Light on the Page

Previously in Henkal and Jonas: the two boys discuss their ambitions – one to be a great scholar of civilization, the other to be a zookeeper. Henkal promises to help his less-bright friend but also prepares to sit his own exam the next day…

Chapter Two

“I’m going to the town tomorrow!” said Henkal impressively before the two boys parted. “Is it long?” asked Jonas, who had never been out of the village. “It’s easy,” answered Henkal. “Once you’ve left the village you just keep going till you reach the canal. The canal goes right into town. All I have to do is remember the bridges. There are six of them. After the sixth I have to turn right and go on up to the university.” “Six bridges,” repeated Jonas. “That’s right. And there are six days for doing the exam. You can do it on any of those days. I’m doing it on the first.” “Six bridges and six days,” chanted Jonas. And the two boys took leave of each other with the words ringing in their ears.

The next day Henkal set off bright and early, his head full of learning and his feet eager to take him into the future. It was grand to be out of the village! He thought of many things as he went – of stars and of cities, of governments and of works of art – and his feet ate up the miles. In no time at all he reached the canal and set his head straight towards the town.

Before very long he saw the first bridge, blue and low on the horizon. As he grew closer he saw a figure coming towards him. The figure looked familiar. The way the arms floated in the air as if they had a mind of their own was unmistakable. It was Jonas.

“Jonas, what are you doing here!?” cried Henkal as he approached the bridge. “Oh Henkal,” said his friend, “I had things in my mind and I couldn’t sleep. I came out early and ended up here.” He looked round. “The first bridge.” “It is that,” said Henkal. “What did you have in your mind?” “It was something else my uncle said. I couldn’t remember exactly.” “About being a zookeeper?” “Yes. I tried to write it down. He helped me. But I don’t know what it means. Henkal could you tell me?”

Jonas took out another scrap of paper and passed it to his friend. Henkal opened it and studied the indecipherable scrawl he found there. After a minute the hieroglyphs began to make sense. “Jonas,” he said, “I think this is about your entrance test. It’s what you have to do. It says,” – Henkal peered more closely – “write an essay on your chosen subject.” “Yes, that’s it!” exclaimed Jonas excitedly. “Tell me what that means.” “It means,” said Henkal, looking at his friend over the top of an invisible pair of glasses, “that you will have to write about something you understand very well. Something you know about, that you would choose to write an essay on. Something to do with zoos, I suppose, and what you find in them.”

“Snakes!” shouted Jonas immediately. “I’d write about snakes.” “Do you know about snakes?” asked Henkal in surprise. “Yes,” went on Jonas. “Henkal, when you’re in school I go out into the desert. I’ve made friends with all the snakes. I know what they do, what color they are and what they like!” “Jonas, are you very careful when you’re out with those snakes?” “Yes,” said Jonas. “I pick them up all the time. They don’t hurt me. I know what they want.” “How do you know what a snake wants?” asked Henkal. “I don’t know. I just do. I understand them and they understand me.”

Henkal thought for a minute. “Jonas,” he said, “snakes can kill you. But for some reason I believe you. Only it’s not enough to tell the zookeepers you know what snakes want. You have to put it in a way that will make them think that someone’s taught you properly about snakes.”

Henkal looked at the bridge and he looked at his friend’s warm smile. “Jonas,” he began, “I’ll help you get your thoughts together. Here – I’ve got some paper. You tell me exactly what you know about snakes and what they want, and I’ll write it down for you in the way the zookeepers will want to hear it.”

And the two boys sat down there and then at the side of the bridge and discussed everything Jonas would need to write in his essay about snakes. Many hours later they finished their work and Henkal was satisfied. “Jonas,” he announced, “I’ll go in to the university tomorrow.”

The night passed slowly for Henkal as he thought of all the things he would have to write in his own scholarship exam. But after every great thought the same strange thing happened – the face of Jonas appeared in his mind, golden and smiling, with the corner of the lips tightened a little by anxiety. This made Henkal uncomfortable – his mattress felt lumpy and he kept turning over.

When morning came the warm sun made Henkal jump up. He had nearly overslept. He wasted no time and hit the road with a piece of bread in his hands. The same route led him from the village to the canal. He reached the first bridge. The water made cooling reflections which rippled on the underside. Henkal thought again of the great things lying before him: the discoveries, the travel, the noble prize. Soon he caught sight of the second bridge, shimmering like a mirage in the distance. There was someone looking down over the bridge, arms dangling. Henkal caught his breath. It was Jonas. It must be. No one else would hang like that, as if waiting for nothing.

Henkal considered. He could go back and find another road. He could branch off into the country and hope to find his way round the bridge. But he thought, ‘a friend is a friend’ – how could he do that? Jonas saw him and came down.

“I thought I might walk with you a little bit,” said Jonas when they finally met. “Aha,” said Henkal. The two boys walked side by side a short way but the bridge seemed to keep pulling them back. “Tell me what you’re really here for,” demanded Henkal at last. “Well,” answered Jonas slowly, “I’ve got another message from my uncle here. I forgot about it.” “Is it about the same thing?” asked Henkal. “Yes,” said Jonas, “it’s about the zoo.” “Well, I’d better have a look,” sighed Henkal.

Civilization seemed to be growing smaller and the zoo larger by the minute. Henkal unfolded the piece of paper. This time the writing was in the uncle’s own hand. Henkal read it and handed it back to his friend. “What does it mean?” asked Jonas. “It means nothing good,” replied Henkal. He repeated the words from memory: “Oral presentation on an animal of your choice.” “Yes,” puzzled Jonas. “That means…” “That means you have to stand up, probably in front of all the zookeepers, and talk to them clearly, with examples, about an animal. A type of animal, that is, not one animal.”

Jonas pondered. “I know the bit about the animal,” he said. “I thought about donkeys.” “Donkeys? I don’t know, Jonas, I don’t know. First of all snakes and then donkeys. The zookeepers might think you’re a bit– a bit–” “What, Henkal?” Henkal had been going to say childish but he changed his mind. “A bit wise to choose something you know about,” he said instead. “That’s a good thing. You do know about donkeys, don’t you?” “I do,” said Jonas, “I know everything about them. I know what donkeys want and what they don’t want. The men in the fields don’t really know. When the donkey does the wrong thing they beat it to make it go back. But I know what the donkey’s thinking before it does it. If only they’d let me speak to it I could make their work much easier!”

“Yes,” agreed Henkal, quite interested despite himself. “But it’s a big job to speak to the zookeepers and make it sound as if you really know. I tell you what, Jonas, I’ll help you one more time. But you really have to pay attention and practise. Can you do that?” “Oh yes!” replied Jonas eagerly. “Thank you, Henkal!”

“Tomorrow,” murmured Henkal under his breath. “Tomorrow.”

“Jonas, that has to be everything now,” said Henkal before the two boys left each other that evening. “I’ve got my own exam to think about.” “I know, Henkal.” “Will you be ready?” “I will.” “When is your test, Jonas?” “In four days.” “Well, that should be enough time to be ready.” “Yes, Henkal.”

Henkal slept with his clothes on that night and was on the road in the morning almost before he was awake. In his twilight state he thought of bridges, of civilizations and – of Jonas. He couldn’t help himself. He really wanted to pass the entrance test – no, wait – the scholarship exam. Which was it? Donkeys and snakes were taking the place of art and government.

He wasn’t surprised and – although he wouldn’t admit it to himself – he was even a little bit pleased when he found Jonas behind the pillar of the third bridge. It was becoming a daily feature.

“Alright, Jonas,” he began, “I’ve got three more days to do the exam. Anything can happen in that time. This had better be important.” “It’s nothing, Henkal. It’s just something else my uncle said. My mother remembered it. It’s a word. She told me so I’d remember. What was it again? Hab-hab-habi-habitat. That was it!” “Habitat?” “Yes. Questions and answers. What does that mean?” “Well, Jonas, I think it means that you’ll have a question and answer session with the zookeepers on the habitat of animals. That means where they live, what they find to eat, what’s the weather like and things like that. How they fit in to it. What do you think of that?” “Oh,” said Jonas. “Right!” said Henkal. “Third bridge, third day – I don’t think I’ll ever get there. Here – I have pen and paper again. We’ll write down everything we can about habitats. I’ll be the zookeepers asking questions and you can be you answering. Ok?” “Yes, Henkal.”

The day passed. Henkal grew quite warm being the zookeepers. Jonas constantly disarmed him by saying what the animals wanted. It was clear his friend knew them all in some mysterious way – it was almost as if he could speak their language. But Henkal had to make it sound intelligent. He hardly noticed how much he had slipped into Jonas’ world.

The next day Henkal met Jonas at the fourth bridge almost as if they had a pre-arranged assignation. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked. “Oh, no, Henkal, it just seems to happen!” And, mysteriously, they met at the fifth bridge, as well, the following day. They covered nutrition – what the animals ate. Jonas was in no doubt about that but Henkal was at pains to make it sound scientific. And on the fifth day they reviewed everything they had discussed so far.

“Now!” declared Henkal finally. “We’re ready. Nothing can possibly go wrong!” “No, Henkal. Thank you.” “You go home and get some good sleep tonight. I will too. Tomorrow’s a very important day – for both of us.”

(That concludes Chapter Two. Keep following Light on the Page to find out what happens to the two boys on the sixth day – the day of the exam and the test…)

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

Light on the Page is going to take a slightly different turn today and in the next few days. I hope you’ll be happy to listen. I’d like to tell you a story…

Henkal and Jonas

Chapter One

Once there lived two boys in a place not unlike this but at the same time as different as it could possibly be. The boys were quite the same to look at but at the same time they were as different as it is possible to be. They were called Henkal and Jonas. Henkal was a hair’s breadth taller than Jonas and Jonas was a finger’s width wider than Henkal. They lived at the edge of a desert in a country that was very hot in the sunlight and very cold in the moonlight.

Here’s how they were different. Henkal was very smart, very smart indeed. He knew the names of everything under the sun and when the moon shone he knew the names of all the stars as well. Nothing was too difficult for him. Jonas, on the other hand, knew the names of almost nothing at all, but he loved what things did. He loved the way things moved, what they said in their movements, and Jonas knew how to reply to them even if they didn’t speak in words.

Henkal and Jonas were good friends, and in that part of the day when the sun is going down and the desert starts to sing, they would meet and look for things to do.

One night, when the sun had gone down, Henkal looked up into the deep blue night sky, where the golden stars were just beginning to come out of their hidden places, and he said, “Jonas, do you know the stars used to be great people who had fights and adventures and who understood how to turn stones into mountains?” And Henkal went on and told Jonas the names of some of these people and what they had done. Jonas listened till his eyes grew as wide as the sky itself and when his friend had finished he looked up at him beaming with admiration.

On another day the two friends met before the sun had gone down. Jonas pointed to a particular stone and he said, “I know what’s under there.” “What is it?” asked Henkal. Jonas went over to the stone and lifted it slightly. A fierce-looking scorpion, unhappy at being disturbed, jumped out. “Don’t go too near to that, Jonas,” advised Henkal. “It’s dangerous.” “Not to me,” replied the other boy. He squatted down beside the scorpion and took a little stick from his pocket. The scorpion debated which way to go. Jonas put his hand near to the scorpion and pointed the stick towards the ground. “I’d keep your hand away from that,” said Henkal. “Look,” said Jonas. Henkal came closer. The scorpion was looking at the stick. Suddenly Jonas gave the stick a tiny shiver. No one would have noticed it except Henkal. The scorpion ran round to the other side of the stick, squared up to it, and looked at it again. Jonas shivered the stick a second time. The scorpion ran right round to where it had started. “That’s very clever,” said Henkal. “Very clever indeed.” And he really meant it.

One day, when Henkal and Jonas were about twelve years old, they met in the evening as usual. Henkal had a particularly serious look on his face, which made Jonas afraid. “I’ve something important to say,” said Henkal. A shadow fell over his friend. “I’m going to the town,” went on Henkal. “I’m going to sit an exam for a scholarship.” Jonas had no idea what any of this meant. Why sit an exam when you could stand? What was an exam anyway? What could a scholarship be? Did it sail on the sea? “If I pass,” continued Henkal, “They’ll take me into the university. I’m going to study civilization. I want to know everything about people and the way they live, how they make their cities and their governments and their works of art.” All this made Jonas feel cold. “But you know it already!” he objected. Henkal looked down at him with a strange light shining in his face. “But I don’t know it really!” he said vehemently. “I want to know everything. Oh Jonas, I’ve a great dream in my head! I want to learn and become a professor and teach people and travel the world and discover things! And – and – I want to win a noble prize.” “What’s that?” asked Jonas, astonished at his friend’s passion. “It’s what you get when you’re noble at something,” came the answer. “What’s noble?” “It means when you’re the best you possibly can be at what you do.” Jonas had a feeling he knew what that meant, although everything else might have been spoken by the people in the stars for all the sense it made to him.

The two boys’ faces were lit by the yellowish light of the moon. But they wore very different expressions. Henkal’s was radiant with enthusiasm; Jonas’ face appeared perplexed and anxious.

“Henkal,” started Jonas after a long pause, “does that mean you’re going to go away?” “Yes it does,” replied the boy who was a hair’s breadth taller. A tear formed in Jonas’ eye. “But I’ll come back again whenever I can. I’ll still see you, Jonas!”

Jonas cupped his face with his hands and looked into the sand. After a minute he looked up and his face was so changed that Henkal wondered if it was really his old friend sitting here. “Henkal,” said Jonas, “I want to do something too.” “You do?” said Henkal with surprise. “What’s that?” “I want to be a zookeeper.” Henkal gaped. “A zookeeper!? What do you know about that? “Well, every week my mother’s brother comes and has dinner with us. He works in the zoo and he’s told me all about it. I just know I want to be a zookeeper!” Jonas’ eyes shone. “Well, Jonas,” spoke Henkal very slowly, “I had no idea you wanted to do anything away from here. Will your uncle get you in to it?” “Well, he said it’s not that easy. He said I have to do something. Here – he wrote it down for me.”

Jonas took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to his friend. Henkal opened it up, took in the first two words and felt his heart sink. “Entrance test,” he read. “Yes,” said Jonas, “that’s it. Tell me what that means again.” “Well,” said Henkal, “it says here that to get into the zoo and become a zookeeper you have to pass a test. That means you have to answer questions and know things. Jonas, do you think you can do that?”

The truth was that Jonas had never been to school. He wasn’t considered bright enough. “I don’t know,” answered Jonas at last. “All I know is I want to be a zookeeper. “Henkal!” he went on in a burst of excitement. “I can do it! If you will help me!”

Henkal eyed his friend with doubtful amazement. “Alright,” he said. “I see how much it means to you. I’ll help you.”

Chapter One ends there. Please return to Light on the Page to know exactly how Henkal pursued his dream of  learning about civilization and Jonas pressed ahead in his desire to be a zookeeper.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

“Do I rise or am I lifted?” is the question the plant must ask eternally of the sun. In reply the sun just shines. And the plant goes on, “If I put my roots down further, will I ever learn how to fly or set my leaves free?”

The light that shines within me poses a question:   “Why do you try to hold to the earth when you were given wings with which to rise up?” And where the plant receives its reply in the sun’s shining, I know I can give my answer by using what I have been given to return to the kingdom which really gave me my birth.

And again, the very grass I walk on cries out for the light of the sun and fills the air with its seed. It will not say, “I might”, but every part of its being declares, “I need”. And something gives voice in my blood saying that I must yield to air and air to me. My wings will beat against the world’s flood. And I myself will raise my needs to what I know I have to be.

Birth

Do I rise or am I lifted? the plant

asks of the sun, but the sun only shines.

If I put my roots down further, I can’t

learn how to fly or free my topmost vines.

The light that shines within me asks me why

I try to hold forever to the earth,

when I was given wings with which to fly

and come back to the kingdom of my birth?

Needs

The grass itself I walk on cries for light

and fills the air with all its living seed.

You never hear its voice declare, ‘I might’,

but root and stem and leaf speak out, ‘I need’.

Yet something in me voices in my blood

that I must yield to air, and air to me.

As wings will beat against the world’s flood,

I’ll raise my needs to what I have to be.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

The true world is more than the one we see and move about in. Its dimensions are those of the soul, which are measured in terms of happiness, of love and of beauty. These give it depth and width and height in a true sense. Likewise the world that I am myself, is open to me if I expand into it, by means of those wings my soul was given at the beginning of its journey. If I can discover again the softness of those wings, as soft as the wool of a lamb in spring, I will find the path through light to where I began.

Nothing in the use of those wings would disturb the flow of air or the pattern of light on the earth below. New life depends on those things. But still I could choose a path which light and air, in their spiritual forms, had made outside of time. And there I could fold my wings to create the shade we need to understand things in their prime.

Wings

The true world is more than the one we see –

its width is the happiness of the soul,

its depth is love, which binds and then sets free,

its height that beauty which the stars unroll.

If I could show the true world that I am,

you’d see height and depth and width in a span

of wings as soft as the wool as a lamb

and a path through light to where I began.

Prime

And nothing in my flying would disturb

the pattern of the light on earth below,

and nothing in my span of wings would curb

the flow of air to where new life must grow.

But I would choose a path which light had made

and which the wind discovered outside time,

and there with folded wings create the shade

we need to understand things in their prime.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

The oldest part of us is the physical. It was the first to be made and has waited longest for rebirth. The soul is younger. No one would claim it has the perfection of the physical. We have such a long way to go! And when the physical is reborn – right down to the finest molecular structure – it will sing its name again where angel voices ring! I can see us walking, in the first light of morning. I can see the wavering gloom, where night gives way to daylight. And I can see our faces in that early light. First yours and then mine, lit up by the word that’s carried on the dawn, that the one who’s lain longest, the physical part of us, is the first to be heard in the chorus of rebirth.

The first glass of life is still pure. It tastes sweet, it has everything we need in it. It holds the flavour of paradise. But with age comes knowledge, and the second glass seems different, mixed with fruits of decay. Then the force of love in us must turn to its partner and search in her face for the brightness that life once held. Indeed, there are lines and caverns etched in the land. We can walk there again in the early morning, walk there without fail. One hand is warm, the hand which holds its partner’s. The other is cold. Then it will happen that the higher love, which spelt out its name in the night, will share with us, quite without hands, life’s golden flame.

You have to release your life to the spiritual again, to turn the horse free from the stable. It has to feed on the open prairie, to feel the sun on its body, the wind in its mane. Only then can you catch up with the power of time, and know how to be. And again, you and I, we can walk at daybreak and taste the first light. We can see how the shadows and moon-lines take flight. There is a power that gives back to us the choice of day. The power of love, which goes among us. Life then has its freedom – to gallop or to stay.

Heard

But the oldest life was first to the door –

a million years in the shaping, it sprang

like a new song to ancient lips once more

and hymned its name where angel voices rang.

And the light of the morning was as blue as the tomb

when our souls went out walking in wavering gloom,

and your face, first, then mine, was lit by the word

that the one who’d lain longest was first to be heard.

Flame

And when you have downed the first glass of life,

the second seems mixed with fruits of decay.

Then love in love’s name will turn to his wife

to search for the brightness that started the day.

Where the lines and caverns are etched in the land,

we will walk without fail, with one warm, one cold hand,

and the love which in night had last spelt out its name

will then share with us, handlessly, life’s golden flame.

Gallop or Stay

I turned the horse from his stable again

to feed on the prairie, open and free.

The sun flanked his body, the wind his mane,

he caught up with time, and knew how to be.

You and I at the daybreak have tasted the light,

we have seen how the shadows and moon-lines take flight.

And now love is among us and gives us the day,

so that life in its freedom can gallop or stay.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.