“Grandpa, what do you know about the ‘pile’?” Natty asked while her grandfather toiled with the broken plow and stubborn mule. The dry dust from the hardened earth rose and blew swiftly away with the hot, dry summer wind.
“From whom did you hear anything of the pile child?” he responded with his own question, the mule still refusing his directions.
“I saw a book in the old library, in the basement there while I was helping them to clean. The woman nearest me snatched the book away as soon as she saw what it was and told me to never mind about such things, that they were old and likely false and anyway none of my business. Have you heard of it?” the girl, almost now a young woman, inquired innocently.
“She was correct, you should not pay mind to it as it was just a story from the old people who lived here long ago.”
“Please grandpa, please tell me what you know. I promise I won’t tell anyone in case it’s a secret or something” Natty pleaded.
“Not a secret dear, just something that is no longer spoken of and that for a reason no one can truly recall. Still, these are our ways. It should not be spoken of or even told as a story in the present times.”
“Please grandpa, please!” she countered, her voice now filled with excitement, her interest building to an even greater level than before now that she understood that her grandfather likely knew the story, or at least a part of it.
Natty had always been grandpa’s favorite, a sweet girl with a kind heart and a fierce determination that seemed much out of place these days but was something that he respected and greatly admired. He knew that, as always, he would yield to her requests. She was so much like her mother and her looks were nearly identical, often bringing him to tears as he struggled to not remember all that had happened in those dark times.
“I will tell it as it had been told to me. You cannot ask questions for I would have no answers beyond what I will have told you. Do you understand my dear Natty?” the aging man asked.
“Yes, yes of course, of course.”
“You must also never mention this again- to me, to anyone. Do you understand Natty?”
“Yes grandfather, I do. Thank you paw-paw, I do want to know what it is” Natty said softly and with loving devotion to the man who had protected her and brought her up through all of the very hard times, through the dark times and to the present times.
“All right, sit down now and listen. There, no there. Good. I will sit and rest as I tell it” the old man said.
“I am ready paw-paw” Natty said with all seriousness.
“There was a time when the harvests were plentiful and food for all in abundance. They called this the Time of Plenty and all, weak and strong, wise and average, short and tall, man and woman, adult and child, rich and poor, king and commoner, all of the human creatures shared in the bounty and had more than their fair share to eat. All prospered and all rejoiced. It was due to the pile that this was made possible” the grandfather began.
“Yes, child, the pile. For deposited at the mouth of the deep valley for all those who worked the land to share was a pile of the richest, most moist soil ever seen and ever worked. Each Spring there was a new deposit made though no one knew from where it came. The land workers would take from the fertile pile all the new soil needed and spread it all across the growing lands. The seeds would then be planted in this soil- no one knew either what made this soil so dark and rich or so thick and moist; no one knew how the soil stayed so moist no matter how much the sun would beat upon it. The seeds would germinate and the plants would grow even if there had been no rain in months. It was magical, nothing less could be said” he continued as Natty looked at him with her eyes wide and sparkling, her ears attuned to his every word.
“Now all was in order and all worked so well for so long. The deposits were made, somehow and in some way. The withdrawals were made according to the specific needs of the population and the conditions brought upon the land in the spring by the ravages of the preceding winter. All that was needed was made to be available. The magical soil was taken and spread as needed and always, without fail, yielded the harvests that served to feed and nourish all of the people. These were good times, they say the best of times” Natty heard as her grandfather paused to cough and take a small drink of water.
“But grandpa, where did it go? What happened to leave us where we are now with our sterile, stagnant soil and meager autumn yields? We are poor and we are, we are all, so very hungry so very often. What happened?” Natty asked, her curiosity spilling out as she shifted closer to hear.
“No more questions young one. I will tell you the rest of what it is I know. One year, and no one seemed to remember what year, the pile began to shrink in the early springtime before the land workers had made their assessments and then the just and necessary withdrawals. At first it was thought that those who had provided had simply not provided enough but this was later found to be untrue. It was determined that there must be those who were taking from the pile in a manner not consistent with what had always been done before. They were taking it for a different use, a use that was not in keeping with the age-old method, a use that many said was wasteful and not in support of a bountiful autumn harvest for all” he related as he looked around with some concern. Speaking of such things was not strictly forbidden but was seen as a possibly radical and therefore punishable act. He rather wished he had not started the story and now wished only to finish it quickly.
“Added then to those who made the deposits and those who made the traditional withdrawals were those who made off with such soil as they felt they needed for their own uses. It was forbidden to monitor or guard the pile so it could not be determined who exactly was responsible for the thievery, for that is what it was at bottom, and it could not be prevented. Every year the pile got smaller and the choice had to be made whether to continue to support the needs of the bountiful harvest and risk the ultimate depletion of the pile or to hold back on the amount of the withdrawals for the normal and age-old application and hope that either the depositors would have more to give or that the takers could somehow be made to understand that there would not be anything left to take if they continued taking unfairly and unwisely as they had been doing in an increasing fashion with each new season. But since no one knew who these takers really were or even what they were using the magical soil for it was not possible to prevent the pile from being finally and completely depleted. This is how the pile went away and left neither the land workers nor the takers with anything left to withdraw. It was the end of the pile; it was the end of the bountiful harvest and the Time of Plenty. It was the beginning of the long, dark times. And that is all that I have to say on this my young and beautiful one” Natty’s grandfather managed to conclude in a sad and softening, even fading, voice as he sighed and left the story to be told no more.