[Mardi-Gras]

This is a story wot I wrote about a gargoyle.

He did not know that he was made of stone, so the gargoyle watched through the lead-lined window, turning away from his ever-vigilant guard over the castle moat.
And what he saw, he would guard for longer: his first memory, cherished with a warmth that betrayed his carven concrete mask.
Through the window, beyond the silk-soft curtains, the young mother sat by the dancing flames of the blue-brick fireplace, gently rocking the newborn child at her breast as the father, tall and proud, smiled delightedly. The infant tilted her head, and did not cry, but smiled with her eyes at the face at the window.
And the gargoyle called her Lady, for that is what she was. Yet his marble companions took no interest in Lady, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the heart-ache of age cracked lines in their grimacing faces as they huddled in mossy blankets of self pity.

And Lady grew, and he liked her bigger just as much. He played the sentinel as she played ball, but the ball fell in the moat, and Lady was still much too small to rescue it.
In fear he gazed down at Lady, lying on the bank, reaching for her plaything like it were a drowning brother; gazed down as Lady touched the ball, only to have it bob away from her grasp into the centre of the water, flitting from sight beneath the glassy surface to temptingly reappear for the briefest span, like the will-o’-the-wisp luring the lost traveller deeper into the marsh; gazed down into the infinite darkness of the black water, and at the white streak of a single pike, staring up with ugly dead eyes and a tortured face, reflecting the gargoyle’s anguish.
He wished he could dive into the water, swim in the moat and rescue the ball. But the gargoyle did not know that he was made of stone, so he dived, and he swam, and he rescued the ball, and Lady got all wet, and laughed, and he liked the sound of it.
Yet his marble companions did not notice Lady’s laughter, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the wind sang mournful songs through their pouting mouths as it eroded their expressions away.

And when Lady slept, he watched her little-girl’s-dreams flit through the room, adoring the glittering palaces, the snowy white unicorns and the enchanting elven maidens, who danced around the bed, and sang their moonlight songs.
But that vision fled when the spectre arrived.
The gargoyle watched in helpless horror as the glittering palaces crumbled and burned, as the snowy white unicorns blackened to night-mares, and the enchanting elven maidens withered and aged, and cackled the chorus of hags and witches everywhere.
And Lady turned and whimpered in her sleep as the spectre whispered misty poison in her ear and spread his rotting mantle about her.
The gargoyle longed to scare away the spectre, and let Lady sleep in peace. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he sank his horny teeth into the spectre’s leg, and the spectre yowled in agony at the pain of the bite, so the gargoyle swallowed him whole.
Yet his marble companions were not impressed with his courage, for they knew that they were made of stone, and raindrop tears cascaded down their chiselled cheeks to shatter on the paving below.

And when Lady learned to dance, the gargoyle loved to watch. He would creep down the leathery ivy that snaked up the castle wall so as to see through the stained glass windows of the Great Hall as Lady reeled across the ebony floor, her cheeks rosy with pleasure, her satin skirts wheeling about her waist as the music perfumed the air with its fragrance of life, and love, and times to be remembered, and times yet to come.
And later, after much shy refusal, Lady taught the gargoyle to dance under the hunter’s moon in the shade of the orchard, and Lady smiled with her eyes as the gargoyle spun about her with dizzying speed and performed cartwheels across the rose-ringed garden.
And the gargoyle did not know that he was made of stone, so he danced and danced until he and Lady collided together in an exhausted embrace and sank to the dew-swept grass.
Yet his marble companions were not inclined to dance, for they knew that they were made of stone, and their hooded eyes, carved of rock and hard as flint, watched with tragic longing the two figures huddled together below them until the sun slid above the horizon and dazzled them to blindness.

And when Lady met the Young Man (so the gargoyle called him, for that is what he was), the gargoyle was very happy, because Lady was so very happy.
From his vantage point on the green-tiled window-sill, he watched Lady and the Young Man through a small split in the varnished oak shutters that hid Lady’s room from the frost of the winter nights. And he smiled in curiousity as Lady’s lips met the Young Man’s lips and they embraced. And so the gargoyle sat there, puzzled, and brought the back of his cold grey hand to his chipped rough lips and kissed himself as delicately as Lady had kissed the Young Man, and was surprised - he liked the sensation, as he liked the gentle brushing of grass on his face, or the light touch of the wind caressing his skin.
And later, when the Young Man had left, the gargoyle showed Lady the sensation, taking her soft warm hand in his own, and kissing the back of it, and Lady smiled and blushed, then kissed the gargoyle on his chipped rough lips with her own sweet mouth, and he liked it better than the gentle brushing of grass, or the light touch of the wind. And the gargoyle wished to say the words to Lady that the Young Man had said, the words that summed up those feelings and their friendship so perfectly. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he said the words, and Lady embraced him, and told him that she loved him too.
Yet his marble companions cared not for kissing or for words of love, for they knew that they were made of stone, and the hollow wounds in their breasts echoed with whispering sighs that not even time would heal.

And the gargoyle watched in impatient awe as Lady’s maids helped her comb her long dark hair, and helped her powder and paint her delicate features, and helped her into the flowing white gown. And when Lady finally twirled in the wedding dress, and her father and mother smiled and applauded, the gargoyle, at the window, smiled and applauded too, for he knew that Lady’s twirl was for him as much as for the father and mother.
And he was dazzled by Lady’s beauty, for never had he believed that anything could be so lovely.
Yet his marble companions ignored Lady’s beauty, and did not smile and applaud, for they knew that they were made of stone, and their taloned fists clung to the lead guttering as though longing for the weight to drag them down and sink them in the soil and clay, and tuck them into the bed-rock at night.

And the gargoyle watched as Lady’s carriage disappeared through the gate and down the gravel road towards the horizon, and he wished that he could go to the wedding, and see Lady in her pretty dress beside the Young Man in his handsome uniform. But he did not know that he was made of stone, so he leapt from the roof and flew over the moat, flew over the gardens and the orchards, flew through the gate and towards the horizon after Lady’s coach.
Yet his marble companions did not fly, for they knew that they were made of stone, and prayed silently for a merciful wind to blow them from their perches and disperse them in a cloud of dust.

And the gargoyle flew over forests and fields and farms and fences, and soared above the clouds, waving to griffin and scaring the birds. Laughing, the gargoyle plummeted down through the clouds, and hovered in the air as he drank in the sight of the land below him. Hills and valleys became no more than the imaginary kingdom that was Lady’s blankets as she played her bed-time games when she was little, with her patch-work mountains and knitted fields. And, down in that miniature world, the gargoyle rejoiced to see Lady’s carriage weave its way along the copper thread that was the gravel road, perched between the void of a cliff and the shadow of a forest.
Then, just to be closer to his beloved Lady, the gargoyle dived down through the trees, racing alongside the coach, weaving about branches and boles and bushes and brushwood, waving to dryads and scaring the deer. And the gargoyle so frightened a fox that it fled out in front of the carriage, and the horses pulling the coach were so frightened by the fox that they screamed, and reared, and bolted.
And the gargoyle watched helplessly as the horses ran, and fell from the road, taking the carriage, and Lady, out into the void, down into the ravine, to be broken on the savage rocks below.
And the gargoyle fled back to the castle, weeping and lonely, and longing for Lady.

The gargoyle, keeping an ever-vigilant guard over the castle moat, wished that Lady would come back for him. But he knew now that he was made of stone, and Lady did not come back.
And his marble companions watched the seasons change, and sympathised as they grieved for losses of their own. For they knew that, eventually, we are all made of stone.