The Wonderful Love of Manny Feek and Mercy Bow Coo
It was the love story of all love stories. The tale of Manny and Marcy spanned all time in the Valley and was the standard that all love would be set.
His name was Manny Feek, a local hobo and roustabout who never had any real means of his own, but was loved by the community as a jack of all trades. He was said to be charming to the point that the spots on a hill cat would tip their hats to him. He was also known for his corporeal quality as women of the Valley would find even the most mundane of chores for him to perform in their gardens and on their homes, just so they might catch a glimpse of him.
He was quick to turn a phrase and jovial, not one person in the Village could say one ill word of him, save for his lax demeanor and shiftless view of his future. You see he had no great plan for wealth, merely a rough outline to how he would spend each particular day.
Some called him bohemian, others shiftless, I would watch him as he passed by day to day and wonder at how a person who had no true means could survive. He was a true gem of a man and in his heart contented and tranquil.
She was Marcy Bow Coo, a lovely and talented lady who would read to the children and it is said, came from a better family than most, although her meager life style would belie that rumor.
She worked for Phyllis O’Fickle, in the book store in the center of One Way. When she was not serving the women of improper tastes, she would be baking the cookies and brewing the tea for Phyllis’s after-hours book reading parties.
Marcy had a grand plan for her life. One day she would come to own the book store and it would be as grand as it could ever be. There would be readings by local poets, authors would come to sign books and on days of celebration the doors would be opened wide for tea parties and cigars.
Marcy was beheld by the Village, for even though she had no need for employ, she made herself industrious and sound. No one could say one false word of her, no one wanted to, for as rigidly vocational as she was, so her beauty matched.
On the second day of Early Year, Phyllis contracted Manny to patch the roof of the store. He was gallant and fine as a tramp could be, but there was something in his eye that caught the fancy of Marcy and they were married not more than two months later.
It was a love of reckless abandon.
No one could explain the thing that had unfolded so quickly before them. Marcy and Manny were two sides of the same coin. She was steadfast and occupational; he was a scamp and languid at times but neither seemed to make much fuss of the differences. Rather they reveled in the opposition, drawing from each other the fortitude or indolence each needed to make it through their days.
They would play in the streets and sing until the Lighters came. Their nights spent at the finest eateries as they threw money and caution to the wind. Some said Manny was taking advantage of the girl, but soon changed their minds when they saw the couple together. It was a love blessed by God.
That year seemed more pleasant because of their love. The wind was warmer and only enough rain to make the crops grow. But never a tear was shed in their attendance.
On holidays they would throw huge parties. The children would receive gifts of books and toys that Manny made from dead wood. The grown ups played adult games, drank and smoked their green weed as music played sometimes till dawn!
Marcy created a donation for the poor folk of the Village so that no one would need to go to bed without food as Manny hired on the least fortuned of the town to do the work he used to do. It was a good time in the valley, a good time for all.
As it is with all good things, the love they shared would last ceaselessly, the era in which they had to express it, would not. It was in the first half of Later Year ‘65 when Marcy seemed to slow her pace. She tired much easier than before and she looked less radiant as the Latter Year went by.
They would not spend quite so much time outdoors. Manny would often close the book store early. He took to cooking their meals and was seen popping in and out of the druggist from time to time. Soon she took to her bed and Manny did all that he could for her.
He had the best healers from every village in the valley, from all the races come to her side which he never left and still, for all the effort, at Mid Point of Latter Year, just before Dead Sons Day, Marcy died in her sleep on a bitter cold day.
No one could answer the question why the lord took her from the world. Manny believed it was him. His lifestyle of jest and imprudence had weekend her. He was certain that the holidays and wine had injured her. He had taken the delicate flower he had so admired and transformed her into something she could not be and his practice killed her.
The funeral was beautiful, as funerals go. There was a curtain of fog that hung over the town casting a surreal light over everyone and everything. Her casket, made from the finest ivory shone as a pearl in the gloom.A gentle rain fell as he procession made their way to the cemetery on the east plateau of the shores. There she was placed under a massive pine tree at the very top of the rise. The rain stopped for a moment and the sun broke through the clouds which fell on Manny who set looking to the ground.
Some of the elders say that Marcy reached out of the sky to console her love left behind, others say it was God taking her in his arms that day, refusing to let such a wonder touch the dirty ground.
Manny was broken for the rest of his life. He spent all his time setting at Marcie's grave, never moving never speaking simply setting by his true loves side as his vows demanded of him. There were families in the Valley who took him food and hot drink. They covered him in blankets and would set and try to comfort him, in the hopes that his devotion to her would not be his own destruction.
On the first day of Early Year ’66, when the Flowers bloom their tapestry of color, Manny lay down on the earth beside his wife and fell asleep, never to wake again. He had written a letter to her begging her forgiveness and hoping that they would soon meet in the next world to be happy in the end.
I can’t say if that ever happened. No one knows what lies beyond death, but I can say that in the year of '66 a rose bush grew over the graves of Manny and Marcie. It bloomed red and yellow roses and grew to form a small hut over the two.
Their graves were called Gods Cottage for the fact that their love was so pure and so true, that their bodies were sheltered by it for all to remember. It was a backward time of superstition and a need to make sense of the senseless. It was and to this day is, in some part, the way of my people.
Now in the valley, weddings are often held in the sight of Gods Cottage. It's meant as a blessing that the couple should have the love of Manny and Marcie. That once a vow is taken to be at the side your true love, the bond can never be broken.
As we all know, a love like that Of Manny Feek and Marcy Bo Coo, is a once in a lifetime thing. Though many couples wish for such a love, it rarely is the case. There are those who try and who fail. There are those who shrivel up in the arms of marriage allowing the bond to consume them, erase all that there once was of them, until nothing but an uncomfortable silence remains.
Every First Day, when the Valley explodes with color and the air is filled with the perfumes of lilac, roses and lilies, God's cottage bursts forth again to invite the young to a magic place. A haven for immature hearts to swoon and fall or leap from the rocky cliffs of reckless abandon and into the deep passions of young love.
I would set in sight of the rose bush myself and wish for a love that could never die until I realized that a wish is merely an opportunity that is most often wasted…
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