Stories From the Old Attic

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By the time she reached this decision, the queen was truly on her
deathbed, so she called the king to her and sat up weakly. "My
king," she began, "I have a matter to disclose to you that has
burdened my heart for many years. It concerns the prince." And
here she hesitated for a few moments. The king waited in silence.
"You," she continued, "are not his father."

The king, immediately concluding that the sanctity of his marriage
bed had been violated, exploded into a rage that would likely have
ended the queen's suffering prematurely had she not added as loudly
as she could, "And I am not his mother." The king then, though
still in shock, calmed himself enough to hear her explanation of the
death of their natural son and her subterfuge in adopting the child
who was now the prince. The king at first gave little credit to
this tale, thinking that the queen was either delirious or scheming
against him and his beloved son in some way. But he sent attendants
to the holy order to discover the truth. They soon returned with the
matron of the house and the woman who had nursed the prince as a baby.

"If what the queen tells me is true," said the king, "I have no
happiness, no reason to live. For the only thing I love has been
taken away."

The matron from the holy order solemnly attested to the truth of the
queen's story. "The prince was indeed the baby given us by the
woodcutter so many years ago," she said. As the king felt a wave of
despair washing over him, the nurse from the holy order came forward
and spoke.

"With all deference to my Lady and to her majesty," she said, "the
queen is only half correct. For the child was indeed not hers, but
he is the king's son." She then pulled back the cowl of her robes,
took down her hair and showed the king her face. Even through the
ravages of two decades, the king could still clearly see the face of
his daughter's lady in waiting, his lover who had borne his child
without his knowledge so many years ago. The lady briefly explained
what had happened then and how she had immediately recognized the
child when the woodcutter brought it to the holy house.

"You willingly gave me your son, even though I was evil?" the king
asked in disbelief.

"I loved you," the lady in waiting said simply. "And I loved my
son--our son--more."

When he realized how unjust and hypocritical he had been toward the
lady, the princess, and the queen, the king was so overwhelmed with
shame and humiliation that he fell to his knees and began pulling on
his hair and sobbing loudly. His crying was the only sound in the
room until the queen spoke.

"I forgive you, my husband and my king," she said. "And I love you."

"You love me?" the king asked, rising and turning to her with
astonishment. "You love me after I have banished your daughter and
proven unfaithful to you?" But there was no answer, for the queen
had already closed her eyes for the last time.

The king stood as one who had been stunned. He could not speak or
think. As he sat down in a stupor at the foot of the queen's bed,
the prince suddenly spoke. "I have found a mother today," he said.
"I must now find a sister, too. I shall leave immediately in
search of her."

"No!" the king yelled, standing up. But then, recollecting himself,
he said, "No, you're right. You must go from me and find your sister."

In the days to come, as the king sat alone in his richly tapestried
rooms, he had many hours to think over the events that had formed
his life and to ask himself whether there was not in love some
quality that can be shown only in sacrifice, not in advantage; only
in surrender, and not in triumph.

The Fly and the Elephant

A fly sat on an elephant's back. When the elephant shuffled down a
dirt road, the fly said, "What a dust we are making!" When the
elephant trudged knee-deep in the mud, the fly said, "How heavy
we are!"

The Man Who Talked Backwards

There was once a bizarre old philosopher who always seemed to say
the opposite of what those who sought his advice expected. So
contrary were his words that he was known as The Man Who Talked
Backwards. His blessing on those he loved was, "May you have
difficulty in this life," and his bitterest curse on his enemies
was, "May your life pass without a single sorrow." Whenever someone
asked him what course of learning to undertake in order to increase
his knowledge, the philosopher would reply, "If you want to learn
something, become a teacher." Whenever some grateful hearer would
ask how he could repay the philosopher for his advice, he would
always answer, "The best way to repay a debt to me is to cancel a
debt owed to you."

The Man Who Talked Backwards reversed even the most common of
proverbs. Instead of repeating that "to love is to be patient," he
would always quote, "To be patient is to love." Rather than noting
that "seeing is believing," he would say, "Believing is seeing."
For, he explained, what you believe controls what you see.

A young woman once asked him, "What can I do to make someone my
friend? Shall I oil my skin or brush my hair?"

"Rather you should oil the skin and brush the hair of the one you
like," answered the philosopher.

Another day a young scholar approached The Man Who Talked Backwards
and asked him what books he should read, "For," the student said, "I
realize that the more I read the more I will know."

"You will indeed learn something by reading," answered the
philosopher, "but the more you read the less you will know. That is
what makes reading of value."

"But how shall I know what beliefs I should hold in order to live
the best life?" the young scholar asked.

"You think that your beliefs shape your actions," replied the
philosopher, "but I tell you, it is your actions that shape
your beliefs."

One day a woman came to the Man Who Talked Backwards for advice.
"I know," she said, "that 'to live is to choose,' so I have come
here to discover how I might fix my choices to live a fuller, more
productive life."

"The better saying," said the philosopher, "is that 'to choose is to
live.' But if you want to live life more fully, do less."

"Do less?" the woman asked with surprise. "But I'm an achiever. I
thrive on accomplishment."

"Perhaps you have already diluted your life into meaninglessness,"
suggested the philosopher.

"But I'm easily bored," said the woman.

"I am truly sorry," said the philosopher. "Did you ever seek help
for yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"For your infirmity of being bored."

"My infirmity?" asked the woman, again surprised.

"Ah," said the philosopher, "You attribute your boredom to others or
to external circumstances."

"Well, of course," she said.

"In that case, I am sorry for your two infirmities."

"But I want to get as much out of life as I can," the woman
protested. "You philosophers all say that one's life does not
consist in material things because they disappear, but what then can
I gain that I can keep?"

"The only thing that you can really keep--and keep forever--is what
you give away," said the philosopher.

Late one afternoon a blunt young man came up to The Man Who Talked
Backwards and asked him, "Now that you are old and about to drop
dead, do you look forward to death or fear it--or perhaps I should
ask, Did you live a good life or a bad one?"

"It is not one's life that determines his view of death," replied the
philosopher, "but one's view of death that determines how he lives."

"So you are ready to end your life?" asked the blunt young man.

"Death is not an end to life, as you suppose," said the philosopher.
"This world is but a mirror that reverses everything as it reflects
it. Death therefore is merely the shattering of a mirror."

"Your mirror already has a large crack in it," said the blunt young
man, with a laugh.

"Thank you," said the philosopher.

The Clue

In every civilization, someone has to put up the signs that guide us
on our way. --Proverb

Sometimes they had to drill the post holes up on Rocky Bluff--and it
was a tough dig, what with the rocks and the hardness of the soil.
They came home plenty tired and dirty on those days. Other times
they drilled the holes down in Sandy Meadow, where the augur slipped
in smoothly, quickly, and easily. They all praised the meadow and
said how great it was to get an assignment to put up some signs
there. And yet, when they told the stories of their lives--the
stories that animated their faces and brightened their eyes--they
always seemed to be speaking of Rocky Bluff.

An Analogy

As he clung to the sheer face of the rock, he could hear in his mind
the voice of his climbing instructor: "If you make even a slight
mistake, you will die instantly." He knew then that he need not
debate whether to be attentive in his climb. And he was glad also
that God is like a rock only in his steadfastness.

About the Author

Robert Harris was born in Los Angeles, California in 1950. He is
currently (1995) an English professor at Southern California
College in Costa Mesa, California. He lives in Costa Mesa with
his wife, Rita.

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