In the small town of Wolfwater, every door was always open to Finn, except for one...

Finn can go through any door in the town of Wolfwater except one...because he's too fat to fit through it. But Finn is determined to find out what's behind the golden door. No matter what.

Part 2 of 2.

Written by: Jonathan Cohen

Narrated by: Joe Cruz

A Faustian Nonsense production.

Content warning: disordered eating, body image

To read the full transcript of this episode, go to https://thelavendertavern.captivate.fm/episode/the-golden-door-part-2

Transcript

Finn got little sleep that night as he paced the kitchen, taking notes and writing down ideas, and cooking and tasting bits and samples of food. Eating the food helped him to think, to sharpen his mind.

He missed Celine, missed her laughing, dancing conversation and how she challenged him to be better than he was. She was ambition personified, unusual for an inhabitant of Wolfwater. Celine had been a singer since she was a child, but now she was famous in the town, and fame meant performances and planning and trips to other towns and villages.

He took one night off from planning his feast and went to hear her perform at an alehouse in the center of town. It was a shabby, disreputable place propped up by drunkards and slatterns, and Finn was surprised that his childhood friend should sing at such a venue.

But when Celine came out from behind the curtains onto the small raised stage, he forgot about the stale smell of ale and the acrid tobacco haze that hung in the air. She wore a simple black shift as if it was a grand dress from a distant city. Her hair was done up in curls, and gleamed in the lights of the stage. She elevated the alehouse and those who were in it, and Finn was glad to have come.

Celine spotted him as she took her place; he saw the smile of recognition, the little nod. And then he forgot everything, and listened to her song.

Finn wondered later if she had decided to sing that song once she had seen him: it was a song of being different, of not belonging, a black swan among a bevy of white ones.

But no, Finn realized, that song was not for him alone. It was for Celine as well. She was as much an outsider to the town of Wolfwater as he was. His difference was obvious to all who saw him, but hers lay hidden on the inside. She could pass as one of them on the street, but when she opened her mouth to sing…

“It was wonderful,” Finn told her afterwards, as the bartender stood protective guard over Celine while she drank water to refresh herself. “I heard the message in your words.” Then he added, “We do not belong here in Wolfwater.”

Her smile was as sad as always. “Oh Finn,” she said. “We belong wherever we go. It is not for others to accept us, but for us to accept them.”

He slept and dreamed of song and meals, and come dawn, he tied his apron and walked to Finn’s Inn to continue planning his feast.

Valery was waiting at the door. Somehow, he had persuaded Abriel to let him go out, or so Finn thought. He clearly was not a prisoner of the temple. Finn stood back and let him into Finn’s Inn, which Valery looked over with great interest.

Part of Finn’s mind cringed, seeing the tall, elegant Valery stooped under the low roof of the Inn. “What do you think?” Finn asked at last. He wished he had not asked it, but he had seen Valery’s anticipation when Finn had been about to eat his food behind the golden door, and he knew the desire to be judged by another.

“It reminds me of you,” Valery said. His smile was warm and genuine. He is the enemy, Finn thought. A man who serves terrible food and sees more patrons in a day than I do in a month.

“Wide and squat?” Finn laughed, and then wished he hadn’t said that, either.

Valery shook his head. “You are not wide,” he said, passing his left hand just over the space where Finn’s belly had once been.

“Let me show you what I’ve been up to,” Finn said, guiding Valery over into the kitchen. “I’m planning a feast.”

Now he saw the difference in Valery’s eyes; where they were curious and challenging before, now they were cool and analytical. Finn made no secret of his menu. He knew that Valery would not copy him. It was not within Valery’s power to cook like Finn, just as it was not possible for Finn to construct meals shaped like baskets and towers and children’s blocks.

“Here, try this mutton,” Finn said, lifting a large chunk to Valery’s mouth. Valery took the tiniest bite, frowned, then nodded, wiping his lips.

“A strong gamey taste underneath,” Valery said. “And the sauce?”

“If you took a larger bite, I imagine you would be able to identify the ingredients yourself,” Finn said with a smile.

Valery looked down at his slim body with a glance that Finn took as uncertainty. Then: “I cannot eat too much, of course. I need to be able to get back through the door to my tavern.”

Of course, Finn thought later. Valery had returned beyond the golden door, no doubt sliding through with ease. Finn was hungry; his stomach growled and he tossed and turned. Finally he got up and went to Finn’s Inn and prepared himself a meal.

A proper meal, not the scraps and bits he’d been subsisting on for the past few months. Rabbit with roasted turnips, and a mug of golden honey mead.

That was better, Finn thought afterwards. Now he could think. Now he could cook.

And Finn plotted, and Finn sketched, and Finn cooked and cooked and cooked, nibbling here and tasting there, and thinking how much better his cooking was than Valery’s.

Valery came to visit every few days, and a ritual developed: Finn would show him his latest dish, and Valery would take a morsel, and Finn would encourage him to eat more. Then Valery would laugh and shake his head ruefully.

Finn’s belly had started to grow again. The apron strings started to get shorter. Dron, the young man who had taken him on a Saturday afternoon to the river, was suddenly too busy to see him. Finn tried to eat less. He tried to ration his food. But he enjoyed the dishes he was creating and testing for the feast too much. He was a man, after all, Finn thought, hands on his belly after another late night in the Inn’s kitchen. Not a thin blond statue with green eyes who could not cook.

But sometimes, very late at night, in his bed he thought, what if I can’t fit through the golden door anymore? He couldn’t stand the idea. Not because the meals were laid out like artwork. Not because the townspeople were there. But because the golden door existed and he needed to be able to pass through it.

Late in fall, Finn and Valery took a walk in the forest surrounding the town, and they spoke easily of food and of cooking. Finn recalled the heavy awkward silences of his trip to the river with Dron and marveled that conversation with this blond man was so much simpler. It was clear Valery had no attraction to him, except the same attraction for a fellow craftsman that Finn also felt for his rival.

Valery explained the cantrip that animated the images of the forest behind the windows in the golden tavern. It was the first he’d spoken of his own tavern, and Finn took the risk to ask, “Were you always there?”

Valery laughed. “I did not spring full-formed from Abriel’s forehead, if that’s what you are suggesting.” They stopped in a small clearing, and Valery sat down on dry leaves and patted the spot beside him.

“Your elder will now tell you a story,” he said. Finn had forgotten how much older Valery was; aside from the wrinkles around his eyes, he had the energy of a younger man.

“The temple priests used to serve food during their services,” Valery said. “They believed that the food represented the gods they worship. In fact, to them, the food WAS a manifestation of the gods. You have heard the term ‘food of the gods’? This is where it began.

“All of the townspeople who came to the temple were welcome to partake, and the temple priests were happy for the crowds.” Valery’s face darkened. “Until one day, which would have been when you were a child. Wolfwater’s crops failed; all of them at the same time. Some said it was retribution for our wickedness.

“More and more of the citizens of Wolfwater came to the temple for food. Some were religious. Many were not, but claimed to be, so that they would not starve.

“Abriel – for Abriel was the leading temple priest by this point – tired of feeding those who he saw as the unbelievers. And so he built the golden door.” Valery looked at Finn. “You see, it was intended to keep those who lacked worth and those who lacked need from the ‘food of the gods.’”

“If they were thin enough to pass through the door,” Finn said, “they were starving and needed the food.”

Valery nodded. “The famine lasted a year. Once the new crops came in healthy and full, the townspeople who had been emaciated became happy and plump. Abriel did not like this either. He felt that this would only lead to sloth and hedonism.

“Now that only some could pass through the golden door, it was a privilege, and it soon became a badge of honour to be able to enter the golden tavern.”

Valery looked down at his own slim body and smoothed out his tunic as reddish leaves fell around them. “I had served at the temple altar as a child. Since I was born slight and remained thin no matter how tall I grew, I could go through the golden door regardless of how narrow Abriel made it. He tired of cooking the ‘food of the gods,’ because he hated to eat. He bade me become the cook, and went back to delivering his message: that to enjoy in excess was to sin.”

He fell silent, and Finn imagined Valery’s life behind the golden door. How he had a talent for shapes and col