The Mountain Moves But Stands Still
Burwell Oswego was a mild-mannered, sober Bayou Dog whose life of hard work, homespun fun and quiet living was a source of deep contentment for him. He loved to sit on the porch of his shanty, deep in the bayous, listening to the humming of the locusts and ‘tendin’ his home,’ as he put it. He avoided the ‘gross pleasures’ of the trading season, which was why he normally planned his travel to avoid it.
The last day of trading season was especially wild. Most Drownlands creatures had no use for money at home, so they spent it before they left. Crayfish cakes flew off the griddle and Drownlands Grog flowed like water. Burwell steadfastly avoided Drownlands Grog, because of its tendency to make the rough and foolish even worse. But he did drink considerable amounts of Bog Fizz. The sweet drink, named for its tendency to furiously fizz with bubbles, was a favorite with small beasts—and with Burwell.
Although Bog Fizz was a soft drink, it had a strange affect on Burwell. Its natural, fizzing bubbliness tickled Burwell’s nose so much, and made him hiccough so much, that he lost control of himself. “Hoo, hoo, hoo, ha, ha, ha...Woooeee...Hic! Hic! Hicccc-Hooo-Yip!...Wooooeee that tickles!...Hoo, hoo, hoo, Hic-Hic-Hicccc-Hooooo-Yip!” That was Burwell when he drank Bog Fizz. Especially if he was in a happy mood, and most especially if he was telling stories, gossip, or jokes that he thought were hilarious—Burwell completely lost control. He became totally silly...out of his mind...momentarily insane with glee. No one could talk to him. He just went, “Hoo, hoo, hoo, Hic-Hic-Hic, WOOOEEEE!” Every once in a while, he would try to blubber some part of a joke, or repeat some snatch of a funny tale, or make up some wild new piece of gossip...and then off he’d go into gales of laughter.
Burwell had long ago promised Bwellina that he would not drink Bog Fizz when they were at home or anywhere in ‘polite company.’ So, when they arrived at King Stuppy’s Trading Post, and Burwell said he was tired and thirsty, Bwellina knew what was coming. Throwing their bags up on the dock, Burwell gave a Dock Squirrel a coin and told him to “carry the bags over to Stram Noggbet’s barge and tell him we’ll be there as soon as I wet my whistle with some Bog Fizz.” Bwellina calmly picked up her straw knitting bag, fixed her flowered hat firmly in place, and set off to find a quiet place to knit.
Burwell walked up to the Bog Fizz vendor’s cart, standing tall among the crowd of small beasts gathered there. “A pint of Bog Fizz,” Burwell said to the vendor.
Bwellina, meanwhile, moved down the dock to where an elderly Opossum was selling tea and donuts. Bwellina ordered a cup of sizzle-tea and a pecan-crusted donut. “One sizzler and p-wheel comin’ right up, dearie,” the old Opossum smiled. She worked a bellows on her cart to fan a small fire, heating a bed of smooth round stones to red-hot. Deftly picking out one from the fire with tongs, she placed it into a thick crockery mug and sprinkled it with a mixture of herbs and dried flower petals. The herbs and petals began to toast instantly, giving off a pleasant, warm fragrance. As soon as the fragrance began to waft, the Opossum poured boiling water over the stone. Even boiling water was cooler than that super-heated stone and an explosion of steam poured out of the mug. Sizzling steam threw clouds of strong fragrance into the air. The beverage never failed to have a calming effect on Bwellina.
She settled down with her steaming mug, nibbled a piece of her donut, and put a few stitches on the new sweater she was knitting. Sighing happily into her mug of tea, Bwellina closed her eyes, letting the fragrant steam fill her nostrils. How calming it was. She was vaguely aware that Burwell was ‘hitting his stride’ nearby, but she was determined to ignore it until...
Above all the noise and hubbub, she could clearly hear Burwell laughing and hiccoughing. He was wheezing with delight. She could pick out snatches of what he was saying: “Hooo, Hooo, Hooo, Ha, Ha, Hooo...Hic-Hic-Hic-HooooYip!...Yessiree...Hooo, Hooo...and the minstrel band had a Cougar lady playing an accordion and harmonica and...Hooo, Hooo, Hooo...Oh, I can’t stand it...Ha, Ha, Hic-Hic-Hic-HoooYip...and the Cougar was all peaceable and kind and she was with a Wood Cow...Hooo, Hooo...Ain’t seen one of those ’round here before...Hoo, hooo, hoo, Hic-Hic-Hic...Hoo, Hooo, Hooo...And what beats all, is they said they were going to the Mountain that Moves But Stands Still...Hoo, Hoo, Hoo, Hic-Hic-Hic-HoooYip...who ever heard such stuff!”
King Stuppy, who had been dozing lazily in his hammock, leaped up and stormed over to where Burwell was wheezing with delight, letting Bog Fizz bubbles break on his nose, happily oblivious to the furious king now standing beside him.
“What did you say about the Cougar?” King Stuppy demanded.
Burwell, still not conscious of his danger, and thinking that his wild story was making the crowd happy, replied by making the story even wilder: “Hooo, Ha, Ha...I said she was a Cougar dancer wearing a tutu, and playing a banjo, harmonica and accordion all at the same time...Hoo-Hoo-Hoo, Hic-Hic-Hic...HooWEEE!”
King Stuppy was not amused. “Stupid Dog,” he said, slicing a button off of Burwell’s coat with his cutlass. “You insult the Cougars, for which I condemn you,” he continued. “But before I decide how to deal with you, I give you the chance to live.” Lowering the point of his cutlass away from Burwell’s belly, where it had been poking, King Stuppy pulled Burwell close and whispered harshly in his ear: “What did you say about the Mountain that Moves But Stands Still? Where is it? Tell me how to find it and you will live!”