Tomek came now to the twin peaks, ‘Peach Mountains’, the two perfectly cone shaped volcanoes. They’d been dormant for a long, long time, but it was said they had a latent potential for bringing up great gifts from the deep.
Because of their rich, volcanic soils, great orchards grew all the way up their sides. At the bottom, where the volcanoes were at their widest and largest, were coconut groves. Above these were groves of ruby grapefruit. And then came the vast orchards of peaches for which the mountains were named for. At the top, where the circumference of each mountain was smallest, were plum trees.
He began the steep ascent of the eastern peak, entering the coconut grove.
SHE DRINKS FROM A COCONUT:
And it was here he saw the lovely moon maiden from Tulip Lake again. She sat on her knees, tilting a large coconut up above her, drinking from it. Wearing a purple flowered skirt, and bare chested, with her full breasts hanging just below the coconut. Every now and then, a little bit of the white milkiness overflowed from her lips, and dribbled down her chin, across one of her breasts. She didn’t seem to notice; kept on drinking.
[TO DO: DRAWING]
She did not see him, with the coconut before her. And he did not want to frighten her again, so he backed off into the shadows, but his eyes never left her.
HE FOLLOWS HER UP THE ORCHARD
When she’d finished, he followed her, as she meandered up the mount. They passed through a grove of ripe red ruby grapefruits, and then as the mountain narrowed, an orchard of peaches. The ground beneath them was covered with melons. She carried a basket, stopping now or then to pick fruit.
Staying in the shadows, Tomek too sampled the fruit, which was sweeter, more succulent, than any he could remember. For a man who’d lived in a fruitless land for 3 years, this was a godsend.
No people lived here, these mountains were considered too sacred for that. But the orchards are the prime picking grounds for the entire island. Their rich volcanic soils ensured the opulent fruition here, and folks said the orchards were a gift from the Goddess to mortals.
☼ ☼ ☼
So Tomek followed in the woods behind the moon maiden. Each time she raised her arm to twist off a peach, he caught a glimpse of a dark, curly jungle under her arm. It was just a dainty little thatch: mysterious, black, contrasting vividly to her amber skin. It made Tomek think of her more southern, ‘womanly jungles’, still hidden under her skirt, and it stirred his manhood. Each underarm thatch was a 'northern reflection' of her more intimate southern thicket, a promise of lusher gardens to come.
Now and then she yanked hard on a branch, and her own bosom peaches wobbled in the process.
Tomek could make out a few dried lines of the coconut milk on her breasts, and new beads of sweat from the noon day sun.
After 3 years as a loner, on the rocky spires where only the eagles fly, he wasn’t sure how to approach a lass. It was easier simply to watch.
He followed her still higher, near the top where the circumference of the mountain narrowed, and entered the plum orchards. Night fell, and separately, they each slept.
☼ ☼ ☼
'PEACH MOUNTAINS DREAMS'
He had a vivid dream. This moon maiden of the peach groves came to him, bearing before her a silver platter stacked with a mound of plums. Her own bare breasts nuzzled above them, and seemed themselves like plump, ripe, plums. She set the platter down by him, and fed him one of the plums. It was yet more succulent, more ravishing, than any of the others he’d had today. Where had she found these?
He didn’t see her the next day, but that night, he again dreamed she came to him, this time bearing a platter full of dewy peaches. He noticed that her own bosom-fruit seemed to have swollen, that they were as full as the peaches now. Again she fed him one and left.
Tomek spent his days feasting and his nights dreaming. The third night, the 'Lass of Cornucopia' came bearing a platter before her, stacked with red ruby grapefruit, and her bosom had swollen magnificently to match. The fruits were as juicy as can be.
The next night she carried in her hands two large coconuts, leaning them against her own breasts. Holding a finger over the open end of one coconut, she smiled broadly, and shook it vigorously, until the milk was all frothy. A small smile remained as she watched him drink the milk. But never a word or sound was spoken.
HIS DREAM OF HER FEEDING HER BREASTS TO HIM:
The following night, she bore no fruit but her own. She looked at him awhile, and then cupping her hands under her breasts, raised them as high and as outward as she could, proffering them to him. Her face was expressionless, her mouth mute, but she held them with a shy, proud, earnest anticipation, almost as if it would pain her not to offer them up. Tomek, still lying on his back, raised his head, and his mouth opened. She came and knelt by him, bending over him, and timidly held and offered her laden breast to his lips. He drank, and she squeezed and massaged her breast, pumping and pushing her milk into him. It seemed as if she was whispering “Here, you poor, hungry, lost man. Drink fully of my never-ending milk.” He drank deeply, her milk so very sweet, and it overflowed from his mouth, running in streams across his face and neck.
☼ ☼ ☼
In the morning, he found a pair of the milkmaiden’s tracks. Small footprints imprinted in the earth, in one of the melon patches where she’d stopped. But he could find no more trace of her, and the profusion of fruit and flowering trees seemed to be keeping his ‘dowsing rod’, his ‘man pole’, from sniffing her out.
☼ ☼ ☼
VISIONS OF MANY DANCING BOSOMS AND WOMEN:
That night, he saw visions of dancing bosoms passing through his head. All he saw were the bosoms, one dancing pair after another, of all sizes and colors.
DRAWING
Then he saw the women attached to the bosoms. In fact, a long line of hundreds of naked women jumping over a fence, their breasts flopping wildly. There were tall ones and short ones. Skinny ballerinas and voluptuous milkmaids. There were ebony ones and ivory ones, olive ones and apricot ones. There were maidens with little, tight plums on their chest, looking forever young. There were damsels who bore dewy peaches with raspberry nipples. There were ample bosomed milkmaids with grapefruits.
And some had breasts the size of melons, like twin cantaloupes. Melons on their front, just like the melons of their derriere. Looking like they had buttocks on their front. He laughed, because he could not tell whether they were coming or going.
The biggest women of all had true coconuts. With enough milk to feed a barnyard of men. He could not decide which he preferred. The more tender, sensitive plums you can fill your mouth with? Or the larger, fuller fruit that overflows?
All those bosoms were bouncing and swinging over the fence, one pair after another. Sometimes, when a lass saw him, she would cup her hands under her breasts, proffering them up for him so he could see better, and flashing him a big red smile.
DRAWING
From time to time in his life, Tomek had had insomnia. But he was never to have insomnia again. For the rest of his life, he would close his eyes at night and count a long line of bare naked ladies as they leapt over a fence, their breasts wildly flopping. Somewhere between two and three hundred, he’d always drift into dreamland.
☼ ☼ ☼
HE CLIMBS TO THE SUMMIT; LOOKS; LEAVES; GOES DOWN:
Tomek decided it was time to see the summit. He hiked to the narrow crater at the top of the volcano. A few wisps of steam rose from within. Although the volcano was largely dormant, it was believed that if the Great Mother was full inside and so moved, she could erupt again.
Once or twice a day it gave off a geyser like froth. A warm, bubbly substance that had powers of sustenance; to heal the sick, or nourish the weak. He would wait for this.
Through the gaps in the mists encircling the mountains, he could see its twin peak to the east, and “the Pass” between them, a narrow, inviting, cleavage in the rocks. To the south lay a great, flat plain of wheat fields. A rippling, undulating gold as far as the eye could see. And the air rolling in from it was warm, moist, and full of perfume. Of giant blossoms and musk, that womanly bouquet that spoke of the tropics.
He could see the sweeping arches of the beaches and shoreline on both sides of the island, those which he’d so admired when he first sailed by the island. The island seemed to be pinched in to a very narrow waist before blossoming out to its widest expanse in its ‘tropical’ regions.
Looking back to the north from where he'd hiked, Tomek saw where the weeping willow forest let down its long branches into the sea, merging with the seaweed, extending and floating for many miles out at sea around the head of the isle. No wonder his boat had tangled so in its hairs.
But the south was what held his eye. Where little wispy trails of rose colored scent floated in from, only to get caught around the peaks here. When he faced south, his man-pole throbbed, buzzed, and hummed. It pointed onward, his dowsing rod, toward its goal, its destiny. Yes, she had gone there, the singing maiden, the milkmaid, somewhere to the south.
~ ~ ~
Shortly, the mountain geyser spouted, spewing its frothy, steamy, white mixture high into the air. Tomek watched it dribble down the slopes, and then descended himself.