The Blessings are the Potatoes

A take on Troll lore. (I blew past the word count and gave up on submitting. The original prompt was: character - troll. location - trailer park. object - scroll). Photo by Hammershaug.

My ancestors lived under bridges. They towered over everyone else, but only when they had to. Their eyes were big as dinner plates, their big grey hands ground earth into dust. They moved slowly except when they couldn’t, and when they closed their yellow eyes, they looked like staglamites. My ancestors never cried.

In the Winter, when it snows, we stamp our feet one two three, making larger than life prints, and we wonder what it would be like to fill them. In the scrolls, they are fierce. My ancestors were conceived during earthquakes. In the scrolls, if a beautiful girl named Nikki ever humiliated them in front of the class — which she would never dream of trying — my ancestors would simply reach out and strangle her. Then they would grind her into dust and spread that dust in the potato garden. Trolls love potatoes — it’s genetic.

Now I come home and sling my backpack on the bed, and my parents are glued to their phones or their laptops, so I leave the trailer, and I see Ewan kicking rocks down the way. The trailer park we live in quiet, and what’s cool is the lights are manual. Not like street lights. You can turn them off and see so many stars. You wouldn’t believe how many stars there are.

I like Ewan’s hands, they’re big and powerful. Once I put my hand against his and it was like a human and a troll were high fiving. Ewan’s still got big hands because the men haven’t lost that. Me though, the only trait I inherited was the hideousness. The sum total of earth’s trolls now live in one trailer park in Western Pennsylvania. Used to be every bridge had a family, but that was before Instagram.

Humans are really committed to dividing themselves over things that don’t exist. The profit model is pretty straightforward: they manufacture divides, we support the bridges and charge them for crossing. It used to be extremely territorial. There were millions of trolls globally wading through this group or that group’s dispute over this side or that side of the bridge. But the earth is only so big, it was never going to fully contain the sheer stupidity of the human. So now they’ve got new space, hyperspace or cyberspace, that’s theoretically infinite. But! You can access it all from the same physical location. So a few hundred trolls in a trailer park is all it takes now.

Anyway, Ewan and I have a secret. We are planning a Troll Samkoma. There hasn’t been a Troll Samkoma in three thousand years. The last time the scrolls were updated? Three thousand years ago. The last time the ritual feast of potatoes seven ways was consumed by the world troll community? Three thousand years ago. The last time we stomped our feet and made the earth quake and sang the deep tones of the earth? You guessed it, three thousand years ago.

There is a lot of really cool stuff about a Troll Samkoma in the scrolls but one really tricky part. A Troll Samkoma must start the same way every time, and the call for Samkoma is encoded in a riddle. It’s like:
"To celebrate in samkoma,
the bounty will be split,
what was born of need and stoked with fear,
must resolve to firm commit,
the bridge is crossed, the path is clear,
for blessings’ travel swift”

To call the Samkoma, obviously we have to solve the riddle. But we haven’t figured it out yet.
”Hey,” said Ewan.
”Hi Elke,” Ewan is handing me a CD.
”What’s this?”
”Old computer game, it’s cool. You get to fly around on a dragon.” He’s always giving me random artifacts from some old human fad.
”Oh, nice.” I glance up, scanning the clouds, then over at him. He has a mop of dark hair and brown eyes. He has a ruddy face but it’s hard to tell when he’s grinning like he is now.
”What?”
”You’re never going to believe what it is tonight.”
”Uh oh.”
”Yeah - so - they have this huge party every year, something called the Met Gala. Only rich people go though.”
”Oh so one of those only applies to like twenty people but somehow twenty million are invested?”
”it gets better. I guess this year they’re honoring a particular rich human who doesn’t like whole swaths of humans for various reasons.”
”okay so basically, a rich human who’s behaving like a rich human?”
”and he doesn’t like the color pink, so…”
”you’re kidding.”
”nope.”
”you mean to tell me there are humans arguing for and against wearing the color pink because, wait, because…”
”because the best way to take a stand is to choose the right group of rich people to stand with. Yep.”
”Fuck, man.”
”Oh I know. It’s a shitshow out there.” I feel the weight of my phone in my pocket and I realize that I’m kind of pissed off.
”Don’t you ever wish…”
”What?”
”I don’t know, don’t you ever wish there was something we could have that was just ours?”
”Like what?”
”I don’t know, like, something that isn’t just between this and that.” Ewan just kind of looks at me for a minute but doesn’t say anything. I see the grin fading and I feel sort of bad.
”Hey,” I smile at him, “it’s okay. I found another bridge a couple blocks down from Baymore Park today.” I watch him perk up. I’ve been skipping gym class lately, I just think it’s dumb. Ewan had the idea to start mapping bridges in the area. Trolls are really good at bridge lore. We read bridges like humans read Twitter. There are all kinds of signs and symbols that only make sense to us. They tell us the story of the bridge. Every once in a long while, at a really old bridge, there are even marks from other trolls. Those are really special, and super rare, though.
”Did you find anything cool?” I pause.
”Well,” I said, “kind of? there’s a human painting.”
”you mean graffiti?”
”no, like…a painting. like in a museum. except its under a bridge.” Ewan’s eyebrows crinkled.
”But..why?” I shrugged.
”I don’t know. But I actually kind of liked it. It’s like you’re looking into a different cave, but it’s beautiful. Like a cave garden.”
”That sounds…amazing.”
”I’ll take you,” I offer, “if you want to skip 9th with me tomorrow, I mean.” I’m blushing, why am I blushing? Ewan grins big at me and right then, it feels like a Samkoma in my chest.
Dinner is potatoes mashed, french fries, and loaded potatoes with cheddar and bacon. So good.
At night in bed, I try to write stories in my head like the myths in the scrolls. Thrice the sun rose and no man came, but on the fourth day, a man in armor approached and said “Troll! I am Dag, son of Jorath, Son of Tov. Let me pass!”

I woke up pretty stoked on seeing the bridge with Ewan. I inhaled my hash browns and slammed out the door, stomping like an excited schoolgirl all the way to class. I’m usually vigilant but I’m too excited to care and that’s why I miss it. I’m at my locker when I hear her.
”Elke’s in a good mood today, isn’t she?” Nikki is there, her blue eyes are beautiful, and furious. I don’t know why she’s mad. She’s one of those girls who was born knowing exactly what to do to look perfect every day. Her hair is a smooth and sleek Summer blonde. Her nose turns up slightly and her perfect smile is piercing me right now. Her friends stand around her, tittering. I only know like half their names, I really think they just come into existence at 8 AM every morning and fade out at the final bell. I don’t say anything, frozen under her gaze.

”It seems,” she says, “that you and I are lab partners.” Shit. Spring semester lab partners were assigned today. “Maybe we research whatever planet uggo aliens like you come from, bumble legs.” That’s when it happens. Girl Clone One reaches out and yanks my sweats. They fall to my ankles. Everyone can see my legs, covered in knobs and completely mishappen compared to a human’s. It’s just dead silence. Nikki is staring at me and she doesn’t look angry or even amused, she looks..scared. I yank my sweats up and run, leaving all my stuff on the ground. I just run.

I don’t realize I’m going to the bridge until I get there. The bridge with the painting. I ran straight there and I’m breathing hard, and I hear a voice, “hello.” I jump and turn. There’s a human. A guy, sitting under the bridge. Of course there is. They get into everything.
”Hi,” I say shortly, and pull out my phone, entirely to indicate that I am done talking to him.
”What do you think of the painting?” he asks and I look up at him, not really masking my annoyance.
”oh, uh, it’s cool.”
”You like it?” Something about the way he asks that makes me stop and really look at him. He’s got these dark jeans on and a plaid shirt, a brown beard and glasses.
”Did you paint it?” I ask.
”Yeah,” he said, ”it’s part of a series.”
”A series of paintings? Are they all under bridges?”
”They totally are. I’m going to try to hit every bridge in the tri-county area.”
”But…why?”
”For the people who live here,” he said, “to have something nice to look at,” and the way he says it, I know he expects me to be super impressed.
”Thieves,” I mutter.
”What?” he says. Of course I shouldn’t say anything.
”Humans!” I explode, “you don’t know the first thing! To have something nice to look at. Look there!” I point at a line in the bridge, “that’s the first time someone scratched a message here, and there,” I point at the small hole near the base, “a fight happened there, and there,” I pointed up to a lines and cracks on the underside of the bridge, our ceiling, “there are the marks of the thousands of people, and horses, and cars, who have bargained with my ancestors for passage across this bridge. Something to look at!”
That’s when I realize I’m crying. Boiling hot tears. No, I mean literally. Little wisps of steam come off the pavement where my tears land. I didn’t know trolls cried boiling tears, because I’ve never heard of a troll crying before. The guy stares at me, fascinated.
”Who are you?” he asks. He doesn’t sound scared, though.
”I’m Elke,” I sniff, “daughter of Baghorn, son of Eohorn, son of Darn. I’m a troll.”
”I’m Isaac,” he says, “son of Nathan, son of Maxwell. I’m human.” That makes me smile. “You’re supposed to say let me pass!” Isaac grins before putting on a super serious face.
”Let me pass!” he bellows. And that’s when it happens. I mean it really happens.
The ground begins to shake. Isaac and I grab for each other instinctively. The earthquake subsides. I peak around Isaac’s shoulder. The bridge is fine but there’s a big hole in the ground now. And there’s something in the hole.
”Look,” I point.
It’s a scroll. Isaac reaches down and pulls it out of the rubble, dusting it off. When he opens it up, we see it’s a map.
”Oh,” I say, disappointed, “it’s just a map of bridges.”
”No,” said Isaac, “there’s way more bridges than this in the city, there’s only five on this whole city map,” he looks closely, “I think there’s something special about these bridges.” I look at him in surprise.
”Isaac?”
”What?”
”You don’t think it’s weird that I’m a troll?”
”It’s very weird. But cool.”
”I have to show this map to my friend.”
”Is your friend a troll?”
”Yeah his name is Ewan.”
”Can I meet him?”
”I mean, sure…I don’t think I can bring you home but I can bring him here. I guess.” I’ve never talked this much to a human before. I don’t know what Ewan will think.
”Stay here,” I say. “Do you mind if I…” Isaac looks at me for a second.
”Take it,” he says. I nod, grateful. I grab the map and race back to school, running almost as fast as I did when I was leaving.
I stop to catch my breath when I get to the alley behind my school. But then I hear footsteps coming. Glancing back, I see it’s Nikki. She’s alone, but that’s no guarantee. I dive behind the dumpster. She stops halfway down the alley and at first I am sure she saw me. But then I see something really weird — I’m not kidding — she’s taking off her pants. Her legs are…irredescent, they look like fish scales. She got an Aquafina with her, and she starts to pour it on her legs and it’s strange and beautiful, the way she glows. I suddenly remember her scared look and it occurs to me in that moment that maybe it wasn’t me she was scared of.

”Ewan,” I hiss, waving at him from outside the door of his English class. When he catches sight of me I make our private SOS sign, two fingers at the bridge of the nose.
He raises his hand, I can’t hear what he says, but I know he’s asking for a hall pass, because a minute later he’s coming out the door.
”What? What is it?”
”Where do I even begin?”

“You came back,” Isaac looks at me with such delight and relief, I start to laugh. No human has ever looked at me like that.
”Ewan, Isaac. Isaac, Ewan.” Isaac looks at Ewan.
”Two real life trolls. God this is so cool.” Ewan looks back at Isaac eagerly.
”Hey, do you play video games?”
”Sure,” he says, “why? Wait, do you?”
”Oh my God,” says Ewan, “oh my God.”
”Focus!” I say, pulling out the map.
”Right,” said Isaac, “I remembered something. This one,” he points to a cave, “this one has a painting already. I didn’t do it. But you might want to see it because it has…well just come look.” The cave he is talking about is miles and miles from here in the far corner of the city.
”How are we going to get there?” said Ewan.
”I’ll drive,” said Isaac, cheerfully. Ewan and I look at each other. A friend with a car? Score! Isaac laughs at us, but it’s the kind of laugh that invites you in.
Isaac’s car is a blue-grey Camry from the 90’s, which is a vibe, and I laugh out loud when he puts The Mountain Goats on. I love it though. By now it’s nearing 4 PM and the late afternoon Sun is filtering through the trees in a way that always gives me this weird feeling. It’s like being very sad but also quite moved at the same time.
When Isaac pulls up near the bridge, he asks, “do trolls have parties?” Ewan looks at me, I look at Ewan.
”Why?” I ask.
”Because there’s a painting of a troll party here.”
There’s no mistaking it either. It’s like right out of one the scrolls. The fire is green, and it’s coming out of a rock, and there are trolls. They’re stamping their feet and roaring at the sky. But that’s not the part that catches my breath. In the same painting, unmistakably, humans. Humans dancing. Humans eating potatoes seven ways. Humans dancing with trolls. This is unmistakably Samkoma.
”The riddle,” I say.
”What riddle?” askes Isaac.
Ewan quotes it.
"To celebrate in samkoma,
the bounty will be split,
what was born of need and stoked with fear,
must resolve to firm commit,
the bridge is crossed, the path is clear,
for blessings’ travel swift”
”I think,” I scratch the back of my head and look down, “what was born of need and stoked with fear is a human.”
”oh,” said Isaac, realization dawning, “you mean that describes the crossing. Must resolve to firm commit, like -”
Ewan frowns. “That sounds like a bargain, in the stories, our ancestors demanded payment. Tolls.”
”I have an idea,” says Isaac. “I am Isaac, son of Nathan, son of Maxwell. Let me pass!” The way he bellows the last line, even Ewan is covering is ears. But it works. The ground shakes and a hole opens up. Ewan looks around startled. Isaac shrugs. “oh you know, old trick.” I roll my eyes.
Ewan bends over and peers into the hole. There’s a pause and then suddenly he bursts out laughing.
”What?” I say. He reaches down and pulls out a little bag.
”Oh my god,” I start laughing.
”What?” says Isaac.
”It’s seeds!”
”What do you mean?”
”We keep our potato seeds in these bags.” I don’t know if you’ve ever held a handful of potato seeds, but there are few things more satisfying. There all weird shapes and colors. You put them in your hand and hold your fist up to your ear and rattle them around before you plant them. Red, brown, yellow, purple. They look beautiful on the ground, too.
”Oh. You like potatoes?” asks Isaac.
”Just don’t ask about ther fertilizer,” I sigh.
Isaac points at the painting, “is that why the human is bringing potatoes?”
I peer closely. “Wait a minute,” I point, “there are only potatoes six ways at the fire.” It’s true — there are potatoes mashed, potatoes baked, shoestring potatoes, and potatoes loaded with meat, there’s a potato pie and even potato salad. But there’s no seventh dish. Ewan and I look at each other.
”Oh,” said Isaac a minute later, “The blessings are the potatoes.”
”Huh?”
”In the riddle. Humans bargan with trolls. In return for safe passage, they bring back potatos. Or seeds.”
”But who painted this? It might look old, but it can’t actually be old.” I frowned.
”I think I know,” said Isaac.
”What?” asked Ewan.
”This is copied from a scroll. Someone has a scroll.”
”All this time we thought they were being cryptic, but it turns out we were just missing a scroll?” I ponder this. “That makes sense. Trolls don’t really like riddles.’
”But who would have the scroll?”
”I have a theory about that too.”
”What now?” asked Ewan.
”Someone yelled let me…you know..and the ground opened up. At like a different bridge on the map. The last scroll.”
”Oh!”
”Wait,” said Ewan, “wait — you don’t think that crash at 4th and Oak?”
”Do you think someone shouted —”
”Road rage?”
”Oh. My. God.”
We spent the rest of the evening shouting under bridges. There were more seeds, one really old pair of traditional troll shoes — made out of rock and what was once leather — and a family ring. But Ewan was right. The bridge at 4th and Oak had an empty hole in the ground.
”Let’s leave a message in the hole,” said Isaac.
”What kind of note could we leave a human?” I ask.
”An invitation,” said Ewan, “to Samkoma.”
”When should we have it?”
”Twenty days,” I say.
”That’s… specific,” says Ewan.
”One score days sounds cool,” I say, writing the invitation out.
”I don’t think the troll who buried these things meant it to take this long,” said Ewan, “but he buried his family ring. I don’t get it.”
”Can I come to Samkoma?” asked Isaac.
”Only if you bring potatoes,” I grin at him.
”Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air.
”What’s wrong?” Ewan is looking at me. I point at the darkening sky.
”It’s almost tomorrow,” and then I tell them what happened at school this morning.
”Humans!” spat Ewan, “I wouldn’t fertilize my potatoes with the like—oh, sorry, Isaac,” he mumbled, looking away. Isaac looked thoughtful.
”I know,” he said suddenly, “I’ll go to school with you.”
”But — you don’t go to —”
”Where do you go?” asked Ewan.
”City Art,” said Isaac, which makes sense. It’s a private high school with a top notch arts program.
”How is you coming going to help me?” I ask.
”I have a plan,” said Isaac, but he refused to elaborate.
”D’ya wanna hang around a bit?” asked Ewan as we pulled up to the trailer park.
”Cool,” said Isaac.
We sat outside Ewan’s family’s trailer and I pointed at the stars.
”There are troll constellations you know?”
”Ther are?” said Isaac and Ewan at the same time.
”Yes,” I said, “there’s the small potato, there’s the big potato over there.”
”oh shut up,” said Ewan, laughing, and Isaac laughed too.
”Is this where Samkoma is?” asked Isaac.
”Yes,” I said, “right in the middle,” I pointed to the center of the courtyard sourrounded by trailers. “We will make green fire on stone.”
”Is the green fire magic?”
”No,” said Ewan, “it’s a special moss you burn. But don’t tell anyone. Trade secret.”
That night in bed, I tell the story in my head. Only this time, I’m the troll and Isaac is the human.

When I get to school the next day, there’s Isaac. And he’s got horns on his head. And yellow fish eyes. It takes me a minute to realize he’s wearing a costume.
”The theater kids helped me out,” he smiles sheepishly. On the one hand, I completely mortified. On the other…no one, I mean no one, has ever done anything like this for knobby kneed me before.
”You—,” I started, “wow, Isaac. I really don’t now what to say.”
”Shall we?” He offered me his arm, and I honestly almost cried. We walked in and it was like you could hear a pin drop.
”Oh. My. God.” said one of Nikki’s girl clones. Nikki looked at us, and I looked back at her, wondering just what would happen now. After a second, Nikki shook her head.
”These freaks aren’t going to ruin pink wednesday,” she announced, and turned heel.
”What’s pink wednesday?” asked Isaac.
”It’s from a dumb movie. ‘On wednesdays, we we wear pink.’” Suddenly I remember Ewan’s Met Gala story and I launch into telling Isaac about it, and I swear I just completely forget where I am for a little while.
We spend almost three weeks preparing for Samkoma. I am the one who has to tell the adults. But the trick is, you don’t ask. If you get the Samkoma invite, it is obligation. So we make out all the invitations, and in each invitation, we put a little packet of potato seeds from the stash we found under the bridges. You’ll never believe what happens.
I start knocking on a trailer door and as I hand over the invitation I say the same thing. “Samkoma.” It is just one word. But in that word, there so much history. The entire family comes out and stamps and howls and snarls and it takes me a minute to realize they’re excited. Then everyone comes out to see what the commotion is about and I start handing out invitations and everyone is howling and growling and snarling. I can’t stop laughing, Ewan is just staring. But Isaac…Isaac just gets right in there and starts stamping away and that makes me laugh even harder. Something else happens to. I might be imagining it but I don’t think so. In that moment I don’t think anyone looking at us would mistake us for human. Our heads grow big, are noses gargantuan, our hands large and grey. Our eyes wide like dinner plates. We are trolls. We will have Samkoma.
The others start coming three days before Samkoma. Some of them bring moss to burn. Some of them bring jewelry and shoes. Nobody had any idea there were others. “Where were you,” my mom would ask them as they came. “Out there,” they would say, which is where all trolls live.
”Where have you been?” she would ask.
”Waiting for Samkoma,” they would answer.
Isaac had a different question for them. “Do you know whose family ring this is?” Twice the sun rose and no toll knew, but on the third day, one troll came and he said “that is the house of Danthor,” and Danthor was a mighty house, but it had dwindled and now just one remained. She was a woman and she came later on the third day and when it was known she was the house of Danthor, the ring was given to her.
”My father’s ring,” she said, “the Troll of Five Bridges.”
”The Troll of Five Bridges!” cried my father.
”The Troll of Five Bridges!” cried everyone else and stomped, and hooted and hollered.
I looked over and started, “what’s wrong?” I asked Isaac.
”It’s beautiful,” said Isaac, and I realized he was crying and I started crying too, because it was beautiful, but it was also sad. The last of the house of Danthor.
”I just had a really funny thought,” said Ewan on the the last day before Samkoma.
”What?” I asked.
”It’s going to be the quietest night on social media ever.” I started laughing, he started laughing. We laughed till our bellies hurt.
The night of Samkoma was dry and clear. You could trace a thousand potatoes in the night sky. Isaac arrived early, carying a dish I had never seen before.
”What’s that?” I asked.
”Potato kugel.”
”Potato what?”
”Kugel. You’ll like it. Everytone likes kugel.” I peered into the dish. It did look good. Well of course it did. It was made out of potatoes. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and there was a second human. A short girl with purple hair, green eyes, a lip piercing, wearing overalls. I peered at her closely. She held up a piece of paper. I recognized my writing. One score days.
”Did you paint the Samkoma?”
”Yes,” she said, “ or I guess I did? This is a Samkoma? I thought the best way to send a Troll a message was under a bridge.” She was blushing.
”Haha,” said Ewan, “well, we’ve modernized a bit.” She looked confused.
”You know,” said Isaac cheerfully, “like a twitter troll.” She looked surprised, and then giggled. Then she reached into her bag. “I brought you this,” it was the scroll. I held it against my chest.
”Thank you.”
A hush fell around the whole trailer park as the moment approached. We piled the moss high on the stone in the center of the courtyard. A long stick was brought, a fire lit on the end of it to make a torch.
Ewan handed me the stick.
”Me?” I asked.
”Something that is not between here and there. Something that is ours,” said Ewan.
I lit the moss, it burst into green flame, lighting up the courtyard. I raised the stick high and yelled with all my heart, SAMKOMA!