Soup @ MindSay

The fable of the stone soup is about co-operation amid scarcity.



Three soldiers trudged down a road in a strange country. they were on their way home from the wars. Besides being tired, they were hungry. In fact, they had eaten nothing for two days.

"How I would like a good dinner tonight," said the first. "And a bed to sleep in," added the second. "But that is impossible," said the third.

On they marched, until suddenly, ahead of them, they saw the lights of a village. "Maybe we'll find a bite to eat and a bed to sleep in," they thought.

Now the peasants of the place feared strangers. When they heard that three soldiers were coming down the road, they talked among themselves. "Here come three soldiers," they said. "Soldiers are always hungry. But we have so little for ourselves." And they hurried to hide their food. They hid the barley in hay lofts, carrots under quilts, and buckets of milk down the wells. They hid all they had to eat. Then they waited.

The soldiers stopped at the first house. "Good evening to you," they said. "Could you spare a bit of food for three hungry soldiers?" "We have no food for ourselves," the residents lied. "It has been a poor harvest."

The soldiers went to the next house. "Could you spare a bit of food?" they asked. "And do you have a corner where we could sleep for the night?" "Oh, no," the man said. "We gave all we could spare to the soldiers who came before you." "And our beds are full," lied the woman.

At each house, the response was the same -- no one had food or a place for the soldiers to stay. The peasants had very good reasons, like feeding the sick and children. The villagers stood in the street and sighed. They looked as hungry as they could.

The soldiers talked together. The first soldier called out, "Good people! We are three hungry soldiers in a strange land. We have asked you for food and you have no food. Well, we will have to make stone soup." The peasants stared.

The soldiers asked for a big iron pot, water to fill it, and a fire to heat it. "And now, if you please, three round smooth stones." The soldiers dropped the stones into the pot.

"Any soup needs salt and pepper," the first soldker said, so children ran to fetch salt and pepper.

"Stones make good soup, but carrots would make it so much better," the second soldier added. One woman said, "Why, I think I have a carrot or two!" She ran to get the carrots.

"A good stone soup should have some cabbage, but no use asking for what we don't have!" said the third soldier. Another woman said, "I think I can probably find some cabbage," and off she scurried.

"If only we had a bit of beef and some potatoes, this soup would be fit for a rich man's table." The peasants thought it over, then ran to fetch what they had hidden in their cellars. A rich man's soup, and all from a few stones! It seemed like magic!

The soldiers said, "If only we had a bit of barley and some milk, this soup would be fit for a king!" And so the peasants managed to retrieve some barley and milk.

"The soup is ready," said the cooks, "and all will taste it, but first we need to set the tables." Tables and torches were set up in the square, and all sat down to eat. Some of the peasants said, "Such a great soup would be better with bread and cider," so they brought forth the last two items and the banquet was enjoyed by all. Never had there been such a feast. Never had the peasants tasted such delicious soup, and all made from stones! They ate and drank and danced well into the night.

The soldiers asked again if there was a loft where they might sleep for the night. "Oh, no!" said the townfolk. "You wise men must have the best beds in the village!" So one soldier spent the night in the priest's house, one in the baker's house, and one in the mayor's house.

In the morning, the villagers gathered to say goodbye. "Many thanks to you," the people said, "for we shall never go hungry now that you have taught us how to make soup from stones!"

She looked up, hearing the ringing of silence, then sensing the shiver of chill going through her.  Lost in her notes, the art book and the collage of visual imagery that swirled in her thoughts . . . she had drifted far.  She sat very still, not moving as she slowly returned.  Looking around, and not seeing him or hearing him she felt exposed a bit, a need to reattach and she felt for her collar, then smiled as the faint sound of Cuban jazz reached her. 

 

She followed the music into the kitchen, sorting out the fragrances of food and soaking in the warmth. She stood close to him quietly and pouted that he didn’t immediately give her attention.  He set aside the food and slid his arm under her robe, around her and held her close.  She was still a bit detached  . . .  far away and gripped his shirt tightly making a fist, then put her hand over his heart and stood perfectly still.  

 

“My sweet pet”  He tightened his hold on her and she turned her face up to meet the kiss she depended on.  He kissed her and gave her bites of olives, cheese, sweet pickles, and she drank all of the beer from his bottle then kept the one he opened, reaching for the limes he was cutting.  She sat in her place and tried to piece the day together. She had begun sketching before breakfast and didn’t remember eating anything only coffee and some of his bagel.  She was still sketching when he came in with hot tea and she hadn’t noticed he’d left.

 

He put a large hot hot bowl of brothy Thai noodle soup in front of her, adding fresh bean sprouts, basil, spices, seasoned with splashes of Tuong ot Spiracha sauce.  She sipped it carefully from the large spoon.  The simmering broth and the heat of the sauce sent a wave of flame through her mouth and tummy. She smiled, and took a large mouthful of noodles and reached again for his beer.  He broke off pieces of Poppa Dom and she took bites of the brittle pepper bread to savor with the noodles.  Two more large ladles of soup, and sharing two more bottles of beer, she finally took a deep breath, picking the last piece of Poppa Dom, rewrapped herself in her robe and happily curled up close to him on the sofa with her sketch book and notes.

 

He surprised her with his questions as she showed him her sketches. He read her notes and she noticed that he was picking out the small details and sorting it out by linking piece by piece.  Whereas she imagined the whole scene in panorama, his image, what he saw and the way he visualized was more mosaic. He summed the parts to see the whole, and was immediately able to refer back to the things that stood out to him.  She’d seen his notebooks and it explained the outline format he used. 

 

“Do you play chess or cards?”  She saw an opportunity to probe her Knights armor and an opportunity to see him a bit clearer.  Being able to piece things together like that would make him an excellent tactician.  "Mariner" was the term used for navigator, the tactician of the vessel.

“Sometimes, yes.  I used to play more. I hate puzzles though.”
”And now?”

“And now, I enjoy looking at sketches and learning the things the artist sees”  She noted he sidestepped her inquiry, but gave her a glimpse more insight. He turned to where she was in front of him and opened her robe. She seldom lowered her eyes, but she did now . . . sitting with her back straight, pushing her breasts out a bit, legs tucked under her.  She waited, then when he did nothing, she smiled a bit and raised her eyes to his. 

 

She watched as he looked at her, caressing her breasts, and she blushed as he softly stroked her tummy.

“You’re blushing” 

“It’s the way you look at me . . . like you’ve never seen me or had me, or its imagining the things I know I’ll do . . . want to do.”  

 

His hand slid from her tummy, lower between her thighs.  She put her hands on his and guided him to her cunt and pressed his fingers into her.  She leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his neck as his fingers slid over her clit.

“Much more. My safe word is Catch me . . . “  She held his eye contact, smiled and kissed him as he reattached the leash to her collar. Her robe fell away as he raised her by the leash and led her . . .

At home on a winters day.

This place is SLOW .....

Soup is on the stove.



****YAWN****



Peace.  J.