25
Thump-Drag’s mother died giving birth to him, so he was raised in the town’s orphanage. As he grew, he developed a giant hunchback and a dead clubfoot that he would swing ahead of himself, and it made a heavy thumping sound before he dragged it over the ground, churning up dirt and gravel as he walked. The other children in the orphanage gave him the nickname, and it stuck even after they had all been adopted, leaving him behind newly christened.
“The old lady who ran the orphanage took pity on Thump-Drag and let him sit with her as she sewed in the evenings. Eventually she taught him how to sew as well. But when he was old enough to work, he was sent out to the gas pits. The gas pits were inside the town walls but far from all the homes, and were where everyone went to get their fire for the night. The pits sat where the land leveled out and was too arid and dry to grow crops. They were far enough away from the village that Thump-Drag had to leave early, clopping his way each evening out to the old gas mine.
“The gas mine was covered by a large piece of stone with several long ropes and chains attached to it. As it got dark, everyone in the town came out with their long, unlit torches propped over their shoulders. They talked about their crops, their families, their lives, and what news they had of the great army to the east that had begun marching in every direction. Thump-Drag heard them whispering to one another all the while set on his nightly task. He took up the chains and ropes, tossed them over his shoulder, that large knot of muscle, and started to pull the giant rock, which slid away from the open mouth of the gas well. As the giant rock slid off the geyser, a steady whoosh of gas flowed up into the air. The people with their unlit torches saw the shimmering vapors, billowing between them and Thump-Drag, who grew wavy and distorted. Now they could only hear the steady thrum of the gas and then the thump-drag of the clubfoot approaching the open mouth of the geyser.
“Everyone watched as Thump-Drag took a piece of flint rock and threw it very hard at the base of the geyser. They were all still talking among themselves, taking for granted that moment Thump-Drag was so tuned into, when that first spark rose against the shale rock, followed by the swallowing sound of a giant flame igniting. Then the giant plume of fire shot out of the ground. The people in line came up and each handed a torch to Thump-Drag, who stuck it into the pillar of flame and handed the lit torch back, until everyone had a touch of fire.
“Then Thump-Drag lugged the stone by the chains over the plume of fire so the fire was put out. He turned and watched as the line of people walked away with their burning torches. Their line of flame cut through the dark and split the night in half. The individual flames spread out so he saw the layout of the small village in the distance, and how each person took their fire into their own homes, and how their walls lit up with orange shadows from their freshly lit hearths. He gathered his own burning torch and walked back to his small hut, strangely happy that all those people who had ignored him or shunned him for so long could make it through the night, seeing in the dark, finding some warmth by the light he helped bring them.
“By his own fire, Thump-Drag sewed quilts and tapestries and elegant shawls. He sewed family crests onto uniforms and blankets that people brought to him; sewed baby clothes for little children whose parents would never let him touch, wedding dresses for women who never looked at him, and military uniforms for men who could easily slay him. They would come one by one to his hut in the afternoons, wait at his doorway and tell him what they needed or wanted, and they’d watch for a while as he began to sew. They’d tell him what they wanted their sewing for and, as if under some trance in the doorway, they’d tell him their most secret hopes and deepest fears. In this way, Thump-Drag became intimate with the very marrow of his village. He heard too of the encroaching army’s desire for the village’s gas wells, for their nightly soft burning light.
“The next night, everyone in line was talking about what they should do to defend themselves. Many wanted to fight, but they would be outnumbered and likely slaughtered. Many wanted to surrender, but there was no guarantee they would not be enslaved. Everyone was afraid. Everyone had heard whispers of what the army had been doing as it crossed the map.
“That was when Thump-Drag told them he had a plan, but would need their help. No one wanted to listen to the town curiosity at first, but he was honest with them, and told them that there was no harm in trying what he suggested. So, they did what he asked and brought him all the material they could. With the gathered cloth, he started sewing a tremendous quilt to cover the whole town. It took everyone working through the days and nights to complete the giant, seamless cover. When it was finished, Thump-Drag had them drag the beautiful cloth over the walls so that the entire village was draped by it.
“‘We are doomed,’ some of the villagers said once they saw what their plan had led to. The city now looked like a false hillside. ‘We have let this idiot convince us that his harebrained plan of hiding our city will work. The invaders will see it is not a hill.’
“But Thump-Drag was not through yet. He persuaded each of the people in the town to sew themselves a pouch and bring it to the gas well. When they had done so, Thump-Drag removed the stone, but did not ignite the plume. He took each pouch and held it over the tower of leaking gas. The sacks filled with the gas, expanding taut, and once filled would have lifted into the air if he had not tied them off into a knot at the bottom and tied a little string to each. He then tied each string to the wrist of the person who sewed the pouch, so it floated above their heads as they walked to the center of the town. Thump-Drag had to hurry as the army was closing in on the covered gates of the city. The first ranks of their divisions lined up around the front gates, while the rest filed in behind.
“Once everyone had their pouch filled, Thump-Drag closed the well and met them in the middle of the town. Thump-Drag went around and whispered to the townspeople a fragment of a story he had heard them speak, one they had inadvertently told him over the years. Thump-Drag would move on as each townsperson found his own voice and strength, and spoke of her own life.