POLDORAMA WAS not a place where a good rumour could live long and prosper. Gossip was frowned upon and idle chatter pointed the idleness of the chatterer until some helpful soul gave the loose tongue something to do.
It was all about letting things settle, or curdle. Sucking the energy out of a restless spirit was considered a social obligation and the way to a successful business is to let the customer know they would always be there. Waiting.
The Mindal family did not mind waiting.
Their dairy business grew at a slow but steady pace based on the simple fact their product could sit on shelves for decades awaiting that special moment when someone noticed them.
As a young man Forster Mindal had apprenticed to a cheese maker and remained in his employ for thirty years until he was awarded a Master Cheesemaker badge. This meant he could make cheeses in his own name. It was a good time then to marry.
Ten years later, having chosen the love of his heart from among the gentle maidens of the Blessed Hub's Shivering District, he married and founded the Mindal Family Dairy Solids Factory, with its racy motto of cheese matured while you wait.
Funding came from wide connections, government grants, and a friendly neighbour who owned a vast herd of dairy cows and a goodly stretch of pasture lands between key transport canals. It helped also that Forster could call him father-in-law now and again.
Then they waited.
Grayta Mindal waited mainly behind the counter of their largest shop outlet, carefully located between the Coloured Water Bar, with its ever so slightly fizzy drinks selection, and a publicly subscribed house of convenience.
'Well, a blessing upon you,' one customer said. 'Just passing this here splendid cheese retail outlet that looks mighty fine, with all them cheese selections on shelves there behind you when I thought I might pop in and take a look.'
'Can I press you to try our Orange Mold, freshly squeezed and washed this very day?' Grayta Mindal said in her most persuasive tone of voice. She was prettily decked out in a checkered frock with a rounded lace collar and a ribbon in her pale hair. Her face, round and rosy, was the picture of robust health as she smiled and gestured at a glowing wheel just behind her and which gave off a heavenly fragrance redolent of open fields and glassy canals. It made the customer think of water just then.
'Well, I'd be mightily delighted to try a nibble, but sadly feel another pressing matter which needs immediate attention.' Thus he raised his hat in farewell and departed, for of course he had come from the Water Bar initially.
A certain saltiness in some of the dairy products on offer did have a mutually beneficial effect however.
'Thirsty work partaking of some of your cheeses Madam Mindal,' another customer declared.
'We can wrap them to go,' came the helpful reply and a big reel of patterned paper was whirred in anticipation of a sale.
'That'll do nicely.'
Matters went on well enough and smaller outlets began dotting the Blessed Hub well beyond Shivering so that the Mindal enterprise became enriched, for in Poldorama cheese was always in demand. It went with everything and was never out of season.
Grayta Mindal waited behind her counter until she could do so no more. An assistant replaced her and the family were congratulated in due course with the birth of their first and only child, a daughter so pale and fat she was almost named after a mild Fettabok Surprise.
They called her Vetta instead, by way of tribute.
As soon as she could talk they taught her of the five wellsprings of joy, the faith by which they guided their lives and shaped the world around them, for they lived among saints and great souls. Their whole world was the Blessed Hub, the most revered and sanctified part of Poldorama and everywhere else besides.
Every corner had its Chapterhouse of Thoughtfulness and every street a little soft-voiced being who handed out pamphlets, blessed passersby and absorbed all the sad thoughts of the world to turn them into something else. To weave them into dreams of joy.
It was a golden world in the eyes of some and among the customers of the Tabernacle of Tourism a revelation for visitors from outlying villages.
'You mean if I drop this litter I won't be fined like I would in so many other places, but blessed?' someone asked.
'Try it,' the Tabernacle guide said with a smile.
The crumpled wrapper was duly dropped and it fluttered about a moment in a light breeze. From somewhere a young lad scampered into view. He watched the litter a moment, smiled brightly and after a few aborted attempts managed to seize upon it. With careful scrutiny he found the lady who had dropped it and went up to her. She stiffened, expecting a righteous lecture so beloved by youngsters teaching their elders but the boy merely asked if she wished the item returned to her.
'No, it's just litter,' she said with a stammer.
'Then I must thank you for giving me such an opportunity of being helpful by disposing of it for you. Good intentions are always welcome here for they form one of the four founts of mindfulness.' With that he went to the nearest bin and dropped it there before racing off back where he had come from, a house nearby, installing himself in its window, a smiling observer of the street and canal beyond, like some neighbourhood watcher.
'That was creepy,' the lady said, fluttering a hand to cool her blushing cheeks.
'But kind of sweet,' the man with her said. 'I get it. Shame with kindness.'
'Oh no,' the tourist guide said with a laugh. 'There is no shame intended. He really was pleased to help. Sometimes little old ladies have been helped across roads so many times in an hour they have lost their way, only to be seized upon by someone delighted to help them find it again.'
Such kindly intentions could not help infuse itself in every aspect of daily life among the quiet and considerate people of Poldorama as well as being a source of hilarity among those befuddled by such sanctity. It was inevitable such creatures rarely ventured beyond the barriers into the noise and hunger and grasping cultures of other lands.
It was why Tinker Blomp found the rumour started somewhere within the deep recesses of a trembling world a little hard to swallow. Nevertheless he was determined to try.
If only he wasn't so lactose intolerant.