lady working behind the bar who had just given him the key to his room watched him climbing the stairs with a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, giving a subtle hint as to her thoughts.


Exhausted after sleeping on wet ground for five days, he trudged to his room and went inside. The ale quenched his thirst, so he gulped down the rest, put the mug and his meager belongings on the table by the window, and searched for a washbasin and bed. As the sun hid behind thick clouds, the light was quite dim in the room as it only had one window. He squinted to see through the gloom.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed that in addition to the empty bed under the window and table, there was another bed against the far wall. Slowly it became clear that someone was sleeping in that bed. Dylan made some noises to alert the person to his presence, but there was no stirring or greeting from the dark end of the room.

He politely coughed once, twice, three times, but the sleeping figure still did not stir. Getting no response, he moved to another table set against the far wall and gave it a firm nudge, scraping its legs loudly against the wooden floor. A tense quiet filled the room.

He looked again and saw the sleeping figure was completely still. He cautiously approached the bed and peered at the motionless form. He coughed, cleared his throat, and stomped loudly, but the sleeper did not stir. Dylan gently shook the person's shoulder, but the body felt rigid as if the muscles had frozen. With a shock, Dylan realized the figure was not asleep, but dead. This was something that Dylan hadn’t expected, and he recoiled at the touch of the cold, lifeless body.

What was Dylan supposed to do in the position he found himself in? Two thoughts came to him, but he wasn’t sure about either. He could go downstairs and tell the young lady who had taken his money about the body. He could also bundle the lifeless form out into the hallway and let someone else deal with the unpleasantries. Wanting to be done with the lifeless body sooner rather than later, he decided on the second option. That would give him time to bathe and change into clothes that weren’t so wet and dirty.

So, he pulled the body out of the bed and let it drop to the floor. The consequences of his actions dawned on him only after the deed was done. The foul odor now permeating the room made it clear the unfortunate soul had been dead for quite some time.

At this point, Dylan discovered that he had made the wrong choice of options, and decided to get help after all. He pulled the body back up onto the bed and covered it with the blanket, then gathered his belongings and went downstairs to find the young lady who had taken his payment for the room.

Four

At the bar, Dylan excused himself and the young lady turned around. When she saw him, the corners of her mouth curled up again, and her eyes seemed to grow larger and shine a little brighter. Dylan didn’t notice this, however, worried as he was about the issue of the dead body in his room. He told her of his plight, and the little smile and bright eyes extinguished themselves, although they did extinguish rather slowly.

“What does the dead man look like?” she asked.

“He’s an old man with grey hair and a grey beard. His most obvious feature is a mole on his left cheek.”

She realized the deceased was a man named Greely, a kindly old gentleman who had fallen on hard times in his later years. Though her father, the innkeeper, would disapprove due to Greely's debts, she had compassionately allowed him to stay in a room on cold, wet nights, unable to bear the thought of the old man sleeping outside alone. Greely was shunned by many townspeople to whom he owed money from failed business ventures, but she quietly looked past his flaws and saw his kindness and humanity.

She did not tell Dylan the complex details of the man's life, she just briefly summarized the troubles he was having. After the brief history of Greely, since she found the young man attractive, she decided to ask him to help her remove the man from the inn after closing. Her primary goal, aside from laying Greely to rest, was simply to conceal the fact from her father that she had permitted the man inside in the first place.

“Having told you this, would you be so kind…er…I mean…well, I know that you probably don’t care, but I was hoping that you’d help me remove him later,” and she went on to tell him about her father, who was a decent man but simply wouldn’t understand or be happy with the whole affair.

Dylan listened intently as she told her story, feeling something stir inside him. He noticed for the first time her flaxen hair and deep blue eyes. When she finished explaining why she needed his help, he was suddenly, utterly, and hopelessly in love. If she had asked him to swim across the ocean, he would have eagerly obliged.

An awkward silence fell, and Dylan realized it was his turn to speak. Striving for eloquence, he stammered, "W-w-w-what is your n-n-name?"

She narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow in a manner that was both cute yet serious. "What did you say?" she asked.

Dylan tried speaking again, slowly asking, "What is your name?"

Her eyes brightened, and she smiled at him like people do when they finally understand what a two-year-old is saying to them. “My name’s Lesslyn, what’s yours?”

Dylan felt the ground tremble and blood rush to his face as his mind raced. "Dyanalalallnnn," he garbled.

"Pardon?" Lesslyn replied, her eyebrows scrunching together adorably in confusion.

Dylan's knees weakened. He cleared his throat and tried again, dragging out the "n" in "Dylannn." Though elongated, it was clear enough for Lesslyn to grasp his name.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dylan. Let me get you the key to another room so you can freshen up."

Dylan had forgotten he was covered in mud and horse spit. Blushing once more, he felt like a glowing beacon. Yet Lesslyn simply smiled and handed him a key and all the coins he'd paid for his room.

"You stay free if you find anything wrong with your room," she shrugged and whispered, "and finding a dead body would certainly qualify as 'wrong' under the Pennan's Pub policy, so I'll just tell my father you saw a rat in there or something."

Dylan slurred his words in appreciation of the girl's quick understanding, "Thankkkkk yououuuu."

She smiled beautifully again. "No sir, thank you". Dylan stared blankly back at her as time seemed to slow down. "Go! Get cleaned up and come back down; it's supper time!"

The happy twisting, vibrating, and frolicking in Dylan's brain lurched to a stop as he remembered where he was and what he was supposed to do. With a smile, he turned and climbed back up the stairs, transformed completely from the young man who had descended them just minutes before.


Dylan quickly cleaned himself in his new, mercifully unoccupied room, skipping the lengthy, soothing bath he had been longing for. His heart could not bear it, as his mind was racing in countless directions simultaneously.

On the one hand, he was consumed with how to remove the poor dead man's body from the inn without raising suspicions, and then what to do with it if they succeeded. On the other hand, he was enraptured just by the sound of the young lady's name, Lesslyn. He turned her name over in his mind, letting the syllables roll off his tongue, and pictured her standing in the candlelight, her hair and eyes glowing. Then his thoughts would dart back to the corpse in the other room. He would ponder that, and then Lesslyn's name, her hair, and her eyes would fill his mind again. He tried in vain to stop thinking completely, but she was so breathtakingly beautiful that his thoughts cycled endlessly between her and the body.

After finishing the chore of cleaning himself, he put on his least dirty set of clothes, quickly ran his hand through his hair, and descended the stairs. Lesslyn was scurrying from table to table, serving piping hot plates of food. All Dylan noticed was her radiant smile. He sat at a table and she promptly brought him a bowl of the inn's specialty - hot, savory lamb stew. Having composed himself, he thanked her without stammering. As he ate the delicious stew, he watched her bustle around the dining area.

Watching her, he wondered: Could this be the young lady he'd been searching for? She certainly seemed to match his hopes. But did she share his interests? Did she find him appealing at all? In short, was he the type of person she was attracted to? Was he, in short, interesting to her at all?

Dylan obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to Lesslyn.


The pub gradually grew quiet as closing time neared and the last of the guests trickled out. Dylan smiled at the rare stillness that settled in; “For once, a quiet pub,” he thought. Lesslyn began tidying the empty tables, then made her way over to Dylan, and flashed him a warm smile. His heart fluttered at the sight of her.

"Why don't you go up to your room? I'll be up in a while after Father goes to sleep," she whispered to him.

Whispering, Dylan said, "Right, good idea. What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know," she whispered back. "Normally we could just take him to the undertaker down the street, but he owed so many debts that the local law says he can't be buried in the cemetery. The undertaker won't do anything unless we pay off the debts. I thought we might get him down to the ocean. He was a fisherman once and always loved the sea."

Dylan thought about this. Then he thought some more.

Lesslyn whispered, “Go upstairs, and we can figure it out tonight.”

“Yes, right! Ok, I’ll see you then.”

This strange turn of events led him to an idea: They would need transportation to avoid parading a corpse through town late at night. So, instead of going upstairs, he went outside, making sure Lesslyn didn’t see him, and crossed the muddy street to the stables to fetch Roger.

Five

The moon peeked through a break in the storm, casting a dim light on the muddy streets and low buildings of the town. He knocked on the stable keeper's door, apologizing for the hour before asking to take his horse out. When he was led around the corner, Roger had an unmistakably perturbed look in his eye. Being pulled from the warm stable, companionship, dry straw, and fresh oats to run an unknown errand late at night in the rain would perturb anyone. He shook his head, snorted, and rolled his eyes in protest.

On his way to the stable, Dylan had decided to visit the town undertaker, to learn more about the law preventing debtor burials. He immensely disliked the idea of discarding the body at sea. He asked for directions to the undertaker from the stable keeper, who looked at him with questioning eyes, but Dylan offered no explanations. He thanked the keeper for the information and apologized again for the late hour, and then he and Roger headed to the undertaker's together.


Rapping on an undertaker's door in the dead of night brings its own peculiar sensations. Dylan found none of them agreeable, yet he was resolved to learn what might be accomplished, so he knocked and waited. At last, the cadaverous mortician answered, looking so gaunt and sepulchral in his black robe that Dylan pictured him as his own next client. The old man was skeletal - all protruding bones and pallid, sagging skin. In short, he was ideally matched to his line of work.

In a gravelly, raven-like rasp, the undertaker wheezed, "Yes, may I help you?"

"Yes," Dylan said courageously, "I seem to have a problem. A man has passed away, and unfortunately, since he was in debt when alive, you cannot bury him in the cemetery. This is truly disheartening. Is there any way we could help give this poor man a proper burial?"

“Ah, Greely must have passed on. I knew he was sick and talked with him just days ago to find out what he could do. At this point young man, I can tell you that he owed money to nearly every businessman in town. For my part, I loaned him the money to bury his wife when she died many years ago, and he still owes me that sum. I think that if that debt were repaid, I could take care of him. But then I won’t be the most popular man in town. Not that I am anyway.”

This last remark was followed by a wheezing laugh from deep in the undertaker’s lungs that sent shivers up and down Dylan’s spine and made him want to run away into the night. But he stood his ground and asked how much the debt was.

Dylan was astounded when the undertaker told him the amount owed was the exact amount of money left in his purse. Acting on impulse, he grabbed his pouch, paid the undertaker, and promised to bring the body later that night. Dylan then hurried back to Roger, hopped on his bare back, and galloped away through the moonlight, relieved to escape the situation. Riding back to the pub, Dylan began wondering what exactly he had done to end up penniless and so far from home. Roger shook his head and snorted, apparently in disapproval.

Back at the pub, Dylan took Roger behind the building and found an empty, unused roof extension hidden in some overgrown shrubs. It likely once sheltered firewood but now provided a covered spot for Roger to take shelter from the rain. Leaving Roger there, Dylan returned to the pub's front entrance, relieved to find the door unlocked. For the second time that day, he quietly crept upstairs, listening to the sounds of Lesslyn and her father talking and tidying up the kitchen.

Exhausted, Dylan opened the door to his bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep instantly.


Two hours later, Lesslyn tapped gently on his door. When Dylan opened it, he gazed silently at her striking beauty, his heart melting with affection once again.

“What shall we do?” he asked.

“First let’s put him in this,” and she held up a large canvas bag. “My laundry bag can help us avoid suspicion. I told my father I was washing sheets from the empty rooms, so he won't think twice if he sees me carrying it full. You, on the other hand, need to stay out of sight.”

Dylan suddenly said, “I went to see the undertaker earlier.”

Lesslyn looked at him. “What?”

“I visited the undertaker earlier tonight after retrieving my horse from the stable. I paid the debt Greely owed to him and he agreed to accept the body.”

Lesslyn stared at Dylan, awestruck. “What you did was the most wonderful, generous thing I've ever heard of. You are very generous and kind. Or you have no mind for money.”

Dylan laughed and replied, “Maybe it's both. We had to choose between that or tossing the poor man into the ocean. I couldn't bear doing that, and I wouldn't want that weighing on your conscience either.”

Another silence grew between them, but unlike before, this one was comfortable. They simply gazed at each other, and for that moment, no words were needed, it was absolutely the perfect thing to do.

Eventually, Lesslyn sighed and said, “Let's get started. I checked and everyone staying here is in bed and the doors are all shut, so we should be good. We just have to worry about my father.”

So they proceeded down the hall to the room where the man's body lay. As she opened the door, the foul odor billowed out, forcing Lesslyn to pause and collect herself. “Quite unpleasant that,” she said. With care, they maneuvered the corpse into the canvas bag, a delicate and distinctly disagreeable task, then cinched the top closed. Though somewhat lessened, the stench remained overpowering. Exchanging glances, they recognized the formidable undertaking that awaited them.

“Ok, I tied my horse around back. Is there a back stairway?”

“Yes, it’s just at the other end of the hallway. Ready?”

“Yes,” said Dylan.

Working as a team, they lifted the heavy burden up off the bed and maneuvered it to the door. Meanwhile, Lesslyn listened closely for any sounds from her father. Hearing no movement, she could only hope he was asleep.

Next, they faced the challenge of descending the stairs without making any noise. Dylan wondered how many times he had to sneak up or down stairs in just one day.

Halfway down the stairs, Lesslyn lost her grip on the bag and there was a loud thump. Dylan instinctively whispered “Shhhh!”, though he realized a moment later that cautioning silence was pointless, if not counterproductive. Of course, Lesslyn grasped the need for stealth right now. She said nothing in response. They reclaimed their hold on the bag and proceeded down the stairwell to the bottom floor.

Lesslyn decided now was the time to tell Dylan that her father's bedroom window overlooked the back of the building. They would need to be extremely quiet while loading the body onto the horse. The rain continued as they lugged the gruesome load across the open space and around the bushes. Lesslyn peeked back at her father's dark window and exhaled in relief, assuming he was already asleep.

Roger waited patiently in his shelter, knowing Dylan and Lesslyn approached regardless of their stealth. As a horse, his sharp sense of hearing likely detected them huffing and puffing upstairs with the burden of the body. An intelligent horse, Roger understood now wasn't the time to show frustration over being tied up outside for hours while the others stayed comfortable inside. However, he was unaware of their plan to place a corpse on his back. Had he known that, he may have responded differently.

Dylan and Lesslyn finally appeared at Roger’s side with the burden they carried. Despite the difficulty of positioning Mr. Greely's body so that it didn’t slip or fall, they eventually succeeded and led Roger and the remains into the dark, wet streets.


For many years, it had been Lesslyn's father's nightly ritual to sit quietly in his darkened room, alone with his thoughts and memories after a long day's work. As he sat on his bed gazing out the window, he wondered about the secretive contents of the young couple's bag and their bashfulness about their blossoming love. With a smile and a shake of his head, he chuckled to himself about the follies of youth, then finished the last sip of brandy in his glass. That night, he reminisced about his own midnight walks in the rain with Lesslyn's mother, whose untimely death still pained him. Yet she visited him nightly in his dreams, so the ache of loss and separation was endurable. Most nights, at least.


When Lesslyn and Dylan arrived at the undertaker's, they knocked and the undertaker answered as he had before. "Yes, may I help you?" Then he recognized Lesslyn and remarked that the young man accompanying her was quite generous, having paid off the debt of a stranger who would clearly never be able to return the favor.

Looking at Dylan, she said with a smile, "Yes, he told me he paid you a visit. I'm quite impressed.” She returned her attention to the undertaker. “May I request that you say nothing to my father about our visit?”

“Of course, Lesslyn. I will not say anything to your father about this. I understand how there could be some…misunderstanding involved.”

“Thank you very much”, said Lesslyn. “Where shall we take the body?"

"If you could please bring the deceased to the table on wheels behind the building? I can handle the rest from there. Please pardon my nightclothes - I was going to change but didn’t know when you would be here."

Though his frightening appearance suggested otherwise, the undertaker was not unkind; he was simply looking out for his own interests, though they primarily revolved around money and personal gain.

These nuances were lost on Dylan at the moment. He was convinced the undertaker was a hound straight from the underworld. Many young people fear aging, but as will be seen, age has much to teach youth.

Dylan apologized again for the late hour, remarking that a man answering the door in his nightclothes was completely understandable. However, he was actually thinking that the undertaker's skeletal frame would look better with more clothes draping it. They led Roger with Mr. Greely to the back of the building and helped the undertaker lay the body on the table.

After the transfer had been accomplished, Lesslyn and Dylan thanked the undertaker and quickly walked away, back into the night from where they’d come.

Six

After they had slipped away from the undertaker’s dreary place, Dylan turned to Lesslyn, suddenly aware that he was now alone with the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on. Though they had just shared a grueling task, Dylan found himself at a complete loss for words, literally struck speechless in her presence.

Lesslyn looked at him and kindly inquired, "Where are you from?"

With relief, he told her that he lived on his family's farm near Whithorn in the southern part of the country.

“You’re a long way from home. What are you doing here in Aberdeen, so far to the north?”

Dylan thanked whatever force had intervened to provide a topic of conversation. “I left the farm several weeks ago to buy seeds for the fields and linen for my sister, mother, and grandmother. They make fantastic clothes and such with linen. I bought all of the needed seeds and had them delivered to the farm, but sadly, the recent weather patterns have reduced the growth of flax, so linen has become quite hard to find. Because of this, lots of merchants have been through the country buying all of what’s left. I haven’t found even a thread in all these weeks.”

After his summary of his trip, he formally introduced Roger to Lesslyn. Roger blew spit through his lips because he truly liked Lesslyn and wholeheartedly approved of her. As Lesslyn delicately wiped the grass-speckled slime from her neck and chest, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly. Dylan apologized profusely and gave her a clean handkerchief he had found in his pack. Roger just rolled his eyes.

They continued their walk to the stables. Dylan described to her the fine needlework his sister, mother, and grandmother did with linen, and the day-to-day boredom of farm life, and asked what living in a pub was like. She listed the good and bad of pub life, and they realized they had much in common. Both loved long horseback rides and disliked horseradish.

The subject of horseradish arose in an unimportant way, but what mattered was their mutual, intense dislike of the condiment. This shared aversion entertained them, given their fondness for horses.

When two people first start getting to know each other, they talk and laugh as they make discoveries. Dylan and Lesslyn chatted lightheartedly as they walked Roger back to the stable. Then they crossed the short distance to the pub, though Dylan wished for more time with Lesslyn. He wanted their time together to unfold endlessly like a long bolt of shimmering linen. But time rarely complies with one's wishes.

As they approached the door, Lesslyn said, "I have to get to bed; morning comes early around here."

“I suppose it does. Tonight I gave my last cent to the undertaker. I’ll have to figure out how to earn more, or start heading home tomorrow or the next day.”

She stopped and turned toward Dylan, her words trailing off as she pleaded, "You can't go. We just met! There's so much more...” After a pause, she added more resolutely, "There must be something we can do."

“Yes. It was wonderful meeting you. You’re nothing if not an adventure; do you always live like this, or was tonight a rarity?”

“Definitely a rarity. Usually, I get up, cook, serve, and clean, then go to bed so I can get up and do it again the next day.”
Dylan smiled, “Alright, if you think of anything, or have any brainstorms, let me know. I don’t want to leave. I will think and hope for a brainstorm or a miracle as well.”

He looked at her, and she returned his gaze. After giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and bidding him goodnight again, she walked to her room off the kitchen. Pausing at her door, she glanced back to see Dylan still standing there, watching her departure. She smiled and waved her beautiful fingers at him, opened the door, and went inside, taking the halo of her beauty with her.

Dylan shook his head, sighed, and made his way, quietly, up the stairs one more time.

Seven

The next morning dawned early at the inn. Dylan and Lesslyn's late-night adventure had continued until nearly 4:00 a.m., so when the first hungry customers arrived at eight, the commotion downstairs roused Dylan from sleep. After cleaning up and donning his slightly dirty clothes, Dylan headed downstairs to see about gathering some money.

At the top of the stairs, an old man was walking up to the rooms. Dylan greeted him, and the man stopped and smiled. "Young man, I find myself with an abundance of several hundred bolts of linen, the finest available in these islands - 'the Foggies', as we locals say. I'm eager to be rid of them. Do you know where I could unload these bolts?" His use of the local term for the islands reassured Dylan that he was likely telling the truth, but Dylan was penniless, and his father would be furious.

“Though I would love to buy your bolts, sadly I lack the funds. My family does fine needlework, so I've been searching the island for fine linen to purchase, but I haven't found any for sale in weeks and I’ve spent all my coin. Sadly, without money, I cannot buy your bolts.”

The old man squinted at Dylan. “You look like a smart young lad. How’s your reading?”

“Pardon me, sir, my reading?”

“Yes, my boy, do you read and write?”

“Oh, why yes of course. My mother schooled my brother, sister and I while we were growing up.”

"Very well, my boy. Don't fret over your current lack of money. I'm staying at this inn for the next few weeks and require assistance with writing, as my eyes and hands fail me now. I've lived an intriguing life, and before I depart this world, I wish to document it. If listening to an old man's tales and writing them down would earn you room and board here at the inn for two weeks, would you accept? At the end, I'll include the linen bolts as your bonus. Do we have an agreement?"

Dylan smiled and sighed. “I have my horse Roger across the street at the stables.”

“Can’t let the horse go hungry, can we boy? Of course, he’ll be taken care of as well. Is it a deal then?”

“Yes, sir! When do we start?”

“After you have eaten and satisfied your hunger! Come up to my room when you're done and we can get started.” As he spoke, he opened the door to the very room where Lesslyn had sent Dylan the previous day, launching his recent adventures - the dead man's room.

Dylan called after the man, feeling compelled to ask, "When did you come in, sir, if you don't mind me asking?" He had experienced a significant event in his life in that very room.

“To the inn? Oh, why I just paid up with the owner of the place a few minutes ago. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Dylan, sir. Dylan.”

“A fine strong name that. Mine’s Alistair. Go have some food now and come up whenever you’re ready.” As he entered the room, Dylan heard the man say to himself, “Gawds it smells like someone died in here. Where’s the window?”


Dylan sensed something was off, but he could not pinpoint exactly what it was. However, he knew for sure that over the next two weeks, he would be near Lesslyn and events would unfold naturally.

Bounding down the stairs without his usual care for quiet, Dylan relished his newfound freedom. From across the room, Lesslyn saw him and smiled her radiant smile. Despite hardly any sleep, she was a vision to Dylan, her beauty shining all around her.

Preparing a meal in the kitchen, Lesslyn's father noticed Dylan gazing at Lesslyn. He smiled, though he was still curious about the contents of the big bag from the previous night. Deciding it was better left unsaid, Lesslyn's father continued watching Dylan admire his daughter. Glancing at Lesslyn, he saw her radiant beauty and knew exactly what captivated Dylan's attention.

While Dylan was eating breakfast, Lesslyn came over to his table and asked what had happened. Dylan recounted to her his conversation with the man upstairs, who had offered to pay for Dylan's stay at the inn for the next two weeks, as well as Roger's stay at the stables, along with several hundred bolts of linen. Lesslyn smiled happily at the news, further warming Dylan's heart.

After finishing his hearty breakfast, Dylan headed back upstairs to the man's room. By this time, Alistair had laid out paper and a pen with a bottle of ink. At Dylan’s knock, he opened the door, greeted Dylan, ushered him inside, and asked him to have a seat at the table near the open window. Thankfully the strong odor had blown out of the room.

Thus began an odyssey for Dylan that chronicled the twists and turns of one man's life. Dylan meticulously recorded the man's triumphs and mistakes, successes and failures, in neat handwriting on the pages the old man supplied. The old man held nothing back, documenting every decision and consequence.

Every day Dylan wrote until his hand cramped. Then the old man would make his way to bed and lie down to sleep, ending the day's writing but knowing it would start again the next morning. This became their daily rhythm.

By the end of the first week, Dylan had written up nearly half of the old man's life story. Dylan's mind was flooded with thoughts about the complexities of the man's life and love. On the seventh day, the old man said he was tired, so they both took a day to rest.

That afternoon, one of the late days of spring, the bright, golden sunlight danced across the misty sea air. Dylan and Lesslyn walked along the beach, having a beautiful day to themselves. Dylan had been curious about Lesslyn’s name, so he asked if she knew where it came from or what it meant.

“Oh yes”, she said. “The name originated here in Aberdeenshire. It means ‘Garden of the Hollies’. Where does the name Dylan come from?”

“Ah, Dylan comes from Wealas, or 'Wales' as they’re starting to pronounce it now. It means ‘Son of the Sea’. My mother is from Wealas and she just loves its history.”

Lesslyn took Dylan’s hand and leaned on his shoulder as they continued walking along the beach, waves crashing against the rocks while seagulls cried overhead. In this romantic, seaside moment, they shared their first real kiss.


During the second week, the old man's story saddened. He lost his wife in an accident, his business declined, and he became a lonely, withdrawn fisherman. Painful memories from his past resurfaced unexpectedly, compounding his sorrow.

As night fell, Dylan would sit silently at a table in the pub, watching Lesslyn and contemplating the elderly man's remarkable life story. Yet it was a rather ordinary tale, Dylan mused, much like anyone else's life journey. The man wasn't renowned or prosperous; his unassuming life was noteworthy only because he took the time to record it. Dylan realized that this humble account represented the culmination of one man's adventure, and he valued the wisdom and insights it imparted. Though seemingly unexceptional, this chronicle of everyday life contained universal truths.

On the thirteenth day, the old man completed his tale. "And so Dylan, that concludes my story. Afterward, I met you at the top of the stairs, and the rest, as they say, is history. I appreciate your help in writing this memoir, and I hope I haven't bored you with it. Your bolts of linen are stored at the stables across the street with your horse. Here's some pocket change, but now I really must sleep. Recounting my life seems to have exhausted me", he said with a twinkle in his eye, handing Dylan a leather purse. Dylan agreed rest would be good and laid down his pen for the final time.

“Thank you for sharing your life with me,” Dylan said earnestly to the old man as he stood up from the table and accepted the rather heavy leather purse.

“And thank you for sharing your youth with me, my boy. You will grow into a fine man, I have no doubt.”

Alistair rose and put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, “Thank you again, my boy.” They embraced each other as old friends, and Dylan wandered downstairs to the pub, the knowledge heavy in his heart that he had been given a great gift by the old man. Now if only he knew what to do with it.

Eight

Dylan sat down at a table near a window and opened the purse the old man had given him. As he counted the gold coins, it became apparent that it was an amount over one hundred times what his father had given him when he left the farm so many weeks ago. Also inside was a note with the simple words “Thank you, I am grateful”, handwritten by the old man on a tattered sheet of paper.

He hurried back to the room to ask the old man if he was sure he wanted to give away such a large sum of money. He knocked on the door, but there was no response. He turned the handle, and the unlocked door opened when he pushed. There was no sign of the old man anywhere. Since they had said goodbye only minutes ago, Dylan wondered where he could have gone so quickly.

The manuscript was still on the table, so he went over to look at it. Written in the same hand as the words on the note in the purse was a title for the manuscript: “My Life, by Alistair Greely”. Another small note was placed on top of the manuscript pages that read, “Thank you, Dylan. Your actions in the past weeks have been extraordinary. I hope the ramblings of an old man might be of some use to you, and I trust you and Lesslyn will live long and happily together. Yours, Alistair Greely.”

Dylan muttered "Greely..." aloud, finally realizing he had truly encountered a ghost, and the linen and huge sum of money were his repayment from Mr. Greely, who was now and would be forever, a member of the grateful dead.


Dylan went to the window and pushed it open. A light breeze ruffled his hair and he noticed the rain had ceased and sunlight now brightly lit the green grasses of the island. Inhaling the fresh air deeply, he heard a familiar snort from the stables across the street. He continued looking out over the town, seeing everything bathed in sunlight. He enjoyed the view and seeing the people moving about the town. He thought about Alistair and the remarkable gifts he had received from him. Then his mind would race back to Lesslyn and how much in love he was with her. He stayed there at the window for a long while, just remembering and thinking.

Then a noise came from behind him. Turning, he saw Lesslyn standing in the doorway, the corners of her mouth upturned, and her eyes brimming with unspoken questions: What happened? What will become of you, me, us, time, life itself? Though not easily voiced, Dylan quickly grasped the meaning behind her wordless inquiries.

His eyes softened and he said, “I have something strange to show you, Lesslyn”, and he handed her the note Greely had written him. She read it and looked up, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Greely…?” she whispered.

“Yes, Alistair was Greely the entire time he was here. He just appeared as someone else so we didn’t recognize him. But that’s not all,” said Dylan. He pulled the coin purse out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, count this.”

Lesslyn began counting the coins, and when she was about halfway through, she looked up and said “This is far more than my father makes in a year running the pub. It’s an incredible sum.”

“I know”, said Dylan. “I can’t believe it.”

“What’s going to happen now?” asked Lesslyn.

“I don’t know, but I hope we find out together”, said Dylan.

“Me too”, said Lesslyn, and they hugged each other as the sun continued to bathe the town with golden light and the warm breeze blew gently through the window. Another familiar snort was heard from the stables. They looked at one another and then smiled and kissed as if they had never kissed before.

Nine

And so, the tale of Dylan and his quest for seeds, linen, and love is at an end. But Dylan and Lesslyn's story is just beginning. Life is an endless chain of endings and new beginnings. Good deeds bring rewards if we open ourselves to receive them. These gifts often come from unexpected sources through unforeseen events and are guided by forces beyond our control. The mysteries of life and love astound those with open hearts and minds who embrace love and life wholeheartedly.


May love flower in your life, and may you always live in peace and freedom,
and be willing to risk everything for the sake of love itself.

 

Dylan and Anya
Dylan and Lesslyn

The End

8315 words - 01/24/2025

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