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I've asked him to speak to us this morning." She sat in one of the chairs. Oliver sat next to her. The others made themselves comfortable, and Bogdolf took a position in front of them. "Drumming For Gaia," Bogdolf said. "Fine. Very fine. I don't often have an orchestra. Oh, we're going to have fun this morning. Ba, ba, boom!" He made a pirouette and stamped his stick playfully.
"Yes," George said, following him. Oliver looked down the driveway and focused on a man walking slowly toward the house. The man smiled when he was closer. "You must be Oliver. Ah, yes." "I am. I remember you from somewhere." "Ba, ba, boom," the man said and twirled around. "Bogdolf!" "Eric Hallston, actually. I'm an old friend of Jennifer's." "You look so much younger," Oliver said.
She stepped closer and whispered, "He's expensive, but he brings in extra contributions; he's worth it." "Good morning, fair folks," Bogdolf said, twinkling. "Good morning, Jennifer. Have we time for a story?" "Yes," Jennifer said. "Raul will be here at eleven for the drumming. For those of you who don't know," she raised her voice and addressed the group, "this is Bogdolf, Lore Keeper.
Oliver, Francesca, and the children go to Hawaii or to Kamakura every other year. It has been five years since they moved back to Maine. They are often seen walking on Crescent Beach, early Sunday mornings. Jennifer is married to Bogdolf. Jacky married a lawyer and has a stepson. They live in Maryland. Richard O'Grady is just the same. Mark is richer, and George is more appreciated.
Oliver felt Jennifer's foot on his; he stopped staring and struck his drum three times. "Yes," Bogdolf said, spreading his arms approvingly. "The power!" He looked upward and staggered back several steps. He looked again at Oliver and made a commanding motion with the stick. Oliver struck the drum three times. "Gaia, " Bogdolf said. Oliver felt a pat on his arm.
"A long time ago," Bogdolf began, "in the time of the Water People . . ." He paced back and forth as he told the story. His voice rose and fell. He was on the verge of tears. He laughed. He whispered. Threatened. Trembled. Finally: "And that is how the little drum saved the Water People." He looked at Oliver. Jennifer's foot pressed down.
"And here we have Oliver and Miss Emma," he said, disengaging. "Merry Christmas, Bogdolf." "Oh dear, I'm afraid no Bogdolf today. The Lore Keeper is in the field." He laughed heartily. "You'll just have to put up with plain old Eric. Come in. Come in." "Woofy is just wonderful," Jennifer said. "She's the nicest dog I ever had." "Oofy," Emma said. "Isn't she, Precious? Yes, she is."
"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray. People like an older Bogdolf." "I'll be damned," Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are you drinking? Mead?" "Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale I see would be fine." "Glenlivet, right there." Oliver pointed to the table that was inside the barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house."
Bogdolf Eric poured himself a stiff one. "I have a surprise in here," he said, waving a manila envelope. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jennifer will, but you are Lord of your Keep." "Bogdolf, what are you talking about?" "Eric, please." "Eric." Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver. "Last one left."
Rupert had never wanted to bother with a tree. At one-thirty, they walked across a graveled driveway in Falmouth and knocked on Bogdolf Eric's door. Oliver was carrying Emma; Jennifer held a canvas bag containing a fat beeswax candle and two bottles of wine, a Chardonnay and a Merlot. "Ah, Jennifer!" "Eric," she said, handing him the bag and accepting his hug at the same time.
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