Wyk

The Square

As things turned out, Wyk wasn’t too unhappy about how quickly Marie was moving. Even as she stood from her chair, the street sprang back into life, imploring her to return into its maelstrom-like embrace. As Wyk was not in the slightest bit entertaining such a thought, the narrow entrance to the passage could not approach fast enough. The street was not going to give her up that easily, she realised as she entered: while one side of the passage acted in an altogether wall-like manner, holding steady and firm (unsurprising as it was the outer wall of the cafe), the other bulged, creaked and loomed towards her. Wyk kept to the left of the passage, even as the maverick brickwork on her right threatened to engulf her. For a second, Wyk could see Marie’s red coat flashing in front of her, but then it vanished; amidst the noise of crushing masonry and her own, involuntary yelps, she decided she had no choice but to keep going. Moments later, Wyk discovered how Marie had disappeared: the slabbed floor of the passageway gave way to a series of stone steps, descending into a murky darkness below.

Even as she contemplated descending, a metal rail bent and contorted, looking like it might do a nasty accident to anybody who got in its way. Taking a deep breath, Wyk threw herself down the steps, letting out another cry as she did. To her relief, the steps behaved much more sensibly than the passageway above, despite being rather steep. As she descended, the noise started to dissipate, and she found that she could breathe more easily.

She slowed her pace to a walk, following the steps as they began to turn. Their curve tightened until they formed a spiral, leading ever downwards, becoming darker and darker until… just as Wyk thought she couldn’t see anything at all, the staircase started lightening again. Then, just as she started to think the steps would go on forever, she realised they had stopped.

“Oh!” said Wyk, jarring her leg against the flat of a path.

“Oh?” asked Marie, standing right in front of her, her red coat still over her arm. Directly in front of Marie was a (thankfully motionless) stone entranceway; and right in front that, was a grassy bank. Wyk wasn’t too sure what was in front of that, as the bank dropped away almost immediately: in the distance, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a mass of green. “You ok?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

“What is that?”

“The wood?”

“Yes.”

“It’s… well, it’s a wood.”

“Oh.”

“Rather, it is The Wood,” said Marie.

“The wood?”

“The Wood.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can see that,” said Marie. She spoke matter of factly, like she was observing an experiment. “This is not just any wood, but many woods. You could say this is all the ideas of forests that we have ever had.” Wyk’s face was blank; Marie was looking at her, eyes raised, lips pursed. “If I’m honest, I don’t know what I can say that will help you understand, or whether I will confuse you even more. Maybe I’d better just wait,” continued Marie, though Wyk no longer knew if she was talking to her, or just saying things out loud. “Never mind, never mind. We’ll go through there”—Marie waved towards the trees—“and that should, eventually, take us to the Square. And after that, we shall see.”

Wyk couldn’t help but sigh.

“There. You are more relaxed now, at least!” continued Marie.

“I guess.”

“Look. I don’t know the answer. But I do know the order of things. We’ll go back to where you should have been, and then go on to where you should have been next, okay?”

“Okay,” said Wyk, though she wasn’t sure if it was okay. Not at all.

“Okay,” repeated Marie, articulating the word like it was the first thing she had ever said. “Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, she headed down the bank, her feet, legs and body disappearing from view as she descended over the hummock of grass.

Sighing again, Wyk followed. At least the grass is doing what grass is supposed to do, she thought, as she stumbled to keep up. The bank quickly gave way to a meadow, across which the path meandered like a stream. In very little time they had arrived at the line of trees, but Marie’s step didn’t falter — on she went, into the wood, or indeed The Wood, with Wyk following.

Trees closed around the pair, dappled sunlight giving way to an endless grey as they entered more deeply. Before long, it was as though the meadow, the steps, even the street had never existed at all. Branches latticed on either side of the path, warning against any thought of straying. Still Marie walked, and still Wyk followed, with only the occasional snap of a twig to break up the crunching of footsteps below, and swish of leaves above.

They walked, and walked, and walked. Wyk didn’t mind the pervading absence of anything of note: she was grateful for the peace. Step, step, step was all she needed, or could deal with, or both.

“You are relaxed now?” asked Marie, breaking the silence.

“I guess,” said Wyk.

Marie continued speaking, though it didn’t appear that she was talking to anyone in particular, least of all Wyk—even if she was the apparent topic of discussion. “Okay, let me think. So, you know who you are, but you don’t know where you are, or how you are, or or what you are, or why you are. Right. And you don’t know where this is, or what it is, or why it is. What should I say, hmm. Perhaps… no. Yes. Perhaps, right. Let’s start there at least.” She paused. “So. This is the saysay.”

An outsider, who might have happened to stumble upon the pair, would perhaps have noticed that Marie didn’t say anything after this; rather, she continued walking, eyes focused ahead. The outsider might also have spotted that Wyk, hurrying to keep up, did not immediately reply: if they were particularly observant, they might have surmised that there was little in the dialogue (or in the absence of dialogue, in Marie’s monologue) to indicate that a response was now expected. Perhaps the outsider might have tapped at a figurative watch, waited in anticipation for some deep and profound response. Or, just maybe, they would have decided they had something better to do, and gone on their way.

“What?” asked Wyk, abruptly.

“I said, this is the saysay. The see-see, you might say.”

“I… I don’t understand.” Wyk literally had no clue what Marie was talking about. For that matter, she didn’t much care: she was still content putting one foot in front of the other.

“The C.C. See? Letter C, letter C. The saysay. See-see.”

“The C.C.?” Step, step, step.

“That’s what I said.”

Stomp, stomp, stomp. “What is the C.C.?”

“Why, this is.”

“Wait,” said Wyk. “I get it!”

“You do?” Marie’s face lit up.

“Yes! Are you… are you French?” That was it, she thought—she knew she was good at accents!

“Ah. Not precisely.”

“Oh.”

“I was not born in France. But I do speak French,” said Marie. “It’s complicated.”

“Okay!”

“Why?”

“I just… I… it doesn’t matter. This is the saysay, I mean, the C.C.?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, but, what is?”

“All of this.” Marie waved her hand.

“I thought this was The Wood.” Wyk articulated the word ‘Wood’ very precisely.

“This is The Wood. Which is in the saysay.”

“Ohhh… okay. So… what is it? I get that this is it, but what is it? I mean, exactly?”

“Ah, that, I am not so sure. I know this is it, and we are in it, and it is in us, but the rest, that, I do not know. All I know… all I know is that I have spoken to… to people who came before me, and they called this place the C.C., and this information, I am now able to pass to you.”

“It is in us?”

“Yes.”

“The C.C.,” said Wyk.

“That is correct.”

“You know that you are speaking in riddles?”

“I know that I am not as good at explaining things as I would like.” Marie sighed, somewhat exasperated. “Enough. We are here to help you understand, and I am not helping, I am sorry!” She smiled, in a way that was only slightly forced.

The pair walked in silence for a while. Wyk felt relieved, as even this short exchange was a lot to take in. The more she thought about anything, the harder it was to understand anything at all. Finally, she spoke. “Marie…”

“Yes.”

“I just wondered…”

“What?” While Marie might not have wanted to be abrupt, her tone suggested otherwise.

“Oh, Nothing.”

“Go on.”

“Well…”

“Oh, what! Please,” asked Marie.

“I mean, I can’t remember anything at all. Before seeing the mountains. But I can remember people and places before that, and what happened to them, and, well… I just don’t know, but… but am I… am I dead?”

Marie laughed, a surprisingly gentle, tinkling laugh. “Oh no, dear, you’re not dead. What do you know of death?”

“Death happens in my,…”—Wyk furrowed her brow again—“…People died, I can remember that. This feels like it might be death.”

“Perhaps it does, but let me assure you, this is not death. On the contrary, this is the very opposite.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Am I alive?”

“Not precisely, either.”

“Oh. Well, why isn’t there anyone else here?”

“There is.”

“But we haven’t seen anyone?”

“Ah. That’s because, through the woods, everyone has to find their own path.”

Wyk walked on a little in silence. “Should I be scared?”

“Only if you want to be,” said Marie.

“Oh.”

More silence, more nondescript steps along the nondescript path, that seemingly went from nowhere to nowhere, wending its way as woodland paths do. From above, occasional glints of sunlight pierced the gloom, alighting on a branch, or a frond of some, laurel-like shrub. There, a perfectly normal path extended off to the right, disappearing just as the path in front.

“Where does that go?” asked Wyk.

“What?”

“That path.”

“What pa… oh. That’s not supposed to be there.”

“Shall we see where it goes?”

“Absolutely not!” said Marie, in a tone Wyk hadn’t heard before. She sounded ever so slightly anxious.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. We must get to The Square. It isn’t far now.”

“Is the square in the saysay? I mean, the C.C.?”

“Yes. Everything is. You are. I am. Everything.”

“How about that path?”

Marie did not reply, but walked on. Wyk really didn’t mind (still being quite content to put one foot in front of the other), but nonetheless, she supposed she might be quite interested to find out what the Square was, and indeed, why she might want to go there. Marie seemed quite sure it was the right thing to do; and, given that Marie had basically rescued her from the nightmare that was the Street, she was perfectly happy to learn what the Square might have to show for itself.

Trudge, trudge, trudge. At first, Wyk noticed the light starting to improve, lifting the wood around her from its nondescript grey-beige to more of a dappled range of greens. Then, the trees in front started to thin, both in number and in voluminousness, branches detangling and becoming more scrawny as they went.

And then, finally, they emerged, the constant shade giving way to dappled sunlight before opening to a clear blue sky. In front of the pair the land fell away, a vast bowl of meadow curving down to an almost prairie-like plain—which would have stretched as far as the eye could see, were it not for a small, dark hummock, landing right in the centre of Wyk’s vision. Or was it a hummock? Through a gentle haze, Wyk could just about make out walls, or should she say a single, low wall, circumnavigating the hummock-like thing. Lines seemed to stretch away from it in every direction, one of which she traced as it meandered towards them, eventually turning into the track upon which they now stood.

“What’s that?” asked Wyk.

“The Square!” said Marie, triumphantly.

Whilst Wyk vaguely knew this might be the case, she wasn’t absolutely sure why. For a start, as the pair moved down the hill, she couldn’t see there was much particularly square about it—the feature she could make out was more round than, well, square. If it was supposed to be some kind of town square, she thought it might at least be surrounded by a town. And indeed, that it might look, in that case, something like a town square. Not that she had vast experience of the matter, but from Wyk’s (albeit distant) vantage point, this looked rather more like a gigantic, hastily thrown together ice cream sundae. In place of a parasol, she could make out a tall post, stretching upwards like a ship’s mast. She immediately knew this to be a signpost, as attached to it were signs pointing in various directions, as signposts tend to have. At its top, coloured flags of different shapes and sizes flickered in the breeze. So, surmised Wyk, an ice cream sundae signpost flaggy thing perhaps, but a square, not so much.

“It is impressive, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We will go there, and we will start to answer your questions!”

“Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Cool.” Wyk genuinely, really didn’t know what else to say.

Either the sundae signpost flaggy thing, sorry, The Square was closer than it looked, or the pair were walking very fast, but before long Wyk found herself taking in more and more details. What had looked like carelessly thrown blobs of ice cream started to shape themselves into statues, overlapping and merging, carefully carved out of an enormous, solid block of marble. Here Wyk could make out a centaur, and there, an army of soldiers, frozen in position as they fought to reach the top. Even as she took in the marvel of it all, she focused on a woman, some distance up and quite tiny. She appeared to be tied to the rock, and was moving over it with her hands. Around her waist she wore a thick leather belt, from which dangled a skirt of dark metal chisels, tinkling against each other and catching the sunlight as she moved.

“The Square continues to evolve. It never stops,” said Marie, to nobody in particular.

As they approached, the apparently low wall grew taller, resolving into a series of high arches. Around these moved an array of people, vehicles and creatures, all looking perfectly normal but for the occasional stranger thing moving among them. Within one arch Wyk saw what she thought to be three-legged robots; from another emerged a telephone booth, gliding along without a care. All were getting on with their days, altogether more calmly than Wyk had seen in the Street.

“Where are they all going?” asked Wyk.

“They are arriving, or they are growing, or they are finding themselves,” said Marie.

“What does that mean? And, wait. Who even are they?”

“You’ll understand soon enough. It won’t make sense if I tell you, you’ll have to work it out for yourself.” Marie smiled kindly, looking at Wyk’s confused face. “Come on, let’s go. All will reveal itself.”

As the pair finally arrived at The Square, Wyk determined it was, indeed, rather bigger than she had realised. Over the final couple of miles, their path became a stony track, then a grit road, and most recently cobbles, these worn to a shine by the many footsteps that had come before them. She followed Marie through one of the many arches, only now realising that each stone was covered in intricate carvings. I’m not in Kansas any more, she thought to herself, idly spotting a person within the crowd who looked awfully similar to Dorothy, even to the extent she had a small dog on a lead…

“So, tell me, you never came to this place before?” asked Marie, snapping Wyk out of her reverie.

“No. Well, I don’t think so. I think I would remember,” she said, casting her eyes across the alabaster sculptures stretching above her.

“But you should have gone up through the gateway, that’s the way every newcomer goes. Look, over there…” Marie paused, narrowing her eyes. “Where is the gateway?” she asked, to nobody in particular.

“It went,” came a voice.

There, leaning against the arch, was an old man. He had a long, tousled hair and an even longer beard, both black with streaks of grey and white, neither of which were particularly well maintained. The man wore old, canvas clothes, and by his side was a large leather bag. On his head was a large, leather hat, which looked in as broken a shape as he was.

“Is he a hobo?” whispered Wyk to Marie.

“A what?” Marie was in no mood for whispering.

“A tramp. A homeless person.”

“I doubt it, that isn’t really possible in the Saysay. Or maybe we are all homeless. Perhaps that is his tale,” said Marie, as much to herself as to Wyk. “Maybe, I don’t know: I’ve never spoken to him. He’s been here as long as I can remember. Why don’t you ask him?”

“Um, okay.” Wyk wasn’t sure what Marie had meant, but nonetheless turned her attention to the man. “Excuse me, are you a homeless person?”

The man stopped what he was doing (which wasn’t much but staring into space), and turned his face up towards Wyk. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Wyk,” said Wyk.

“Ah,” he said, nodding to himself. He pondered for a moment, before raising his head again. “Yes, and no,” he said, looking Wyk straight in the eye as he did. He lowered his head once again, and went back to staring into space.

“Oh,” said Wyk.

“I suppose you have your answer,” said Marie, chuckling once again. “But we are no further forward. Everything else seems to be here, so why isn’t the gateway?”

“They took it,” said the old man.

“Who took it?”

“The Pulpies! They’re everywhere, the little blighters!” he continued, raising his voice and waving his arms around. “It’ll come to no good, I’ll tell you that for nothing!”

Wyk didn’t know who or what Pulpies were, but couldn’t see anyone or anything matching that description. And besides, wasn’t it normal for things to disappear? “Where we were, by the café, everything was shifting around,” she said.

“Yes, this is different,” said Marie. “That’s what The Street is supposed to be like, but not The Square. The Square… it’s like, the most important place in the Saysay. Things don’t change here, they can only evolve and grow. But in The Street, things are changing all the time.”

“I don’t understand,” said Wyk. “I honestly don’t think I understand anything!”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” said Marie. “I’m really sorry. Can I let you into a secret?”

“Yes. Please,” said Wyk, who liked secrets very much.

“Truth is, I don’t understand everything here, either.” Marie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I actually don’t think anyone does.”

“Oh.” Wyk wasn’t sure she liked this particular secret.

“We now have a conundrum within a riddle. I understand what happened to you…”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t understand why it happened. And I also understand that you don’t understand anything. The question is, could it happen to anyone else? I need to find out, but I won’t be able to find out anything whilst you still know nothing.”

Wyk’s head was starting to hurt again. “Perhaps you’d better just leave me,” she started.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. And besides, I don’t think I’m going to work this out by myself.” Marie thought for a moment. “Yes. I’d better take you to see the Arthurs.”

“The Arthurs?”

“The Arthurs. They will make everything clear.”