FURTHER ANECDOTE BASED LESSONS OF THE CITY UNENDING INCLUDING A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO THE POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC LANDSCAPE OF SAID CITY INTENDED FOR THOSE THAT HAVE ALREADY COMPLETED THE EARLIER LESSONS PROVIDED BY THIS COURSE BUT HAVE NOT YET COME OF AGE
As you venture from the eastern suburbs of The City Unending through its heart, you will no doubt come across faces as innumerable as they are unfamiliar. Though many may look unlike our own in ways both slight and considerable, from those that have but one tooth in their mouth that goes all the way around to those who have a million razor thin horns growing from their scalp, the people of The City Unending have all the variety of the people from the smaller settlements you now call home.
When faced with someone whose pupils split whenever they have to make a decision, or someone whose beard grows rapidly while they continue to shave through the day, or someone who has bad breath, remember that they are still a person like you, similar in more ways then they are different.
There are, of course, those that will mean you harm. There are always those that mean you harm or, at the very least, mean you nothing at all but are okay if harm comes your way in pursuit of their own goals. Even if you have not yet come of age, you must know that.
There are also those that will mean you kindness, and when you are finally called West you will learn quickly how to tell what those that move around you mean to do to you. Trust your instincts, for you have spent your whole life up until this moment around people who mean you a thousand different things and, even if the people have a second nose on the back of their neck, they are still people. And were instincts fail, trust the Setting Sun.
And of course, if you find someone who means you harm but pretends that they mean you kindness and even performs a few good kindnesses for you but ultimately betrays all that at the worst possible moment only to begin spending kindnesses on you when they need you again, it is best to move on and forgive yourself as soon as you can.
An interlude.
In the dead center of the District of Bull’s Eyes in the Borough Central, the Mayor of The City Unending sits on their throne. The Mayor of this city wears a crown on their head and holds a scepter in their hand, which they are usually waving around listlessly. They stole both from the last mayor, who stole them from the mayor before, and so on and so on until we bring ourselves to the one who forged the crown in her backyard and proclaimed herself mayor, and the city nodded and said yes.
Then the Mayor decreed, “Let there be taxes,” and there were.
Someone else said, “Well, actually, I liked it better when there weren’t taxes,” and promptly stole the crown.
“Let there be parks,” decreed another Mayor, once the crown was theirs, and after the parks sprouted up where the houses used to be, someone stole their crown.
“Let there be a big pile of candy and also don’t let anybody pay for it because it’s free!” Decreed another Mayor who was much too young to be the mayor but no one had gotten around to making a decree about that yet.
After that, a dentist stole the crown, but his reign didn’t last lone because people really liked the candy pile. Historians from the District of Archivists widely agree it was the most popular political move any Mayor of The City Unending has ever made. The second most popular move was one Mayor decreed, “Everyone can be taller if they want,” but there’s a wide gap between the two.
When one Mayor whose name has been long forgotten decreed, “Let there be an election for mayor,” many in the District of Predictions thought this would be the new second most popular decree, but that never happened. It turns out stealing an election was even easier than stealing a crown.
Several stolen elections later, we come to the newest Mayor of The City Unending, who has not yet made a decree.
Once a week, the newest Mayor of The City Unending meets with the City Council, who are chosen, of course, by lottery, and the Mayor always addresses them with the same statement: “Every mayor who came before me,” they say, “only got to make one change before the crown was stolen from them, and I,” they continue, “am not done being Mayor yet.”
And the council, made up of people who can afford the most lottery tickets, always moans, “But we’ve never had a single Mayor for this long, you’ve been Mayor for nearly a month.”
“Then you better get used to me,” says the mayor, “Because I will not be making any decisions for a very long time.”
As for the scepter the Mayor carries, nobody is quite sure where it came from or when it became important, and this drives everyone in the District of Archivists absolutely bananas.
An interlude.
On Saturdays and Wednesdays if you are lucky and come to The City Unending in the right season, you may find a market occupying a particularly large pothole in the Borough Meditative on the southern edge of the District of Patience. Sealed jars line the tops of folding tables and fresh wares sprout from wooden crates.
Before you approach, stop to smell the air. If instead of fresh bread and veggies you catch the warnings of rain, check to make sure you aren’t wearing any green for nobody will be able to see you in the Meteorologist’s Market.
Weather men, women, people, and animals of all kinds set up their stalls and tents to try and sell of the weather they’ve forecast for the season. Others are selling pickled jars of weather from seasons past.
As you walk the market, take care not to bring any metal too close to bottled lightning or a tongue too close to a canned blizzard.
And especially if you come of age in the summer, do not unleash a sealed snow squall in the hottest part of the day. The burst of cool air will turn into a downpour and the meteorologists always get a good laugh in when a pilgrim makes this mistake.
An interlude.
As hard as you may look, you will never find a soul in the District of candles, though you may find the district in whatever borough it pleases.
When you stand on the edge of The District of Candles, you will see a curving stone street surrounded by dark-windowed shops and dozens of twisting alleyways. Wooden signs hung on chain links squeak softly in a breeze that you can see dancing through the air, pulling and swirling the smoke from a hundred thousand candles of every scent and color melting and flickering on every surface in sight. A river of cooling wax dries slowly in the cracks between the cobble stones and forms stalactites on windowsills.
As the breeze dances towards you, you’ll smell fresh cookies and crisp apples, laundered sheets and ocean air, a million stars and the Setting Sun and the Western Horizon and more all at once.
Those lucky enough to have a ladder to climb, a building to stand on, or a pair of stilts to travel with can see deeper into the apparently unending mass of melting wax and twisting roads.
And though it may be day in the District you stand in, it will always be night in the District of Candles.
“It is most beautiful if you share the night with it,” they’ll say, “but you won’t want to stay long. It gets hot.”
An interlude.
I hope you’ll allow me again, Pilgrim, to interrupt our lesson with another breathing break. I was thinking of maybe doing a stretching break but, well, I don’t want to make any of you stand up or anything like that. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. Take a deep breath in. Hold it. And out. In through your nose. Hold it. And out through your mouth. One more time. In. Hold. Out. And now we go on.
An interlude.
THE GUIDE
There are no cars in The City Unending, but there were once, and where there are cars, there are car dealers, and where there are dealers there are dealerships and one such dealership in the Borough Cascading still waits on its empty lot in the District of Their Own.
“They’ll be back,” says a woman wearing a red hat with a tire embroidered onto it.
“Yup,” says her husband, who is wearing the same hat.
The couple is sitting on a pair of folding chairs matched to their hats, a pair of tires embroidered on the back of the seats. The chairs are set in the center of an empty parking lot that reaches to every corner of the District of Their Own.
“And when they come back,” continues the woman, “They’ll have to come here.”
“Yup,” he says.
“Because all the other fools,” she yells leaping out of her chair, “closed their dealerships, and we are the only ones left in the whole city.”
“Yup,” he says.
“And,” she says as she sits down, “that makes us the best dealership in the whole city.”
“Yup,” he says.
And then they sit in silence for a long time, the breeze coming from a neighboring district blows a couple of leaves across the cracked pavement and the weeds sprouting up where they aught not be dance a little. Then, at closing time, they finally let go of each other’s hands and fold up their chairs. They return to the small building on their lot and hang their hats on the his and hers hat rack by the door. They leave the chairs upstairs and saunter down to the makeshift apartment they’ve built in the basement. She does her nightly stretches and he cooks a dinner, her favorite, and they eat and they sleep and in the morning, they grab their chairs and put on their hats and set up in the middle of an empty parking lot in the District of Their Own and they sit.
“They’ll be back,” she says.
“Yup,” he says.
An interlude.
When you finally come of age, the Setting Sun will greet you each evening even if the clouds are so thick and close to the earth you feel as though you’re choking on sky, there will always be the flash of light to let you know the Horizon is waiting patiently for your return.
For a time, the journey West will be filled with places familiar to you such as the settlements of our eastern lands, and the forests, plains, mountains, and farms in between. Other times, you find yourself in places strange whether that be in The City Unending, its surrounding suburbs, or in a thousand other hidden places on your journey.
Through all of these, the Horizon will call on you and wait patient and caring for your answer, as it does for all those who it has called.
On your journey to, through, and past The City Unending, find the ones who you can trust to point you West when the sun hangs still at midday and chase the Horizon when you are able.
And go West, Pilgrim.
END
