The Lavender Tavern

The Golden Door, Part 2

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Episode notes

In the small town of Wolfwater, every door was always open to Finn, except for one...

Finn can go through any door in the town of Wolfwater except one...because he's too fat to fit through it. But Finn is determined to find out what's behind the golden door. No matter what.

Part 2 of 2.

Written by: Jonathan Cohen

Narrated by: Joe Cruz

A Faustian Nonsense production.

Content warning: disordered eating, body image

To read the full transcript of this episode, go to https://thelavendertavern.captivate.fm/episode/the-golden-door-part-2

Transcript

Finn got little sleep that night as he paced the kitchen, taking notes and writing down ideas, and cooking and tasting bits and samples of food. Eating the food helped him to think, to sharpen his mind.

He missed Celine, missed her laughing, dancing conversation and how she challenged him to be better than he was. She was ambition personified, unusual for an inhabitant of Wolfwater. Celine had been a singer since she was a child, but now she was famous in the town, and fame meant performances and planning and trips to other towns and villages.

He took one night off from planning his feast and went to hear her perform at an alehouse in the center of town. It was a shabby, disreputable place propped up by drunkards and slatterns, and Finn was surprised that his childhood friend should sing at such a venue.

But when Celine came out from behind the curtains onto the small raised stage, he forgot about the stale smell of ale and the acrid tobacco haze that hung in the air. She wore a simple black shift as if it was a grand dress from a distant city. Her hair was done up in curls, and gleamed in the lights of the stage. She elevated the alehouse and those who were in it, and Finn was glad to have come.

Celine spotted him as she took her place; he saw the smile of recognition, the little nod. And then he forgot everything, and listened to her song.

Finn wondered later if she had decided to sing that song once she had seen him: it was a song of being different, of not belonging, a black swan among a bevy of white ones.

But no, Finn realized, that song was not for him alone. It was for Celine as well. She was as much an outsider to the town of Wolfwater as he was. His difference was obvious to all who saw him, but hers lay hidden on the inside. She could pass as one of them on the street, but when she opened her mouth to sing…

“It was wonderful,” Finn told her afterwards, as the bartender stood protective guard over Celine while she drank water to refresh herself. “I heard the message in your words.” Then he added, “We do not belong here in Wolfwater.”

Her smile was as sad as always. “Oh Finn,” she said. “We belong wherever we go. It is not for others to accept us, but for us to accept them.”

He slept and dreamed of song and meals, and come dawn, he tied his apron and walked to Finn’s Inn to continue planning his feast.

Valery was waiting at the door. Somehow, he had persuaded Abriel to let him go out, or so Finn thought. He clearly was not a prisoner of the temple. Finn stood back and let him into Finn’s Inn, which Valery looked over with great interest.

Part of Finn’s mind cringed, seeing the tall, elegant Valery stooped under the low roof of the Inn. “What do you think?” Finn asked at last. He wished he had not asked it, but he had seen Valery’s anticipation when Finn had been about to eat his food behind the golden door, and he knew the desire to be judged by another.

“It reminds me of you,” Valery said. His smile was warm and genuine. He is the enemy, Finn thought. A man who serves terrible food and sees more patrons in a day than I do in a month.

“Wide and squat?” Finn laughed, and then wished he hadn’t said that, either.

Valery shook his head. “You are not wide,” he said, passing his left hand just over the space where Finn’s belly had once been.

“Let me show you what I’ve been up to,” Finn said, guiding Valery over into the kitchen. “I’m planning a feast.”

Now he saw the difference in Valery’s eyes; where they were curious and challenging before, now they were cool and analytical. Finn made no secret of his menu. He knew that Valery would not copy him. It was not within Valery’s power to cook like Finn, just as it was not possible for Finn to construct meals shaped like baskets and towers and children’s blocks.

“Here, try this mutton,” Finn said, lifting a large chunk to Valery’s mouth. Valery took the tiniest bite, frowned, then nodded, wiping his lips.

“A strong gamey taste underneath,” Valery said. “And the sauce?”

“If you took a larger bite, I imagine you would be able to identify the ingredients yourself,” Finn said with a smile.

Valery looked down at his slim body with a glance that Finn took as uncertainty. Then: “I cannot eat too much, of course. I need to be able to get back through the door to my tavern.”

Of course, Finn thought later. Valery had returned beyond the golden door, no doubt sliding through with ease. Finn was hungry; his stomach growled and he tossed and turned. Finally he got up and went to Finn’s Inn and prepared himself a meal.

A proper meal, not the scraps and bits he’d been subsisting on for the past few months. Rabbit with roasted turnips, and a mug of golden honey mead.

That was better, Finn thought afterwards. Now he could think. Now he could cook.

And Finn plotted, and Finn sketched, and Finn cooked and cooked and cooked, nibbling here and tasting there, and thinking how much better his cooking was than Valery’s.

Valery came to visit every few days, and a ritual developed: Finn would show him his latest dish, and Valery would take a morsel, and Finn would encourage him to eat more. Then Valery would laugh and shake his head ruefully.

Finn’s belly had started to grow again. The apron strings started to get shorter. Dron, the young man who had taken him on a Saturday afternoon to the river, was suddenly too busy to see him. Finn tried to eat less. He tried to ration his food. But he enjoyed the dishes he was creating and testing for the feast too much. He was a man, after all, Finn thought, hands on his belly after another late night in the Inn’s kitchen. Not a thin blond statue with green eyes who could not cook.

But sometimes, very late at night, in his bed he thought, what if I can’t fit through the golden door anymore? He couldn’t stand the idea. Not because the meals were laid out like artwork. Not because the townspeople were there. But because the golden door existed and he needed to be able to pass through it.

Late in fall, Finn and Valery took a walk in the forest surrounding the town, and they spoke easily of food and of cooking. Finn recalled the heavy awkward silences of his trip to the river with Dron and marveled that conversation with this blond man was so much simpler. It was clear Valery had no attraction to him, except the same attraction for a fellow craftsman that Finn also felt for his rival.

Valery explained the cantrip that animated the images of the forest behind the windows in the golden tavern. It was the first he’d spoken of his own tavern, and Finn took the risk to ask, “Were you always there?”

Valery laughed. “I did not spring full-formed from Abriel’s forehead, if that’s what you are suggesting.” They stopped in a small clearing, and Valery sat down on dry leaves and patted the spot beside him.

“Your elder will now tell you a story,” he said. Finn had forgotten how much older Valery was; aside from the wrinkles around his eyes, he had the energy of a younger man.

“The temple priests used to serve food during their services,” Valery said. “They believed that the food represented the gods they worship. In fact, to them, the food WAS a manifestation of the gods. You have heard the term ‘food of the gods’? This is where it began.

“All of the townspeople who came to the temple were welcome to partake, and the temple priests were happy for the crowds.” Valery’s face darkened. “Until one day, which would have been when you were a child. Wolfwater’s crops failed; all of them at the same time. Some said it was retribution for our wickedness.

“More and more of the citizens of Wolfwater came to the temple for food. Some were religious. Many were not, but claimed to be, so that they would not starve.

“Abriel – for Abriel was the leading temple priest by this point – tired of feeding those who he saw as the unbelievers. And so he built the golden door.” Valery looked at Finn. “You see, it was intended to keep those who lacked worth and those who lacked need from the ‘food of the gods.’”

“If they were thin enough to pass through the door,” Finn said, “they were starving and needed the food.”

Valery nodded. “The famine lasted a year. Once the new crops came in healthy and full, the townspeople who had been emaciated became happy and plump. Abriel did not like this either. He felt that this would only lead to sloth and hedonism.

“Now that only some could pass through the golden door, it was a privilege, and it soon became a badge of honour to be able to enter the golden tavern.”

Valery looked down at his own slim body and smoothed out his tunic as reddish leaves fell around them. “I had served at the temple altar as a child. Since I was born slight and remained thin no matter how tall I grew, I could go through the golden door regardless of how narrow Abriel made it. He tired of cooking the ‘food of the gods,’ because he hated to eat. He bade me become the cook, and went back to delivering his message: that to enjoy in excess was to sin.”

He fell silent, and Finn imagined Valery’s life behind the golden door. How he had a talent for shapes and colours and finesse, but not for taste or flavour.

The townspeople could only fit through the golden door if they remained slender, Finn thought, so they asked for lighter and healthier fare. And Valery’s food began to look more and more beautiful, and have less and less flavour.

Not, Finn suspected, that the townspeople of Wolfwater cared. The asceticism of the golden door and of Abriel had passed beyond the temple into the town itself, and pastimes and pleasures had been set aside in favour of speed and economy.

Valery got to his feet suddenly. “I must be back to the tavern before supper,” he explained, brushing the leaves from his tunic.

“We have all the time in the world,” Finn replied. “If only you’d take a moment, you would see that.”

But Valery had started walking towards the temple, and this forever was not to be.

The feast did not take forever to plan. The date rushed towards Finn like a speeding horse. The next time Celine ate at Finn’s Inn, he sat down at her table and told her, “I am calling in a favour.”

She was even thinner than before, with dark circles in the hollows of her eyes and not even a sad smile to give. “You want me to sing,” she said.

“One night only, I promise,” Finn said. “I won’t be able to pay you much – I will not be asking coin for the feast. Donations, yes, but not gold. I want everyone to be able to come and enjoy it.”

“An idealist to the end, my Finn,” Celine said, and there was her smile. A genuine one, for once. “Of course I’ll help you. One artist always helps another. But what will happen to the Inn after the feast?”

“There is an eternity of time to worry about that,” Finn scoffed. “First comes the feast.”

Finn invited his parents, and asked them to invite their friends. And he asked Celine to invite HER friends. And he posted signs and handed out leaflets. But finally, he did the only thing he could to make the feast a success: he convinced Valery to close the golden tavern for one night.

“Abriel will not like this,” Valery muttered. They had met around the back of the temple, as Finn was no longer able to fit through the golden door and Valery did not want to be seen at Finn’s Inn.

“One night,” Finn said. “It’s not forever.”

He saw Valery’s teeth flash in the near-darkness. “Eternity…forever…you have no sense of time, Finn.”

“Maybe I am the only one in Wolfwater with a sense of time,” Finn protested. “They rush to and fro. They spend their days in the doing and not in the being. Perhaps we have an infinite amount of time, if we only realized that it was so.”

Was Valery’s look one of pity, or exasperation? He could not imagine Valery ever understanding how a man of the earth like Finn felt. The blond man with the green eyes belonged to the air and the sun and the wind.

Abriel raged, and complained, and threatened, but Valery had not closed the golden tavern in years, and Abriel had no good argument left. The priest gritted his teeth, and pouted, and did not attend the feast.

The rest of Wolfwater did. Finn rejoiced to see the tables full of townspeople, the men and women he’d known since he was a child. His parents were there, sitting at a table, quiet and unsure. He could see the emotions flash across Anna’s face: I am proud of my son…should I be proud of my son?…are others proud of my son?

Celine broke the silence by starting to sing quietly, accompanying herself on a vielle. She sang of longing, and of company, of friends breaking bread together and a celebration after a long harvest. It was music to stir the appetite, and Finn’s stomach rumbled in sympathetic appreciation.

But then he became worried, for nobody was truly eating.

They picked at their food, and waved morsels on knives and spoons around them as they talked. They ate no more than crumbs, and Finn despaired, looking at the mountain of food he had prepared.

Valery sat with the town leaders, and Valery was not eating either; his plate was undisturbed. When their conversation lagged, Finn stole up behind Valery and begged him to eat. “Please, just a bite.”

Valery looked from the plate heaped high to Finn, and back again, his unease evident. “I am not in the habit of eating such…rich…food,” he said.

Valery was a man of the five senses, Finn thought, even if his own cooking appealed to only one of them.

Not taking his eyes from Valery’s, Finn picked up the spoon next to Valery’s plate and very deliberately spooned up a large helping of food. This first dish was a pottage, a broth that Finn had boiled with beef and carrots, adding herbs from the town fields and lentils and beans. He brought the steaming spoon up to Valery’s mouth, and Finn’s own lips parted. Valery imitated him and opened his own mouth, then Finn eased the spoon into Valery’s mouth and waited.

Valery’s eyes closed and his head tilted back very slightly in pleasure. Then he swallowed, grinned his dazzling grin, and burst out: “My friends! You must try this. This is absolutely delicious!”

Finn thought he might have to spoon another helping into Valery’s mouth, but the blond man took the spoon from his hand, then started to scoop up the pottage in great spoonfuls.

And like that, the dam had broken. Finn heard the sounds of spoon against bowl, knife against meat, lips smacking and sighs of contentedness. Then, as he looked around, the chatter rose in the room. The men and women of Wolfwater were talking…and they were eating. Even his parents. Celine smiled at him from the corner, and he noted that the light from the hearth fire filled in the hollows beneath her eyes and brought her back to the memory he had of her as a youth. Then he went back to the kitchen to serve the rest of the feast.

The feast..It was a memory that would last in Wolfwater for a generation. It was not over that night. It was not over the next day. Finn’s feast lasted three days, with breaks for rest and laughter and song and dance.

After the pottage came frumenty, a thick hearty boiled porridge with golden sugar, rare saffron Finn had bartered from a trader with the promise of recipes, chewy, crunchy almonds boiled until they popped out of their skins, currants the colour of a summer night sky, and the freshest eggs Finn could find in town. Calabas the drunk had donated the eggs upon hearing what would go into the dish.

After the frumenty, the meat and fish: thick slabs of venison steaks with bacon, red wine and cinnamon; a wild boar’s head with teeth bared, decked with rosemary, an orange studded with cloves in its mouth; salmon fresh from the river beside the town, sliced into hefty cutlets and cooked in grog, onion, and aromatic ginger; pike from the same river, ground and cooked with parsley, peppercorns, and mead into a fish pie.

After the meat and fish, a swan. Finn had wanted to serve a peacock, but there were none in Wolfwater or the surrounding towns. The swan was roasted, crackling like duck and dripping with juices, rubbed with garlic, dark and tender. It reminded him of the black swan Celine had sung about.

For dessert, an arrangement of savory and sweet: tart berry pudding with mint, a caramel custard that wobbled and jiggled to the diners’ laughter, thin wafers of chocolate and orange, dough shaped into circles and boiled in sugar water until puffy and light, sweet pancakes wrapped around a syrup of chocolate, fragrant almond cakes, compotes of prunes and peaches and apricots, creams and fruits cooked in sugared and spiced wine, tangy cheese pies, salted custards, and sheets of pastry enrobed around meats.

And lastly, on the third day, when they were full to bursting and couldn’t eat another bite – but of course they could – candied fruit and cheese: Sweet sugared plums, cherries, beets and lemon peels; cheeses from the cellars of Wolfwater, ripe and aromatic and mild and soft and runny. The townspeople had come together to contribute this final course.

At the end of the feast, all of the townspeople had to rest, including Finn. He could tell from his apron strings that he had gained weight, and he could see on the cheeks and chins of his fellow men and women that they had as well. Even Valery was no longer the austere statue that he had once been.

All feasts must come to an end, even the one Finn thought would go on forever. He accompanied Valery and many of the townspeople as they trudged back to the temple. For who could abandon the golden tavern, he thought, even after such a feast? Abriel the priest stood with disapproving eyes but said nothing as a young man stepped up to the golden door.

And could not pass through it.

An older woman who was herself quite thin tried as well, but she could not pass through either.

Finally Valery stepped forward and wedged himself into the golden door, but it was too small even for him.

Whispers among the townspeople. “We’ve gained weight,” one said. “We’ve done something terribly wrong,” said another. Finn thought that they could not have gained THAT much weight in three days, no matter how much they had feasted.

Abriel shook his head and looked at them with fire in his eyes. “The golden door has shrunk,” he said. “A magick has occurred.”

More whispering. Though the townspeople of Wolfwater were credulous, Finn was more suspicious of any claimed magickal cause.

Abriel smiled with thin lips. “The gods are displeased that you have chosen to feast for three days at the…Inn.” He could not bring himself to say Finn’s name. “You shall have to refrain from food and drink to atone for your sins. Only then will the golden door open once again to you.” This with a significant look at Valery.

Valery walked Finn back to Finn’s Inn, but said little. “I am sorry,” Finn said, casting about for explanations. “Really, I am. But if you would permit me to offer a theory about...