South Florida, U.S.A. | by Nicholas Spangler
( reprinted courtesy of Mr. Spangler and THE HERALD )

STORYTELLER
WEAVES WORDS

    Nicholas the Storyteller was coming to the Literary Cafe.
    Susan knew this because that afternoon -- in blistering, sunstroke heat on Biscayne Boulevard -- she spied the Storyteller's van, which is giant and white and has a sign on the back that asks "How's My Storytelling?''
    She ran over and banged on the passenger window. She was sweating and her nail polish was badly chipped, and she looked overjoyed. "Excuse me, do you really tell stories?'' she asked.
    Despite the van, the name and the website, the Storyteller gets this question a lot. He does not mind; he knows he is an anachronism, in this age of moving pictures and digitally streaming videos, and he respects the public's incredulity.
    "I sure do," he answered.
    "Have you ever read Blue Highway?"
    The Storyteller had not, but he told Susan about the cafe gig. "Mom would love this!" she said, and now here they were on Wednesday night: Susan and her mom Eleanor, a spry 79 years old.

CHARACTERS

    There was also Cynoria, who sells an astonishing variety of organic beauty products, and Aristotle, a gray-faced man who runs the Cafe. He sleeps there at night, on a mat behind some gauzy pink curtains.
    The Cafe is a small, intensely strange place on Northeast Sixth Avenue and 123rd Street in North Miami that advertises philosophical discussions, hand-carved furniture, theatrical sketches and the "World's Best Coffee," though until recently it offered none and few refreshments of any sort at all besides beer and cheese crackers.
    But there was wine this night and everyone drank and talked softly and sweat in the dark, waiting for the Storyteller to arrive.
    When he did, there was no mistaking him: an immense, well-fed man with eight 
inches of white beard runnlng down his chest, in a green cloak bearing arcane patterns and a floppy tam with a red feather. He wore sandals and bronze jewelry and sat in a chair whose deftly carved back resembled a peacock's tail.

OLD SOUL

    Nicholas says he is 484 years old and keeps 200 stories in his head.
    Only their names are written down, on papers he keeps stacked in his van, and they are of no good to anyone but him: Rat Ship, Boy@FAIR, Taylor Mag., Crow/Eagle, all poorly spelled and barely legible.
    He told the story of Fenris, a horrible wolf who ate the Norse gods out of house and home before Aesir bound him with a magical chain; when this happened, Nicholas suddenly howled like a slaughtered dog and gave Susan a terrible start.
    He told of Molly, an Irish girl who outwitted a treacherous leprechaun; then with a nod to the major motion picture he went back to the days of Troy, and sprang forward to Sir Gawain in Camelot.
    Gawain was an excellent knight but a vainglorious man -- the sort of guy who, challenged to a hunting contest, goes after a dragon. The dragon defeats him, of course, but turns into a beautiful maiden who kisses him instead of killing him. They spend the night together and she gives him a wish-bestowing ring -- only he must never, ever tell its origin.
    But he does, the boastful fool, and somewhere off in the wastelands a beautiful maiden turns back into a dragon. Nicholas hissed like an a vicious reptile to drive this point home, and again Susan. vas momentarily terrified.

'SO MUCH REALITY'

     Afterward, she and Aristotle got to talking. "There's so much reality up here," he said, and Susan agreed.
    She talked about opening an artist's collective. "No way!" said Aristotle. "I love that idea. That's exactly what I want to do."
    "Susan's an artist herself," said Eleanor. This was "Fantasticl Great!" to Aristotle, and when Susan heard this she blushed deeply in the light cast by organic candles.
    Nicholas the Storyteller sat back in his great chair, quiet now after his telling, gently pushed aside by the sudden welling emergence of such possibility.

    South Florida, U.S.A. appears three times a week. If you have a story idea, e-mail nspangler@herald.com.

NICHOLAS THE STORYTELLER CAN BE HEARD AT:
· Churchill's Pub: 11 p.m. Monday; $3; 5501 NE Second Ave.