Fine Linen, Chapter Eleven

A long time passed. The rod rolled and stopped, rolled and stopped. The new threads shifted against each other. Lina had plenty of time to think over all that had happened to her. This waiting was almost like the time she had spent underwater, or drying in the field. In fact, aside from the terrible beating, it seemed most of her life had been made up of waiting. At least this time was not as terrible as some of the others.
The threads began to whisper together again. After awhile, it was almost as cozy as the time on the dark shelf. Lina learned that - according to some of the fibers, who had overheard it from someone else - they were now linen thread, and that linen thread was the strongest and most useful thread of all.
"We'll be made into something beautiful," they whispered.
"Will be?" demanded Lina. "We already have been. At least we were beautiful! Now, I'm not so sure."
"There's more, " came the reply. "They're not finished with us yet."
More? Lina wasn't sure she could handle any more.

To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire

Fine Linen, Chapter Ten

Lina was surprised and a little disturbed when the hands began to pull apart the carefully shaped cone of fibers. Just a few fibers at a time, but enough to disarrange them and make them less appealing to the eye. She watched carefully. One hand would dip into a little pot of liquid, then pull a few fibers from the cone. The other hand held a strange, thin rod with a clay disc at the bottom and a thread twisted around its stem. The hand with the fibers somehow attached them to the thread and then set the rod spinning, hanging on the thread. Then the hand pulled out a few more fibers.
Spin. . .pull. . .spin. . .pull. . .
Thread! That was it - the hands were making thread from the fibers. Lina was disappointed. What was so important or beautiful about thread? She felt a tug. Her own fibers were starting to be pulled into the twist. But they were mixed up with someone else's fibers. Surely that was a mistake! She resisted and pulled, trying not to become inextricably entwined with fibers that were different from her own, but it was no use. As always, Lina was powerless to stop or change what happened to her.
There was a jerk, and a lump appeared. "Just as I suspected," Lina thought irritably.
The hands tugged, and a sharp fingernail picked at a short piece of fiber, smoothing out the rough spot. Lina grew dizzy as she spun ever faster toward the rod with the whirling disc. The disc stopped, to her relief, but the next thing she knew, Lina and all the other fibers were rolled up tightly around the rod just above the disc. It was uncomfortably tight and stuffy. She felt sure she would suffocate. She had always enjoyed the company of other flax plants, and lately of other rolls of fine fiber, but really. This was carrying togetherness too far!

To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire

Fine Linen, Chapter Nine

One day the hands came again. They sorted through the piles of fiber and picked out several of the longest loops, including Lina. Carrying them out into the sunshine, the hands tied the fibers all together at the top. Curious, Lina watched the face, as was now her habit. It was smiling, so she looked at herself and the other fibers, trying to see what the face saw. To her surprise, she and the other flax plants, once tall, strong individuals standing next to each other in a sunny field, had now become one hank of pale, silky gold, sliding and shimmering through the hands that once had hurt them, but now caressed them.
Lina thought about the first time she had recognized her new self, after the beating, but before the combings. She had thought she was beautiful then. Now she (and the others, of course) were even lovelier. She waited with some nervousness, but mostly with eagerness, to see what would happen next. The hands went through some complicated maneuvers, laying out the fibers in thin layers, then crisscrossing them and rolling them around a cone of some sort, wrapping them with ribbons, and putting them on a stand. They were as tall as the person now.
Lina and the others smiled at each other with deep satisfaction. This was more like it! Now they would delight the eyes of all beholders, as they used to do in their lost field, instead of languishing on a dark shelf!
Privately, Lina thought it was a little crowded, but together, she and the others were a fine sight, and the rumor had now been proven at least partially true. They were beautiful, if not valuable. She sighed with relief.

To be continued. . .

Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire
Note to faithful readers: I have been gone several days, and will be gone for a week, and am not sure I will have internet access. So you may not hear from me for awhile. Aren't you glad you aren't left hanging on some horrible cliffhanger? :-)

Fine Linen, Chapter Eight

The next thing Lina knew, the hands were carrying her toward a horrifying set of teeth, rows of teeth, sharper and fiercer than those that had stolen her seeds. A thrill of fear overtook her again. She flinched as she was flung over them and dragged through. Once again, parts of herself were torn away - shorter fibers which the person who worked with her collected and kept.
By now, Lina thought there might be a purpose to all this torture, so she tried to endure it bravely. But every time she sighed with relief, thinking it was finally over, she was taken to another set of teeth, finer and closer together than the ones before. Oddly enough, the combing hurt less than she expected it to. She began to watch the face above her. When it smiled, all her troubles were bearable.
It seemed an eternity since she had stood in her field in the sun, gossiping with the other plants.
Finally, she was looped into a twisted postion that would have been impossible in the old life, and laid on a shelf next to other loops of fiber. Left to themselves, they began to talk and whisper together, comparing experiences.
Some had gone through more than others. Some were short, some were long. Some were slick and shiny, others not so much. But one thing they all had in common. By listening carefully, they had learned that they were an entirely new thing. It seemed they were no longer flax. Now they were something called linen. They all agreed that it was a wonderful thing to be, and that their troubles had been worthwhile. They were, indeed, more beautiful than they had ever been, even in bloom. Yet here they were, piled together on a dark shelf. Was that it? Weren't they to be seen and appreciated?
It was all very hard to understand. Lina gave it up and awaited developments.

To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire

Fine Linen, Chapter Seven

At long, long last, the beating slowed and stopped. Lina gradually became aware that something new was happening. She was being pulled slowly through hands that, for once, felt gentle. Fingers combed through her and picked out a bit of chaff here and there.
And the face that bent over her - the face was smiling!
Lina looked down at herself. She felt dizzy with shock. She was - she was - she didn't know what she was! She was something new entirely, something she had never seen before. Gone was her hard outer stalk, and gone, too, her stiff inner core. What was left was a drift of long, golden fibers that flowed and rippled in the gentle hands that turned her this way and that. The fingers could sift right through her. It was a strange sensation, but at least it didn't hurt, even when they found and removed another bit of stalk that still clung to her.
Lina couldn't believe it. Had the old rumor been true, after all?

To be continued. . .

Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire

Fine Linen, Chapter Six

One day, the people came back. Lina watched with growing curiosity as they gathered the bundles of dried flax plants and piled them on the cart yet again. She could not imagine what they could want with dried, dead brown stalks, but clearly they had some purpose in mind. People were mysterious creatures at best, but they surely wouldn't do all this work for nothing. This time as she jounced along in the cart, she actually felt some stirrings of anticipation for her fate.
But when they reached their destination, and armloads of flax were taken off the cart, she began to hear strange and frightening sounds. There was a loud, repeated banging that went on and on. Under the clatter, she could just make out a sort of rustling and cracking. She began to shiver again, and when the hands came for her, dread seized her.

The truth was far worse than she had imagined. She was laid across a hard, uneven surface and beaten again and again, methodically, from one end to the other and back again.

Why? Why? What joy could these people possibly take in this pointness torture? If Lina could have screamed, she would have. But as always, she was powerless to do anything but endure. The face that leaned above her, sweating from the hard labor, showed neither pleasure nor pain. It scanned her length imperturbably, then hands turned her and beat her some more.

Finally, broken in a million pieces, Lina was taken off the hard surface and flung over a different one. She was too battered and spent even to feel fear. But no, the beating wasn't over. This time the pounding was accompanied by scraping with a hard, flat blade of some kind. She could feel the broken piarts of herself chipping and breaking away. Over and over, she was flung this way and that, pummeled and scraped. More and more of her very self was lost. It seemed to go on forever.

To be continued. . .

Repairing the Breach,

Debbonnaire

Fine Linen, Chapter Five

When the creaky cart came again, Lina didn't even complain. She looked forward with some curiosity to what would happen next. Perhaps there really was a purpose to all these things, even though it would clearly not result in anything beautiful! She had never felt less beautiful.
The wet plants were taken out of the water and piled on the cart. Then it rattled and groaned its way to whatever came next. Lina waited while bunches of dripping plants were carried away. When her turn came, she was astonished to find herself tied with many other plants in a bundle and propped in the chill sun in their own old familiar field! There were the blue hills, and the road, and the whitewashed houses. When the people had left and the breeze began to dry the flax, they whispered among themselves again, for the first time in a long time.
"Why?"
That was the uppermost question. What had been the purpose of all these terrible experiences, only to be put back in the same field where they had been born? They had already been standing here, doing perfectly well, minding their own business, and delighting the eyes of all who passsed. Now they were only ugly brown, half-rotted stalks. They couldn't even stand without being tied together. What was the point?
"Well, at least," said Lina, "we're in the sun again! And standing, more or less. That's something."
And the other plants agreed that it was.
So they stood and basked. But they began to feel their skin, which had been so strong and flexible, peeling and cracking in the sun and wind. It got worse and worse - some pieces actually chipped off and blew away - but no one came to do anything about it.
And time rolled on.

To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire