Lewis Leverett: 'To See The Minotaur'

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You can read Leverett's interview here!

I was intrigued by Leverett's writing already one sentence into his piece and, just as quickly, invested in his distinct characters and the peculiar world which he had created. It simply reads like a strange dream during a hot summer's night. It is the sort of dream where you resort to snoozing the alarms for an hour to stay in the dream and find how it ends, and while Leverett may not have written an ending yet, the reader might find this just as satisfying.

Raphaella’s Thoughts 

It doesn’t matter how many times I smooth the tablecloth, it’s always ruined. Mother can’t stop herself from moving something on it. Lifting up the crystal ball and putting it back down, creasing, crumpling, every time. As soon as she’s left the room, I lift the crystal ball ever so gently with one hand and stroke the tablecloth with the back of my other hand until it’s perfect. Then I lower the crystal ball again, exactly where it was, but delicately enough to disturb nothing. I do this even though I know for certain that soon Mother or Jophiel will crease the tablecloth again, just as they creased it before. It’s worth it for that period in between. 

It appears, as you probably ascertained, that I have not mastered Thoughts. My mind strays, and I write what I do not intend to, such as the paragraph above. Reader, I apologise. I could unthink the paragraph, of course, but I must be reminded of how far I have yet to go, not just how far I have come, if I am ever to learn. It happened simply because I looked over at the tablecloth. To write into the glass with one’s eyes open is the definitive sign of a master thinker. That’s what my father told me. 

- - this paragraph has been unthought - - 

A stranger came to our home today. That’s what I intended to write about. It was Jophiel who started speaking to him, this man. I was just coming out of the house to tend to the lemon trees in the front garden when I saw the two of them beyond the gate. The stranger was by the staircase, on the edge of the cloud. How he found his way to us, I do not yet know. Everything about him was odd. His clothes. His speech. His stupid, persistent smile. 

His jacket was of a material I have never seen: it was black and thin and rustled when he moved. It was no natural fabric, that I am sure of. His trousers were blue and firm; the material reminded me of our tablecloths. He was wearing a hat with letters sewn into it. N and Y, crossing over one another. He had a bag, made of a similar material to his jacket. This was placed on the cloud by his feet. Jophiel stood holding his slingshot – loaded, pulled back slightly, but not aimed. He was ten feet away from the stranger. The man smiled as I approached. 

I told Jophiel to get back, but he didn’t. I walked until I was by my brother’s side, then took a step forward. I asked the man who he was. Chris, he said. He asked for our names but I cut Jophiel off before he could finish answering. The stranger told me I didn’t need to be scared. I told him that was for me to decide. 

‘Give me the slingshot,’ I said. 

My brother looked at me with fear in his eyes. He stood passive. I pulled it from his hands and aimed it at the stranger, just beneath the hard rim of his strange hat. Right between his eyes. He smiled again. The stone, kissed by my mother’s snout, did not seem to scare him at all. This confirmed to me that he was an idiot. 

‘Stop smiling,’ I said to the stranger. 

But he did not, so I pulled back on the slingshot. Jophiel whispered Don’t, Ella. I tutted at him. In part because I hate the nickname and I have told him this. But mostly because he thought I would kill a man without sufficient warning. I aimed instead at the stranger’s bag sitting on the cloud beneath him. I fired. The man’s eyes widened as he looked down at his bag. Of course, there was now a hole in it, through the front and the back. A little smoke emerged from the point of entry. 

‘Shit,’ the stranger said. 

I do not know the meaning of this. But, from then on, he stopped smiling. I told him to leave at once, back down the spiralling steps, to never return. His response made me contemplate firing a second stone, maybe into his leg. 

‘I’ll leave. But I’m coming back tomorrow.’

He was down the staircase and beneath the clouds before I had decided what to do about him. Stupid man.

Chris’ Diary – 17/09 

I found it. It’s real. The palace in the clouds. To reach it, there’s a spiral staircase made of sandstone. Everything is just as I expected. Except for one aspect. 

Children. Two of them. Both wearing something a lot like the togas the Romans used to wear. There was a boy, maybe twelve. I think he said his name was Joe. And a girl, fourteen or so, who definitely wasn’t going to give me her name. She asked me to leave, pretty convincingly, so I did. Sort of. I’ve stopped on the staircase. Not sure how far down. Well below the cloud the palace is on, but still among the clouds. In other words, I can’t see anything around me but whiteness. It’s not cold. I’ve just realised that. I should be cold. It is getting dark, though, and I’m sore in the area you’d expect me to be, sitting on a stone step. I’ll sleep here and go back up in the morning. I told them I’d return and I will. Whatever that means for me.

Raphaella’s Thoughts 

Sometimes, my brother is simply beyond belief. 

- - this paragraph has been unthought - - 

He seemed nice when I was talking to him. That’s what he said. I told him that what people seem and what people are can be two very different things. My brother says that the stranger offered to teach him some games, in return for letting him into the palace. I reminded Jophiel that Mother could be home soon and that she would not take kindly to a stranger. Apparently, this is outweighed by the promise of learning some games. I don’t know many games, he said. 

Thankfully, I am in charge in Mother’s absence, not the boy whose only ever attempt at Thought writing resulted in a single paragraph made up exclusively of capital letters, exclamation marks and onomatopoeia. I make the decisions. And the answer is no. I have sent Jophiel to bed, but I will not be sleeping tonight. I will lie beneath the lemon trees and talk to them from sunset to sunrise until the stranger returns. I will write again tomorrow.

Lemon Trees 

Dear Marigolds, dear Soil, dear Clouds Beneath, 

My oh my, can our Raphaella talk. We have a headache. At any rate, we sense anxiety. We send this message not to ask any action of any of you. Not yet, at least. Raphaella can handle herself well enough, we are sure. Mother Of Us All need not be worried with news at this stage. Of course, the thoughts of all of you are greatly welcomed on this matter. In the meantime, we will look out beyond the front gate as we always do, and watch what happens upon the stranger’s return.

Raphaella’s Thoughts 

He was true to his word. As soon as the sun began to rise, he came to the top of the steps. I met him there and had Jophiel’s slingshot with me. I aimed it again at his head. I told him that we didn’t allow strangers here and I told him to leave. 

‘I can’t do that,’ he said. 

‘Then you will die,’ I said. 

I don’t know if the man is smarter than I first gave him credit for, or even more idiotic, because the next thing he did was put his hands into the air, close his eyes, and wince. There was a silence. I’m not sure how long. If I didn’t shoot, he could walk right past me, through the gate, through the gardens, into the palace. If I shot anywhere else, say his arm, it would hurt, but it would afford him enough time to reach me before I reloaded. The only option was something lethal. Right between the eyes. 

It was then that I felt something I have only felt once before. A sickness in my stomach. A fist in my throat clenching and twisting. A pain in my chest, the pain a bow string must feel when it’s pulled back tight. I had to do this. Like Mother had done before, when I wasn’t supposed to see. To keep ourselves hidden, to keep ourselves safe. To keep the relics of the palace from the hands of ordinary men. For the safety of all of us, for the safety of Jophiel, I had to. 

I pulled back tighter on the slingshot. My little brother shoved himself in my way. He looked up and shook his head at me. The stranger opened one eye and then the other. ‘What do you want?’ I asked the man. 

‘I want to see the minotaur,’ he said, and he smiled at me again.

Chris’ Diary - 18/09 

Wow. Just wow. I’ll try to take you through it bit by bit. It’s not even the end of the day yet, but I thought I should write everything down now before I forget something. It started with the kids, of course. I realise that it would be good for me to describe them to you now, before I start. Mostly because I skipped over the most surprising thing of all: they’re just kids. The boy’s got a scruffy brown mop and a round face, and the girl’s tall and thin with perfectly combed hair. I’d use the word lanky, but she stands too straight, walks too purposefully. It’s like she’s practising to be the Queen. The boy can’t talk without moving. But, like I said, the crazy part is that there’s nothing crazy about them. Just kids. Way up here on this cloud, just two kids. I came here expecting something impossible. I wasn’t expecting that. 

Anyway, the girl had that slingshot she threatened me with last night. I don’t know what they load it with, but it’s nothing to take lightly, I’ll say that much. I just closed my eyes and called her bluff. I was pretty confident she didn’t have it in her. I don’t know why. And I’m not sure what I would’ve done if she did fire. Died, I suppose. But none of that mattered in the end. The boy, Joe, saved me. I’ve already taught him chopsticks to say thank you, and it turns out he didn’t even know rock, paper, scissors so I showed him that too. He has a fantastic smile. Even his sister smiled a little bit when he did. I still haven’t been able to get her name. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I told the girl what I was really there for. She said there is no minotaur, and she invited me inside to prove it. To get in, you walk ten metres or so on the clouds to the fence around the front garden. The fence is golden (and I think it actually is gold) and there are patterns of flowers and vines welded into the gate. Once you’re in, you walk past a dozen rows of lemon trees and then you’re there. The best houses of the ancient Greeks and Romans must have modelled themselves on this place. I tried my best not to smile (I didn’t want to look like I was there to rob the place), but I couldn’t help myself. It was just like the stories. 

She took me through every hallway and every room. The bedrooms, the baths, the courtyard, even out to the back gardens filled with orangey-yellow flowers (I’m not up on flowers). One of the hallways was lined with marble pedestals. Most of them had something you’d expect on them: sculptures, busts, that sort of thing. But one of them was completely out of place – a bronze belt buckle. Anyway, I didn’t mean to, but it ended up in my hands, and then to hide it from the girl it ended up in my pocket. I’ve just remembered that it’s still in there. She showed me through so many hallways afterwards, I don’t think I could find my way back to that pedestal on my own. 

‘There,’ she said, when the tour was over, ‘no minotaur.’ 

‘So, it’s just you two then?’ I asked. 

She said yes, and there was nothing in her face that told me she was lying. She was lying. After telling her I was too tired to leave, which was also a lie, she showed me to a spare bedroom, where I was to be watched by Joe. I wanted to know why she wasn’t doing it herself, so as she walked away, I bribed Joe with another game. I don’t know where I’m going to get a football from, but I’m obliged to do so by the end of the day. 

I snuck after her, and found her in the dining room, standing in front of a huge mirror. As she stood there, it looked like words were being written across the glass, except they weren’t words at all, just random jumbles of letters. She sensed me within a few seconds, like a dog does, with its ears up and its nose pointed. I made up another lie about looking for a toilet. She didn’t buy it. I did need it though. That’s where I am now. 

No minotaur still. But this house is too big, too grand, too tall. It must live here. At the very least, these kids know something about it.

Raphaella’s Thoughts 

Apologies, reader. I was interrupted by the idiot. Two things were made clear in that interaction. Firstly, my brother is an even worse guard than I imagined he would be. Secondly, the stranger is a liar. If lying comes so naturally to him, I cannot believe anything he has told me so far. That’s why I walked him to the bathroom, walked him back to his bedroom, and locked him in. There is a window, but it’s too small for him. Moreover, he clearly doesn’t want to leave; he is no thief. Which leads me to believe he has told the truth in one instance: he is here for ‘the minotaur’. 

I unlocked his room only once, to give him something to eat and drink before he slept. I expected more talk of the ‘minotaur’, but there he surprised me. 

‘So, this is your house, then?’ he said to begin with. 

I told him yes. He complimented me on how neat and tidy I kept the place. I thanked him. Then he asked me a curious question. 

‘What do you do for fun?’ he said. 

‘We just spoke of it,’ I replied. 

This seemed to puzzle him. He took a second to think and then grinned at me. ‘Fair enough. Horses for courses, I guess,’ he said. 

Again, he had said something that I didn’t understand. Before yesterday, I thought I knew every word and every phrase it was possible to know. I asked him what he was talking about. At first, he was very unhelpful. 

‘Horses for courses,’ he repeated, as if that helped. ‘Different strokes for different folks? Takes all sorts?’ 

At last he actually explained it to me. Then I enquired about the word he used yesterday, when I fired the slingshot. He told me I was ‘too young for that one’.

The stranger is indeed a strange man. Whenever you frown at him, he smiles back. I am ashamed to say that he irritates me. 

As for the larger issue, I am unsure. I don’t believe he is dangerous. That being said, I have kept a weapon on my person at all times, and made sure that Jophiel does the same. I have also told Jophiel to stay far away from the man, lest he release him again. He protested, of course. He spoke about a ‘foot ball’ game, whatever that is, but I told him no. 

Though I don’t think he is dangerous, I also don’t think he is going to leave of his own volition. I am sure he has another lie prepared for tomorrow. Even if he does leave, he will come back; he knows the way. Short of killing him, as of this moment, I have no solution. Killing him would be a mercy, compared to what will happen if he stays, though I doubt he will see it that way. Perhaps I must tell him the truth. It is a thought I will sleep on. I will write again tomorrow.

Chris’ Diary - 18/09 (Part II) 

I might have made a mistake. While I was sitting in my bedroom-slash-prison, I got the belt buckle out of my pocket. Just out of curiosity. As I ran my hands over the patterns in the bronze, I swear I felt something. A satisfying pain, like pushing into an achy muscle. Anyway, I heard the door being unlocked and I panicked. I was standing right by the window and I think you can guess the rest. It landed in a patch of flowers, so at least it’s a little hidden. I’ve been lucky so far, let’s hope it stays that way. 

I have no idea what I’m going to say tomorrow. If it’s not good, no doubt the girl will have something sharp and enchanted to aim at me. As soon as I’ve thought of something, I’ll get some sleep.

Marigolds 

Dear Lemon Trees, dear Soil, dear Clouds Beneath, 

Thank you, Lemon Trees, for your message. We have reason to suspect this visitor of malicious intent. He tossed something into our frontmost patch, most likely to conceal it until he plans on leaving with his stolen goods. We speak of Father’s buckle. We suggest that Mother is alerted at once and her return expedited. We await your agreement.

The End.