11 Nov


odin photo: Odin Allfather odin3.gif “I’ve got to keep an eye on this,” muttered Odin to Freyja from his magnificent King-sized bed in Valhalla where he’d entertained that good goddess for the past seven unbroken nights.
Freyja smiled at him. Goodness, you’re some mighty lover, she thought, but: “keep an eye on what?” she asked, sighing as she soothed her nightie with a shaking hand. And it wasn’t so often that her hands shook, not as a result of the passion of love or lust or call it what you will anyway.
“I’ve heard news on the breeze,” he rumbled, pulling a few wisps of her pubic hair from his beard. “It seems that the moron Herod has finally gone too far! He’s issued orders that all babies and toddlers in a small town in Israel be put to the sword, and that goes against everything we of Valhalla hold sacred! I must do something about it, and quickly!”
“What might be the consequence?” she asked, stroking his hirsute chest with two lazy fingers.
“The future is kind of outlined,” he muttered, grudgingly. “In my head, that is. You know me, Freyja-tits. It’s glorious here in Valhalla. Peaceful, with me in charge, and I don’t see why the whole world shouldn’t enjoy the same luxuries as we do. Wine … you love a tipple now and again, don’t you, angel-goddess? And so do I, it must be said. And music, mighty melodies, earthy rhythms, the fine stuff of life. And you know that it’s to that end that every Yule when the snow lies deep and people shiver I don my great blue hood and travel the length and breadth of our lands with gifts for all on my sky-born chariot?”
“You are just too perfect,” she sighed, reaching down under the bed-covers and making him squeal.
“Well, that is under threat! At the moment the world is in balance, with the dratted Romans holding sway for their few centuries. But nothing can last for ever, not even the imbecilic Roman empire, and when it decays as decay it must there will be a period of chaos, and that’s not good. Blue capes and free gifts won’t help people in times of total chaos! Something must be done…”
“And you’re the all-conquering god to do it?” she sighed.
“Too trued I am! You know what they say, that what starts off small can have huge consequences? One day someone will suggest that a butterfly flapping its wings in the South American jungle – that’s a region that hasn’t been discovered yet, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it … might, in a trail of chaos and confusion, lead to a raging typhoon in China! The one event being amplified by another and then another until the consequence is unbelievable… And I must initiate such a thing!”
“You mighty lover,” sighed Freyja, hoping for one more cuddle before he climbed out of bed.
“I am good, aren’t I?” he sniggered, then: “I have isolated a baby! Listen, Freyja, and advise me if you think I’m wrong. The middle East, cursed region, is the epicentre of anything that might destroy peace on our lovely world. It’s always been troublesome … they seem to need to invent god after god in a succession of unlikely deities and then do dreadful things to appease their creations, and it’s all so silly and pointless seeing that we’re here in true majesty … still, to the point. If we set the butterfly’s wing flapping in, say, Israel (which is under Roman rule but semi-autonomous … clever bastards!) then at the other end, not of the world but of time, it might have a stupendous affect!”
She snuggled into his curling chest hair and sighed. “You mentioned a baby?” she whispered.
“That’s it! There is a baby, in Bethlehem, which is a silly, out of the way sort of place with only one Inn, and that baby is a bastard!”
“That’s no name to give a babe in arms!” protested Freyja.
“I mean it! A teenage girl was lonely and she actually seduced a bored soldier who was subsequently stoned to death for his trouble, and the consequence is a bastard being born at this moment, as we speak!”
“But what’s that god to do with you, Odin Longbeard?”
He grinned at her and tweaked a nipple with gentle yet manly fingers.
“I’m going out there,” he murmured. “I will be disguised as a lowly shepherd yet I will be the butterfly’s wing in the jungle! And years down the line, generations into the future, my butterfly’s wing will have created an entire religion that may, with a bit of luck, generate the need for peace! Oh, I’m so clever I could kiss myself! And you know what? I will travel down the years watching over events!”
“And how will you do that?” almost squealed Freyja.
“Every Yule time, though the future won’t call it that, I will journey forth into the world and offer gifts to the little ones. And, hopefully, peace will reign…”
“You reckon?”
“I hope. A great deal could go wrong! But to appear warm and friendly and everything nice I’ll change my blue cloak for a red one. I’ll bet they’ll make a saint of me!”
“What’s a saint?”
He smiled at her. “The future will invent them,” he sighed, “men who, by good deeds, are remembered in reverence… that’ll suit me! Being remembered in reverence!”
© Peter Rogerson 11.11.14


2 Responses to “THE BUTTERFLY’S WING”

  1. pambrittain November 11, 2014 at 8:30 pm #

    Keep going. This is so good.

    • Peter Rogerson November 12, 2014 at 9:27 am #

      We’re on holiday in Scotland for a few days starting tomorrow, so it may well be a week before the next episode appears… Thanks, Pam.

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