The Cactus King

by Dimitri Gonis

   I purchased this book yesterday, August 3, 2001 and have only read the first 40 or so pages (plus a sneak look at the last few pages )

   It may be that I expand these excerpts at some stage but you know me. Hopefully this will give you enough of a taste to ferret out a copy for yourself. The author is an Aussie and it was published in 1999 by:

Dimgon Publishers,
12 Andover Ave
North Mitcham
Melbourne, Australia
3132

The author's email is:
gonis@bigpond.com

{Note: I have no connection to the author - well, I suppose if we are all interconnected, then I do - I merely happen to resonate with the stuff he writes}

Fritz Nistoy

   Fritz Nistoy was an artist. He had a quiet and gentle nature and spent a lot of time dwelling upon the world and its problems. Fritz mostly did a lot of thinking. And when he wasn't thinking, which was very seldom, he would sit and draw, or paint, or sculpt something out of whatever was available. In his own way, he too would breathe life into the inanimate, like Jehovah had once done to Adam. So his room was full of all the things he had created over a period of time. His walls were completely covered with his paintings, his drawers were overflowing and his shelves were overloaded. There were things everywhere; drawings here, statues there, poems written on little scraps of paper which lay about his desk or in between the pages of one of the many books which adorned his room - a room which resembled a museum more than it did a place where a person slept. Fritz's entire world lay within these four walls of his. They were everything to him, and hidden within them was everything he had ever cherished. All was safe here, far away from the prying eyes of people and the pettiness of everyday preoccupations. Apart from his love of art and the solitude of the artist, Fritz loved cacti.

   Every afternoon he would head down the sandy road which led to the desert, and into the wilderness of the Cactus Kingdom. That was what he had named it, because there were cacti everywhere. He would be delighted upon encountering, what was for him, the most magnificent sight - a desert covered in thorny green trunks. There were all kinds of cacti, ranging from the imposing Saguaro down to the prickly pear and various other varieties of the Opuntia family.

   He had been following this routine for some years now. he would also take with him a pen and some paper and head for the same spot where he would muse on and absorb the 'everything and the nothing' of the universe. He had found himself a hillock with two boulders and would perch upon it and reflect. He would wrestle with his thoughts and write them down whenever he was inspired. This was his pedestal and here he could truly call himself King of the mountain. This was his won place, his own centre stage, away from the complexities of the chaotic, modern world, which seemed to want to kill every ounce of naturalness inside him; which seemed to want to dehumanise and turn him into another statistic of everyday people. Everyone, it seemed to him, had become alienated from their inner self and become a number. But Fritz was not like the rest, nor did he ever want to be classed amongst them. He was a poet of the universe, and he knew well that a poet's life is a lonely life.

   He would sit there on his hillock and shut his eyes and enjoy the song of the cricket, the lizard, the owl, the coyote or the song of whatever creature felt like singing at any given moment. Quite often he would talk aloud and make funny faces at the shrubs or at some imaginary presence he concocted. In this way, it seemed to him that he was proving a point to that faceless power that lurked behind the phenomena. That power we all want to blame or thank, depending on whether things go right or wrong for us. More often, however, he would stretch out his long hands, with their delicate fingers, and begin accompanying the song of nature on his imaginary piano. He would stroke the keys gently, as if stroking the warm neck of a beloved one. Note after note would ring in his head. He would become so mesmerised by the mystical, silent and ghostly tunes he invoked, that at times he would also get up and dance, overcome by the ecstasy of this imaginary sound, as if there was a whole orchestra out there in front of him.

   That wooden structure, the piano, with its ebony and ivory, had always intrigued him. In its tones he heard the song of the angels, the heartbeat of the cosmos. He had fallen in love with it ever since that first time he had laid eyes on it back in the corridor of Mrs. Paterson's house. His parents had bought her house after her husband had died, and there in the middle of the hall sat the piano, silent and dusty. At the time, he had crept over toward it and had started striking the keys. Then he had turned to his parents and asked them to buy it for him. Mrs. Paterson, however, would not be separated from this piece of furniture, in spite of the fact that it simply sat there unused. Ever since then, he had developed an affinity for the piano and its melodies and while growing up, took lessons and became familiar with its most majestic tunes. So along with all his other creative talents, Fritz Nistoy was also a good musician. He had, as they say, a great ear. He knew how to play even without an instrument. He knew how to synchronise his inner rhythm with the rhythm of all things around him. And he knew well that all things are one.

   This particular afternoon was more serene than ever. Fritz took the road as he had done so many times before, and headed for his perch in the desert from where he overlooked the Cactus Kingdom. Nature seemed to be especially captivating as he sat there alone. The earth seemed to be alive, breathing heavily, as if some soul lay deep inside its bowels. Fritz's beautiful blue eyes moved from side to side scanning the desert - at times following the flight of a bird into the dimming sun, and other times just following an insect that flew into the sky, slowly disappear from sight.

   He stared at the cacti in the distance and marvelled at their resilience. He had always identified with the cactus - that most hostile of plants. He had always loved this prickly plant which most people misunderstood and avoided because it seemed so unapproachable. In it he saw the destiny of the poet, the writer, the thinker, the musician, the painter, and generally speaking, the faceless Artist. In that sense, he had much to identify with. His eyes were now glued to this sight, and before he knew it the sun had set behind the mountains and was lighting up the other side of the world. There Fritz fell asleep.

   In the morning however, when he woke up, to his horror, he discovered that he had put down roots and that his whole body was covered in thorns and needles. The roots had grown out of the bottom of his soles. His instinctive reaction was to jump up and free himself from the bonds which had somehow stealthily crept up on him and enslaved him. So he leapt to his feat but froze in that position, and remained there with his hands upstretched, standing in the middle of the desert like a lonely, abandoned scarecrow. He was no longer a man, but a cactus, and he stood on the highest point of the desert. Fritz Nistoy the poet, the writer, the philosopher, the painter, the sculptor, had become what was always deep inside him. He had become a loner, a hermit, a desert-dweller. He had become a cactus among cacti.

I may include bits of pages 6 to 30 as Fritz first encounters Sebastian. But here's a nice section on page 30 ...

   Sebastian frowned once more.

   'You look a bit baffled, you know, confused little man. I'll try to explain it to you in simpler terms. You see, people are like salmon. You do know what salmon is, don't you?'

   'Yes. It's a fish.'

   'Well, so far so good. So, people are like salmon. But salmon is not just any fish; it's the most interesting, most mysterious and astonishing of all living creatures. Its life journey is the most magical of all!'

   'Why?' asked Sebastian. This description had totally caught his attention. His face lit up as he listened attentively to Fritz. He thought of his grandfather. If this was all true, then his grandfather had gone to kind of party in heaven.

   'Why! I'll tell you why. Did you know that after salmon are born high up in fresh waters, the head down-stream for thousands of kilometres into the ocean? They live in the ocean for a time and then they begin their magical journey back to the place of their birth. Their whole life is a life of maturation, you know, a life of growing up. They leave their source to venture out into the world, mature, and then head back to where they came from, so they can lay their eggs and then die there where they began - to complete a cycle. They go to school, so to speak, then they go back home when they graduate. And they don't give up! Oh no! They travel against the current and up river. They fight with the rapids and they persist, until they get where they've go to go. Don't you think that is fantastic!'

   Sebastian nodded mechanically.

   'They complete a cycle, because they know that everything is one; that everything is an ever-turning wheel; an ever-sounding Symphony, one big family, a Ferris wheel at a carnival.'

   'But why are we like salmon?' enquired Sebastian.

   'Aah,' said Fritz. 'Here lies one of the greatest truths of Man's journey. Few know it, but we too are like the salmon. We come from the music - that is, our spirit comes from it - and as soon as we mature - that is, taste the music inside us - we are forever seeking to return to that taste just like the salmon seek to return to where they came from. We are all just trying to get back home, to find our father like Pinocchio. You know who Pinocchio was?'

   Sebastian nodded his head and laughed.

   'It's true little man! We try to become higher and higher, sweeter and sweeter sounding notes, so that we can return to the ever-pounding, ever-tranquil and harmonious soul of the Great Conductor from which we came. It's like this! All our lives we are sort of traveling toward the Great Conductor's place.'

   'The Great Conductor's place?'

   'Yes, you know ... the Guy upstairs.'

   'And what happens when we get there, Sir Fritz?' enquired Sebastian.

   'Yes, that's another beautiful question. Well, we kind of meet with our Great Musical Father - just like Pinocchio finally met up with his and lived happily ever after. Yes, we become one with the soul of the universe, the soul of the Great Conductor. In other words, we become music again, until we find another vehicle-body to carry and express the music we carry.'

   Sebastian had great difficulty understanding Fritz's peculiar ideas. He looked up at him confused. Everything was so complicated to him: the way Fritz spoke, the things he said, all those big words he used. His young mind had trouble grasping all these complicated thoughts. Nevertheless, he liked the way Fritz expressed them. They were very fairy-tale like. He tried to envisage all Fritz was talking about. In his mind, everything resembled a big party, where the Guy upstairs - that Great Conductor - was a nice guy who was always happy because there was always so much good music playing, and where people were like salmon who tried to swim back home, and were like Pinocchio, who sought his father. In his young mind this was a pleasant way to view the world. It made him happy to know that there was such a place somewhere else and that perhaps the people he loved went there. And he believed that there was such a place, because his giant cactus friend believed it, and because tears came to his eyes each time he talked about the Great Conductor and His music. He also understood the part about people being musicians, instruments and notes, and becoming ever-sweeter sounding - particularly the part about the bad singer who is practising, in order to sound better. After pausing for a few minutes, Fritz continued:

   'Actually, before I allow you to hear any sound, I will make you an honorary citizen of my Kingdom. You are very fortunate to enjoy this privilege, as there has never been another honorary citizen. Not that I have seen another person, or spoken to one in the past ten years. But we won't get into that now ...

   'You will come and go as you please and you will answer only to me. You will love the plants and the cacti in the Kingdom and you will treat them as if they are royalty. And most of all,' he paused for a moment before continuing to emphasise the importance of the following words, 'you will come every evening and sit here with me and listen to the sound of the Great Symphony. Do you agree to these terms?'

...

   'Yes!' replied Sebastian.

   'Well then, come on, I will make you one! Please kneel.'

   Sebastian knelt on the sandy floor of the desert. His knees dug deep into the red sand. Then Fritz began his sermon.

   'I, His Royal Highness the Cactus King, formerly known as Fritz Nistoy, the bookworm, the philosopher, the poet, the writer, the artist and so on and so forth, declare Sebastian ...' Fritz suddenly stopped.

...

   'I, Fritz Nistoy, the Cactus King, make you, Sebastian Littleman, an honorary citizen of my Kingdom. You will come and go as you please and hopefully one day you will live up to this privilege that has been bestowed upon you. You will love the birds, the plants, the animals that dwell in this realm, etc., etc., etc. and you will join us each afternoon here on this perch of mine. May the music always be with you. You may now rise.'

   Sebastian rose from the ground and dusted the sand from his knees. He actually felt different; as if something very special had happened to him.

   'I will now play you Moonlight Sonata. And you will not interrupt me because it is a time when I connect with the cosmos. This is when I play along with the eternal music out there. I play and I feel as if I belong; as if I will never die. If you listen hard enough you will hear the sound too. And don't only hear the music with your ears; try to listen to it with your soul too. Remember! You've got to listen in order to hear, and not the other way around.'

   There was silence for a while. Sebastian gazed out into the distance again. He looked at the tumbleweeds that rolled here and there, the birds that quickly flew back to their refuges and the sun that slowly disappeared behind the mountains. His mind drifted far away on the thoughts Fritz had evoked. Suddenly the most amazing thing occurred. The magnificent sound of the piano began pouring from Fritz. It was unbelievable. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. Each thorn and needle had somehow miraculously been transformed into a speaker. It was as if the whole plant had become a giant amplifier. The entire desert rang out with the beautiful sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Sebastian stood there totally amazed at this miracle. He listened carefully hoping to hear the Symphony Fritz was talking about. However, nothing could be heard apart from the magnificent sound of the piano. Sebastian didn't dare interrupt Fritz during this meditative session of his.

   'Did you hear that?' exclaimed Fritz, as soon as the music from the Sonata could no longer be heard.

   'Yes,' replied Sebastian.

   'What did you hear?' he asked, already aware of Sebastian's answer.

   'The piano,' he replied

   'No! Not the piano. The Symphony. Didn't you hear the Symphony?'

   Sebastian was embarassed. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know whether he hadn't tried enough, or whether he simply didn't know what to listen out for.

   'Well, did you hear the Symphony?'

   'N...n...n...no, I'm sorry.'

   'Oh, what do you expect from a person! How can you not hear the sound? You weren't listening. That's the problem! You're supposed to listen and not just hear. That's the problem with this world and its sort - they all pretend to be listening, but they're all just hearing. I would rather be literally deaf than be one of them. Well, that's it! You're going to learn to hear the music, even if it kills me. By the time I'm finished with you, you will be a master at listening. You will hear all kinds of sounds and melodies and you won't believe your ears. One day you will be able to stand up here on this mountain, not as King though,' he pointed out, raising his voice, 'not as King, but as a musician, an instrument and a fellow note in the Great Symphony. You will stand here and you will hear what I hear. Won't you, little man?'

   'I...I... yes,' stammered Sebastian, who felt he couldn't do anything but agree with this green, old giant.

   'That's what I like, a positive attitude! Now tell me. I'm very curious ... What on earth was a little man like yourself doing out here in the desert that afternoon we met? Shouldn't you have been at home playing or something?

{May type more of this section later ...}

From the last few pages ...

   As he moved even closer to the hillock, he noticed some pages blowing in the wind. They were rising from the other side of the hillock. The rustling of the pages was followed by the sweet and simultaneously lonely sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. For a moment he was overcome with joy as he recalled the many evenings he and Fritz had sat there and played that piece. Fritz would go all quiet and then he would ask Sebastian if he had also heard the music of the Great Symphony, and each time he would answer 'no', completely embarrassed. As he now listened to the music, different kinds of thoughts went through his head. For a moment he even thought that some miracle might have taken place; that Fritz, like the prince that had been turned into a frog by a witch, turned back into a man. Or, that perhaps like the Beast, he too, had turned into a handsome young Prince, or a King who would make him First Knight. But as he came to the highest point of the hillock, and looked over to the other side, he saw the smashed body of Fritz Nistoy. His eyes filled with horror and disbelief. His sovereign had been dethroned. With one giant leap he was next to the remains of the cactus. It lay there unrecognisable. There was little Sebastian could see, that resembled the familiar proud and arrogant Cactus King. Tears began rolling down Sebastian's reddened cheeks, soon turning into uncontrollable sobs. He had arrived too late - too late for him to say all he had planned to say. As he was sobbing over the remains of his beloved friend, his eyes caught a glimpse of the paint tin crown. He got up and walked toward it, bent and picked it up. All the memories of the months gone by went through his mind like a streak of lightning. He recalled their introduction, Fritz's love of the universe, his endless monologues, the mirror, and the day he had climbed to the top of Fritz to fit the crown he had worked so hard to prepare for his fussy Sovereign. This battered and bruised paint tin was now a very painful reminder of happier times. He turned and walked back to the spot where his beloved friend lay. 'Fritz! Fritz!' he cried as he knelt beside him. 'Fritz! It's me, Sebastian Littleman. I've come back! I didn't forget you. Fritz! Fritz!' he cried again as he knelt down caressing what was left of the giant Saguaro trunk.

   Of course, no reply came from the cactus. Only the majestic melodies of Moonlight Sonata still poured from inside the dead plant. Pages of music also continued to float out from within it while a gentle and distant fluttering of birds flying upward, began to be heard. The fluttering got louder and louder, until suddenly, a flock of snow-white doves emerged from deep inside the bowels of the once mighty and proud Saguaro. They flew up high and began circling the hillock, as if they didn't want to be parted from this sanctuary they'd always had. Sebastian stepped back a few paces as an unexpected shudder racked the remaining cactus shell. The corpse of Fritz Nistoy began to slowly shrink before his eyes, as everything that he had stored inside him for years began to return to the world from which it had come. All of the poetry, the songs on little scraps of paper, the flowers and the honey, the ebony and ivory, and the burning embers from the fire within, just began pouring out, there on the warm desert sand. It was like lava gently flowing from a volcano after a massive eruption. Fritz Nistoy, the loneliest poet, the writer, the artist, the composer, the musician and the philosopher was returning to the heart of the Great Symphony; to the soul of the Great Conductor, and he could be heard sounding louder than ever.

   Just as Sebastian thought it was all over, another, louder fluttering sound was heard from inside his friend. Then like an arrow, a huge golden eagle darted up from the depths of his friend's corpse. It rocketed high into the evening sky, and kept on flying higher and higher into the sunset. Sebastian curiously stared back into the corpse of his lost friend once more. The tears, which until now had completely overwhelmed him, ceased. A wide smile covered his face. His sadness turned to joy as he recalled the time when Fritz had told him that when beings die, they return to the heart of the Great Symphony. He also recalled Fritz telling him about a native belief, that eagles carried away the souls of the dead, and about his own wish that his soul too, would one day be carried away on the wings of an eagle.

   Now he could hear a totally different type of music. It was another kind of Sonata, one that was accompanied by a choir. He realised it was Fritz who had joined the Great Symphony, and was communicating with him from above and all around him. He stared up into the dusky red sky. He had forgotten his previous grief. He looked closely at the mountains and the desert - the home of his beloved friend. He felt such joy. Fritz had gone back home to the Great Conductor and His Symphony, in order to live forever. Sebastian smiled as the last traces of the eagle disappeared into the fading light of the sunset. He was so proud of himself. he had finally heard the sound that Fritz had laboured so much to help him hear. He knew that Fritz would be overjoyed to know this. He climbed up to the highest spot of the hillock on which Fritz had once stood. He brought both hands to his mouth in the shape of a cone and shouted in the direction of the disappearing eagle:

'Fritz, my friend, I have heard the music! I have heard the music! Do you hear me, Fritz? I have heard the music! Do you hear me? I love you Fritz! Do you hear me?'

To the Great Symphony I will return one day, a higher note!
To the Ding and Dong of the Song
From the Great Conductor's soul

Dimitri Gonis, 1999

Click for a scan of the rear cover ...





       

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