Hi,
I wonder if you could advise me if this is acceptable to tell an old folktale within the existing scene. It's also giving me a right ***** of a headache on the use of single speech marks and doubles, and paragraphs. I know that sometimes there's a para break and you have to put a new opening speech mark even though there wasnt a closed one on the previous paragraph.
Opening is included only to give a sense of how the narrative changes to dialogue within dialogue.
I'm pasting from Scrivener so I hope the formating is fine.
thanks
pH
She made her way down to him, taking a seat on the large boulder.
‘I owe you an apology, I could’ve got you arrested,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ He craned his head to look at her.
‘Craig’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘How did you know?’
She asked herself that the moment she’d said it. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How are your fingers?’
‘Hurty. But it looks worse than it is.’
‘You know what’s scary is I don’t even feel like grilling you over what the **** you were up to,’ he said, turning back to the water.
‘I know.’
She could tell him; could tell him how her mind had become consumed with the need to remove the mortar, to scrape that binding away and replace it. But not like she’d mentioned before - not just repointing, no - but remove it completely. To empty the place of it all, every crack and crevice, every slug of cement that had fallen in between the wall cavities, too. To excise it, replace it. No reason, just compulsion.
But she didn’t. They occupied the same mind space, now. It was like being psychically linked with him, more profound than their uncommon friendship had ever been. She understood now. And so did he, she was sure of it.
‘We’re being steered,’ she said.
‘Hmm.’
‘Were you going to tell me about Sylvia? About your house?’
‘Probably.’
‘Where’s Jose?’
‘Jose? Oh God,’ he said, coming to life at last, ‘I haven’t a clue…Maybe he’s dead too.’
‘Not on your life, brozzer,’ Jose said from behind them.
‘Where’ve you been hiding?’
‘I like the big tree, the one with the apples.’
Again, no need to comment on how ludicrous that sounded, but she wanted to check all the same.
‘The yew tree?’
‘It’s a yew tree?’ Jose asked, smiling.
‘Yes, horrible thing,’ she said.
‘Not horrible, sacred. Well, in my country they are.’
‘Yews? Do they even grow in Brazil?’
Jose laughed at her. ‘They’re an important part of our history. We have many stories about these trees.’
It was Redd’s turn to laugh. ‘I can’t think of anything less likely. Yew trees here are typically planted in graveyards and cemeteries.’
‘Isit?’ he said, ‘Maybe our tradition comes from yours, then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stories travel, and evolve, as people move,’ he said.
‘I don’t get you.’
‘Slavery, Redd. That’s what I’m talking about.’
‘In that case wouldn’t we talking about about West African traditions?’
Willie joined the conversation, reiterating what Jose had said about stories traveling and evolving as people move.
‘So you have yews in church graveyards?’ Redd asked, less incredulous now.
‘Let me tell you about the Dama Pálido, and the farmer’s revenge,’ Jose said, coming round the stone and sitting on the bank next to Willie. She spun to face them as Jose began;
‘Farmer Sevilo was a rich man with a happy life and twenty pickers. One day after work he was tired so he rested under a cocoa tree and kindly sent home the pickers – the day had been long and hot and they needed their dinner. He sat there resting himself after his hard day’s work and just as he was about to leave, out jumped the Dama Pálido. Receiving such a visit was not common in a man’s life and he was scared for himself. He knew the Dama Pálido was a sly thing and he wondered what it would do to him.’
Redd smiled to herself, pleased for the distraction. Yes she should be doing something about Craig or Bo, about the house, but still…Jose’s soft and low voice curled into her ears hypnotically.
‘The Dama Pálido who barely came up to Farmer Sevilo’s knee was anxious to calm him down; “Don’t be frightened,” it said “I just want some tobacco for my pipe.” So a shaking Farmer Sevilo reached into his picking bag and brought out some vanilla tobacco. The Dama Pálido snatched it and demanded Farmer Sevilo light the pipe for it, which he did immediately.’
‘The Dama Pálido took a deep drag on the pipe and blew a foul blast of vanilla smoke into Farmer Sevilo’s face. It then went about the real purpose of its visit.
‘ “To tell you the truth, farmer,” it said, ‘What I want most of all is to have two legs like you and your men. It is horrible to have to crawl around like this.”’
‘Farmer Sevilo thought for a moment, taking pity on the Dama Pálido and suggested it could use crutches. ‘“No way!’ cried the Dama Pálido, “I want artificial legs made for me, or I’m not responsible for what happens to your farm!” ’
‘The farmer knew the trouble he could get into with the Dama Pálido if it had even only one grudge against him, so he agreed. It gave him two days to find a solution and then crawled off, leaving the stink of its vanilla tobacco behind him. Sevilo sat and wondered what he could do. He knew that Dama Pálido would enlist the help of all its wicked friends if he did not comply with its demands but he had not been running a farm for forty years in the Bahia without learning how to deal with a band of tricky things.
‘He trudged slowly back to his farmhouse, mind busy with the task of finding a solution. When he arrived, he gathered his twenty workmen and told them his plan. When they learned the enemy was the Dama Pálido fifteen of them decided to quit there and then! They ran off, looking for work on a safer farm. But his wife, foremen and five others agreed to join him and try his plan even though they knew the tragedy that would befall them if they failed.
‘The next two days they all helped the farmer carve a pair of legs out of the local yew. Farmer Sevilo made sure he did all the carving outside in the corral. He wanted the Dama Pálido to see what he was up to.
‘Then, on the second day, at two o’clock in the morning, when the night is at its darkest hour, the horrible apparition of the Dama Pálido appeared before the waiting group;
‘ “Well?” it said, and dragged itself over to Farmer Sevilo, holding out its empty pipe. The farmer filled the pipe and handed it back to Dama Pálido.
‘The five workers and Sevilo’s wife stood behind him shaking and trembling with fear whilst the farmer said; “Here are your legs,” pointing to a large chest also made of yew, on which he was sitting. He took out one of the yew legs and passed it to the Dama Pálido who whistled and said; “What an excellent leg you have made me!”
‘ “Will you now leave us in peace?” enquired Farmer Sevilo. “Not until I have BOTH legs!” snapped the Dama Pálido, so Farmer Sevilo stood aside.
‘Dama Pálido hopped over to the trunk on its one artificial leg, and reached in for the other one. When it was leaking far inside the farmer ran up behind and pushed the beast in, slamming the lid down. His wife and the five farmhands sat on the chest as the Dama Pálido thumped and screamed horrendous curses from inside. But Farmer Sevilo ignored the dreadful noise and sealed the trunk with a big iron padlock!’
‘Hurray!’ Redd said, but Jose hadn’t finished and waved his hand at her.
‘The next day they wrapped lots of strong rope around the trunk and dragged it to the village chapel, sealing it up in one of the walls, and Farmer Sevilo was never again bothered by the Dama Pálido on his farm!’
‘Good!’ Redd said, pleased that at least in Jose’s fairytale the darker things in life could be dealt with so easily.
The evening was approaching now and the sun no longer glittered on the lake. Jose twisted round to look at her, lowered his voice to nearly a whisper and carried on; ‘But what if, one day, the wooden trunk were to rot? Because, the Dama Pálido, they say, never dies. That’s a possibility Sevilo’s sons, who inherited his farm a hundred years later when he died, face right now. If the Dama Pálido ever manages to get out that trunk, you can be sure it is going to be hopping mad!’
‘What a horrid ending, Jose. You should make it so that the end is the thing being locked in the trunk. And that’s it, no more story!’
‘I’m not responsible for our folklore. That is the tale as it was told to me as a child.’
‘You were told that as a child?’ she asked, shocked.
He nodded and smiled.
‘Jose,’ Willie said, ‘What is the Dama Pálido? Is there a translation?’
“Yes, my friend, there is,’ he said then paused for dramatic effect.
‘Jose…’ Redd said.
‘Grey Lady,’ he replied and she could see dirt under his fingernails.
I wonder if you could advise me if this is acceptable to tell an old folktale within the existing scene. It's also giving me a right ***** of a headache on the use of single speech marks and doubles, and paragraphs. I know that sometimes there's a para break and you have to put a new opening speech mark even though there wasnt a closed one on the previous paragraph.
Opening is included only to give a sense of how the narrative changes to dialogue within dialogue.
I'm pasting from Scrivener so I hope the formating is fine.
thanks
pH
She made her way down to him, taking a seat on the large boulder.
‘I owe you an apology, I could’ve got you arrested,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ He craned his head to look at her.
‘Craig’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘How did you know?’
She asked herself that the moment she’d said it. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How are your fingers?’
‘Hurty. But it looks worse than it is.’
‘You know what’s scary is I don’t even feel like grilling you over what the **** you were up to,’ he said, turning back to the water.
‘I know.’
She could tell him; could tell him how her mind had become consumed with the need to remove the mortar, to scrape that binding away and replace it. But not like she’d mentioned before - not just repointing, no - but remove it completely. To empty the place of it all, every crack and crevice, every slug of cement that had fallen in between the wall cavities, too. To excise it, replace it. No reason, just compulsion.
But she didn’t. They occupied the same mind space, now. It was like being psychically linked with him, more profound than their uncommon friendship had ever been. She understood now. And so did he, she was sure of it.
‘We’re being steered,’ she said.
‘Hmm.’
‘Were you going to tell me about Sylvia? About your house?’
‘Probably.’
‘Where’s Jose?’
‘Jose? Oh God,’ he said, coming to life at last, ‘I haven’t a clue…Maybe he’s dead too.’
‘Not on your life, brozzer,’ Jose said from behind them.
‘Where’ve you been hiding?’
‘I like the big tree, the one with the apples.’
Again, no need to comment on how ludicrous that sounded, but she wanted to check all the same.
‘The yew tree?’
‘It’s a yew tree?’ Jose asked, smiling.
‘Yes, horrible thing,’ she said.
‘Not horrible, sacred. Well, in my country they are.’
‘Yews? Do they even grow in Brazil?’
Jose laughed at her. ‘They’re an important part of our history. We have many stories about these trees.’
It was Redd’s turn to laugh. ‘I can’t think of anything less likely. Yew trees here are typically planted in graveyards and cemeteries.’
‘Isit?’ he said, ‘Maybe our tradition comes from yours, then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stories travel, and evolve, as people move,’ he said.
‘I don’t get you.’
‘Slavery, Redd. That’s what I’m talking about.’
‘In that case wouldn’t we talking about about West African traditions?’
Willie joined the conversation, reiterating what Jose had said about stories traveling and evolving as people move.
‘So you have yews in church graveyards?’ Redd asked, less incredulous now.
‘Let me tell you about the Dama Pálido, and the farmer’s revenge,’ Jose said, coming round the stone and sitting on the bank next to Willie. She spun to face them as Jose began;
‘Farmer Sevilo was a rich man with a happy life and twenty pickers. One day after work he was tired so he rested under a cocoa tree and kindly sent home the pickers – the day had been long and hot and they needed their dinner. He sat there resting himself after his hard day’s work and just as he was about to leave, out jumped the Dama Pálido. Receiving such a visit was not common in a man’s life and he was scared for himself. He knew the Dama Pálido was a sly thing and he wondered what it would do to him.’
Redd smiled to herself, pleased for the distraction. Yes she should be doing something about Craig or Bo, about the house, but still…Jose’s soft and low voice curled into her ears hypnotically.
‘The Dama Pálido who barely came up to Farmer Sevilo’s knee was anxious to calm him down; “Don’t be frightened,” it said “I just want some tobacco for my pipe.” So a shaking Farmer Sevilo reached into his picking bag and brought out some vanilla tobacco. The Dama Pálido snatched it and demanded Farmer Sevilo light the pipe for it, which he did immediately.’
‘The Dama Pálido took a deep drag on the pipe and blew a foul blast of vanilla smoke into Farmer Sevilo’s face. It then went about the real purpose of its visit.
‘ “To tell you the truth, farmer,” it said, ‘What I want most of all is to have two legs like you and your men. It is horrible to have to crawl around like this.”’
‘Farmer Sevilo thought for a moment, taking pity on the Dama Pálido and suggested it could use crutches. ‘“No way!’ cried the Dama Pálido, “I want artificial legs made for me, or I’m not responsible for what happens to your farm!” ’
‘The farmer knew the trouble he could get into with the Dama Pálido if it had even only one grudge against him, so he agreed. It gave him two days to find a solution and then crawled off, leaving the stink of its vanilla tobacco behind him. Sevilo sat and wondered what he could do. He knew that Dama Pálido would enlist the help of all its wicked friends if he did not comply with its demands but he had not been running a farm for forty years in the Bahia without learning how to deal with a band of tricky things.
‘He trudged slowly back to his farmhouse, mind busy with the task of finding a solution. When he arrived, he gathered his twenty workmen and told them his plan. When they learned the enemy was the Dama Pálido fifteen of them decided to quit there and then! They ran off, looking for work on a safer farm. But his wife, foremen and five others agreed to join him and try his plan even though they knew the tragedy that would befall them if they failed.
‘The next two days they all helped the farmer carve a pair of legs out of the local yew. Farmer Sevilo made sure he did all the carving outside in the corral. He wanted the Dama Pálido to see what he was up to.
‘Then, on the second day, at two o’clock in the morning, when the night is at its darkest hour, the horrible apparition of the Dama Pálido appeared before the waiting group;
‘ “Well?” it said, and dragged itself over to Farmer Sevilo, holding out its empty pipe. The farmer filled the pipe and handed it back to Dama Pálido.
‘The five workers and Sevilo’s wife stood behind him shaking and trembling with fear whilst the farmer said; “Here are your legs,” pointing to a large chest also made of yew, on which he was sitting. He took out one of the yew legs and passed it to the Dama Pálido who whistled and said; “What an excellent leg you have made me!”
‘ “Will you now leave us in peace?” enquired Farmer Sevilo. “Not until I have BOTH legs!” snapped the Dama Pálido, so Farmer Sevilo stood aside.
‘Dama Pálido hopped over to the trunk on its one artificial leg, and reached in for the other one. When it was leaking far inside the farmer ran up behind and pushed the beast in, slamming the lid down. His wife and the five farmhands sat on the chest as the Dama Pálido thumped and screamed horrendous curses from inside. But Farmer Sevilo ignored the dreadful noise and sealed the trunk with a big iron padlock!’
‘Hurray!’ Redd said, but Jose hadn’t finished and waved his hand at her.
‘The next day they wrapped lots of strong rope around the trunk and dragged it to the village chapel, sealing it up in one of the walls, and Farmer Sevilo was never again bothered by the Dama Pálido on his farm!’
‘Good!’ Redd said, pleased that at least in Jose’s fairytale the darker things in life could be dealt with so easily.
The evening was approaching now and the sun no longer glittered on the lake. Jose twisted round to look at her, lowered his voice to nearly a whisper and carried on; ‘But what if, one day, the wooden trunk were to rot? Because, the Dama Pálido, they say, never dies. That’s a possibility Sevilo’s sons, who inherited his farm a hundred years later when he died, face right now. If the Dama Pálido ever manages to get out that trunk, you can be sure it is going to be hopping mad!’
‘What a horrid ending, Jose. You should make it so that the end is the thing being locked in the trunk. And that’s it, no more story!’
‘I’m not responsible for our folklore. That is the tale as it was told to me as a child.’
‘You were told that as a child?’ she asked, shocked.
He nodded and smiled.
‘Jose,’ Willie said, ‘What is the Dama Pálido? Is there a translation?’
“Yes, my friend, there is,’ he said then paused for dramatic effect.
‘Jose…’ Redd said.
‘Grey Lady,’ he replied and she could see dirt under his fingernails.
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