A long time ago there lived a certain donkey who was the property of a trader who dealt in salt. The donkey was patient and enduring – he carried vast loads without complaint. He waited only for the end of each day when he could be alone with his dreams. Then, by night, he filled himself not with food but with thoughts of the world above the earth – he felt himself flying among creatures which had never lived on the ground: strange, fantastical, beautiful shapes whose wings only sometimes brushed the soil. These beings had never tasted salt, the donkey was sure, and he wanted to be one of them – to grow true wings of his own.

The salt grew heavier and heavier. The trader bought it from desert nomads who in turn bartered for it from a slave kingdom in the south. Nothing was good about it, except that it seasoned the meat of soldiers who were garrisoned in the town and who longed for the shaded avenues of their home. The donkey knew that one more sack on his back would break his spine. The trader contemplated bringing more but saw that the donkey would not reach town in time for him to do his rounds of the wealthy houses. Everything was calculated to within a grain of breaking point.

Although he had been doing the same work for many months since he had grown to his full size the donkey was still described as ‘the ass’s colt’, as if he were just a foal or a newcomer to the stable. Generally the older animals who could not work any more went for meat but this donkey’s mother stayed in a shed in the garden. The trader’s daughter rode on her back every day and the good-natured animal listened to the birds singing in the evening. Nobody, man, woman or child, had ever ridden the colt himself.

The donkey couldn’t be sure if time was speeding up or slowing down. There was so much business to do in town. The work never stopped, the roads were dusty and dry; each day was too short to do as much as the trader wanted to do; each day stretched like a hurried eternity before the donkey. He wanted the trader to sell as much as he could because then his load would be lighter. But most of all he wanted to stop and dream of the golden creatures flying in the sun.

His mother told him this: “Son, dreams are like butterflies – they mean much more than what they seem to be. But only the butterfly knows what its life is for. Will a donkey ever fly? Let me tell you this – the soldiers you take salt to must suffer their lives; the rich people you visit will lose their sons and daughters like anyone else. The nomads are cursed by freedom and the slaves die other people’s deaths for them. Look and see. If you are lucky you will carry a trader’s daughter in a pretty courtyard and listen to the birds in the evening. If you are lucky your back will not break. Listen to me. Once there was a donkey just like yourself who worked like a slave. But he looked at people as only a donkey can. He saw that their own lives made them slaves of themselves. They could not carry their burdens. He alone was able to bear the weight on his back and at the same time to see how people suffered. He endured beatings and curses and hunger. One day he looked down at his hoofs and saw that a little rim of gold, like the edge of the sun, had formed on each foot. No man could see that, he knew. And as he drank he saw the reflection of his tongue in the trough. It was coated in silver, like the light of the moon. His master would never know it. And now when he worked he felt his spirit inside lifting up with every step. Wherever he went he spoke, in his own words, the sorrow he saw. Son, is this not flying? Can a donkey not be equal to a butterfly and know its own life? Is a dream not what you become with your life?”

The donkey listened and looked after this. Sure enough the nomads, the slaves, the soldiers and the rich people suffered and fell more than he did himself. He saw this now. Their lives were like disguises for their souls. Wealth and strength, freedom and servitude meant very little. Had they dreamed truly? Had they become what they dreamed? The donkey felt sorry for people. And every day he looked at his hoofs, and at the reflection of his tongue in the trough, to see what was forming there.

One day the donkey stood by the well while the trader drank. There was a feast coming up and he wanted to make sure every house in town had all the salt it needed. The donkey knew what that meant for him. The trader went inside. Suddenly two men appeared as if from nowhere.

“This is the one,” said the first man, looking at the colt. “We’ll take him now.”

“We should tell someone,” said the second man. He looked inside the gate.

“There’s no time,” replied the first. “We need to go.”

At that moment the trader walked out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, when he saw the two men preparing to lead his donkey away.

“The master sent us,” replied the man.

“The master?”

“Yes, you know who I mean. He’s returning to the city and means to ride in.”

“I know your master,” pondered the trader. “He spoke to my daughter. She’s never forgotten it. I need this animal for work today. But I have another in the back. She’s his mother and very sweet tempered. She would do the job well.”

“No,” answered the second man, “he specifically asked for the colt we would find tied to the gate. The colt with the sun in his feet and the moon on his tongue. I don’t know what that means.”

The trader looked at the donkey. The words affected him for some reason.

“It might be this is the right one,” he said slowly. “Take him then. For the sake of my daughter you might as well take the old one too. But bring them back safely. You know what they are planning to do to your master.”

He went to the shed in the courtyard and led out the colt’s aged mother. The men set off briskly with the ass and her colt behind them. Once, when they stopped for a moment, the old donkey said to her son, “This is the day when you will bear the world upon your back.” The colt could not think what she meant. He only imagined that he would be expected to carry a greater load than ever.

A group of men and women were waiting at the city gates. To the donkey’s eye they seemed different to the nomads and traders, the merchants and the soldiers. The donkey could not find a hint of slavery about them and with his practised eye he could tell they were able to carry a burden if they had to.

In the middle of the group there was one man in particular who had a special lightness about him. The donkey could see that this man carried all his own weight in an effortless kind of way. The man looked at the mother and son, the ass and her colt in such a way that the colt felt he had all the evenings of his life to spend listening to the birds.

“This one has completed her work,” said the man, stroking the older donkey. He turned to the colt. “This fellow is the one with the sun in his hoofs and the moon on his tongue.” He patted the colt, who felt a blissful sensation coming over him. “No human soul has ridden this beast before,” went on the man, “but he knows how to carry the world!”

The man climbed up onto the colt’s back. The colt felt as if all the salt he had ever carried had been shifted away. If tears could have fallen from his eyes they would have. Is this what it meant to carry the world? If it was then he would gladly do it every day of his life!

Now all the people in the group set off in procession through the town. The colt walked in the middle with the man on his back. Many people came to greet them. The donkey knew them – where they came from and what pains they suffered. The people shouted and threw down branches in front of them as they passed. And each branch was like a heavy weight being lifted.

Suddenly the donkey had the strangest sensation. Instead of there being a burden on his back he felt he was carrying all his dreams: the creatures who lived above the ground; the fantastical, beautiful shapes whose wings hardly brushed the soil. They were all there – he was carrying them all. He was part of their world and would never be separated from them again.

Now when they reached the temple the man climbed down. He stroked and patted the colt in thanks. He turned to the colt’s mother and thanked her for bringing her son into the world and making this journey possible. “You are the very soul of wisdom!” he said. In that moment the donkey felt that every donkey who had ever walked on the earth was there with them, and all their burdens slipped away. He saw that slaves, nomads, merchants and soldiers alike would one day be released from the loads they were forced to carry.

The man disappeared into the temple. The donkey and the mother were returned to the trader’s yard where they resumed their normal life. The greatest feast of the year was nearly upon them and the town was crowded. The donkey and the trader had work to do. But in his own mind the ass’s colt was preparing for a completely different feast.

It came five days later. A thick darkness fell over the town during the day. The birds stopped singing. The colt’s mother stood very still indeed. The donkey felt his back tingling. He looked down and the only thing he could see in the darkness was the light coming from the rims of gold on his hoofs. He found the trough and peered into the still water. A silvery, moonlike glimmer reflected from his tongue.

The darkness passed and the world was changed. An invisible feast had taken place even while the townspeople hurried to prepare for their usual one. The donkey knew that nothing he carried would ever feel the same again.

Two days later a strange thing happened to his dreams. Among all the beautiful, flying creatures he so much wanted to join, the donkey saw the figure and face of the man he had carried. From that point on he knew that the world he lived in and the world of his dreams would be one and the same.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

©landar 2011. All rights reserved

It is with great pleasure that Light on the Page presents a new fairytale today. As ever in a story of this type there are various meanings to be found in it. In my experience, however, children are able to find any meaning that is neccessary. Therefore, it is my hope and wish that this tale might find its way to your children – if you are a parent, or teacher, or storyteller, or something else – and that the children might tell you what they think of it. Remember to tell them the name of the person who made the story, that is, your friend, Landar.

The Little Tablecloth (for A.W.)

Once there was a girl who lived in a faraway land with her mother and her sister and her brother. Their home was always happy and the sound of laughter was never far away. Every evening at six the mother brought out a tablecloth, all folded up, and set it on the table. Then she said, “Spread, little cloth, spread, and feed us all!” No sooner had she spoken the words than the tablecloth unfolded itself corner by corner and covered the whole table. And in the blink of an eye the table was spread with all kinds of  treasures: delicious things to eat and drink presented in beautiful dishes and cups. When the family had eaten and drunk their fill the mother would say, “Fold, little cloth, fold, let nothing remain,” and everything on the table would vanish as instantly as it had appeared. The wonderful cloth would fold itself again and the mother would return it to the cupboard. On no two days were the things on the cloth the same and the family never once thought of trying to keep the beautiful plates and cups.

One day when they had finished eating the mother said to the girl, “My daughter, the time has come when you must go out into the world and work.”

“Oh, where shall I go?” asked the girl, “and what shall I do?”

“I have arranged for you to go to a big house I know,” answered the mother. “They have a place for you there as a serving-girl to help look after the house.”

“But how will I manage without you, and without my sister and brother?” asked the girl.

“You must remember everything I have taught you,” said the mother. “You will go for seven years. And so that you will never be alone or without us, I will give you our little tablecloth to take with you. That way you will not forget your home. And after seven years you are to return home and bring back what they give you for your wages.”

Well, the girl set off on her way and the road was a long and weary one. It led her away from her beautiful bright country into a land where the trees were shrunken and the wind always blew. She asked her way on the road and after a time she came to a huge dark house which had all its windows closed up with shutters and curtains like faces which had never learned how to smile or laugh.

She knocked on the door and waited for what seemed like a very long time until a girl with a pinched-looking face let her in. This girl led her to a pantry under the stairs where the housekeeper was folding dish-towels. The housekeeper welcomed her with some sort of smile and then said, “These are your tasks: you will clean and polish the house as you are instructed each day. It is a very large house and each room must be done in just the right way. Report to me here in the morning and I will tell you where to start. That is all.” The girl with the pinched face then took the new arrival up to her room which was really no more that a cupboard.

When she was on her own at last the girl took out the little tablecloth she had brought with her. She placed it on the bed and said, “Spread, little cloth, spread,” but she did not say, “and feed us all” or “feed me” because she could not have eaten or drunk a single thing at that moment. But the cloth unfolded itself corner by corner and lay on the bed as if the sun itself had decided to take up residence in the room. The girl, however, cried and cried and her tears fell into the cloth like so many showers on that same sunny day.

Well, the following morning the girl arose at daybreak and presented herself at the pantry door for instructions. “Not a minute too soon,” observed the housekeeper. “Today you are to clean the main salon on the east passage. There are many precious objects and pictures in there which must not be damaged. You will beat the chairs till the dust flies then sweep up what falls to the floor. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the girl.

“Good. You will get what you need from the maids’ kitchen on the lower floor. Go there now. That is all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” repeated the girl and she set off sadly for the door to the lower floor.

When she came to the maids’ kitchen she found the girl with the pinched-looking face and several other girls there taking what they needed from cupboards. Each one had a small dull lamp which they carried on the crook of their arm. “What are those for?” asked the girl in a friendly way. The girl with the pinched face looked up at her sharply. “All the salons and chambers in this house are kept in darkness,” she said. “That way the precious things aren’t spoiled by the light. The maids take lamps with them but they are all used up and as you are the last one here you must do without.”

“How will I do my job?” questioned the girl.

“You must feel your way around. Go to the main dining-hall first. There you will find the master of the house. He holds all the keys in his hand. Tell him which room you are to work in and he will give you the right key.” And the girl with the pinched face skipped off without another glance at the new arrival.

Now the poor girl, still on her first morning in the house, went to find the main dining-hall. She tried to picture her mother’s shining face on the way. Quite soon she came to an enormous hall in the center of the house, with many passages and stairways leading off it. A huge table dominated the hall. At the far end of the table sat a stern-looking old man who held an enormous set of keys in his hand. With his other hand he signed papers which servants kept bringing in to him.

The girl crept up to him very nervously indeed. “Please, sir,” she began, ” I need a key.”

“Which key?” replied the old man without even looking down.

“The main salon in the east passage,” went on the girl.

The man removed a large leaden key from the ring as if he was used to doing it a hundred times a day.

“Thank you,” said the girl politely.

The man turned his gaze on her. His eyes were as leaden as the key. “You don’t need to say thank you,” he said, then he turned back to his papers as if she had never been there.

Now after a little bit of searching the girl found the room she was looking for, only it was pitch dark inside. How was she meant to clean if she couldn’t see what she was doing? She stumbled and fell repeatedly. She bumped into tables and chairs. And above all she was terrified of breaking any of the precious objects. At last she felt her way round enough to risk dusting and polishing. Whether or not anything shone and sparkled was another matter! She discovered the large armchairs and beat them as she had been told, at first a little nervously and then, to tell the truth, she let out some of her frustration on the fabric. She knew the dust was flying because she sneezed continuously. After the sweeping up – the best she could do – she realized how wide the room really was. It would take her hours! The poor girl worked well into the evening and came out very tired indeed!

Before she collapsed on her bed that night she took out her little tablecloth again and said, “Spread, little cloth, spread!” The golden tablecloth unfolded itself and shone like the sun once more. The girl cried many tears into it thinking of the happy laughter of her brother and sister and mother.

The next day she told the housekeeper of her problems. “Well,” said the housekeeper, “not everything is the way we would want it in this world. You must do what you can.” And for the second day the poor girl was denied a lamp to see by. Once more she fetched a key from the old man in the dining-hall and again she labored in the dark until the day was weary and old.

As she gazed into her beloved tablecloth that night – seeing in it all the fields and orchards and sunlit meadows of her home – she had an idea. The tablecloth itself was the brightest thing in that gloomy old house – why could she not take it with her in the morning and let the light that came from it brighten up the darkened rooms enough for her to see what she was doing. And with that idea settled in her mind she went to bed and fell asleep.

When morning came the girl from the faraway land rose quickly and went down to the maids’ kitchen. She went straight to the cupboard where the lamps were kept and studied them. Even if she had been allowed to she would not have taken one of those dull things now. Let those other girls keep them, she had something much better! She went to the housekeeper for her instructions and to the old man for the right key. When she reached the room – the seventh chamber down the west gallery – she brought out the precious tablecloth from underneath her apron. Its silken folds gave immediate comfort to her hands! Suddenly she heard the sound of high voices and running footsteps behind her. Before she had time to put her cloth away two children stood beside her. They were both well-dressed – one boy, one girl, and both about the same age as herself. The girl had strong, dark eyes, the boy had long lank fair hair.

“Who are you?” demanded the girl. “We haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes, who are you?” echoed the boy.

“Oh,” said the little maid, “I’m new here.” And she told them her name and where she came from.

“Well,” said the girl with the strong eyes, “we live here. We are the children of the house and everything here belongs to us.”

“Yes, it belongs to us,” repeated the boy as if he was unable to form a thought for himself.

“And how do you find it here?” came the next question.

“Well, it’s very dark in the rooms,” answered the girl.

“Not for us,” said the sister of the boy. “We have our own lights.”

“Yes we do,” parroted the boy. “Come in and see.”

They took out a key of their own and opened up the big chamber. When they were inside the sister and brother each took out a small lantern from a pouch they carried. The lanterns lit up by themselves.

“You see?” said the sister.

“You see?” said the brother.

“I do,” said the girl, who could not help feeling a bit annoyed by them.

“We go wherever we like,” went on the sister.

“Wherever,” came the echo, and to prove the point the boy and his sister walked about the room.

However, the girl who was new there noticed that the lanterns gave off a strange kind of light. Instead of spreading all around and brightening up the room, the lantern-light fell in a single bright spot wherever its carrier took it. In this way the children could only see one thing at a time instead of everything that was there.

Now the girl had been clutching the tablecloth under her arms but suddenly it slipped out. There came a tiny flash from one of the seams – it appeared and disappeared more swiftly than a flash of lightning but it seemed to have in it all the sunlight of another world.

“What was that?” asked the sister.

“What?” replied the girl, anxiously trying to hide her cloth.

“That light I saw.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the girl.

“You saw it , didn’t you?” said the sister to her brother.

“Saw what?” answered the boy.

“That funny light – it made me feel dizzy.”

“I didn’t see anything,” went on the boy. “But look – what’s that she’s got in her hands?”

The sister went up to the girl and shone her lantern on the cloth. “What’s that rag you’re holding,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” answered the girl.

“It looks like something to me,” said the sister and she grabbed the tablecloth.

“Oh no, please, it’s mine!” pleaded the girl.

“Everything in this house is ours,” repeated the sister.

“Yes, ours!” said the boy and together they pulled the cloth from her hands.

The sister shook it violently but the cloth refused to open. “Stupid thing!” she exclaimed. “I don’t like it. There’s something strange about it. I’m going to lock it away!”

And she marched out of the room with the cloth, her brother dancing along behind her. The poor girl was powerless to do anything. She followed them to the dining-hall where the sister took a heavy key from the old man’s keyring. They went straight to an old iron door which led to the cellar. There the sister and brother shut the beautiful tablecloth in a chest, locked the chest and returned upstairs triumphantly, slamming and locking the cellar door behind them.

Well, the poor girl was heartbroken and thought she had lost her mother and sister and her brother forever. Smothering her sobs she went back to the room and worked all day in the darkness. From now on there was no comfort for her and she had to use her own wits and everything she had learned from her mother as her guide and her light.

Much time passed. The sister and brother of the house frequently annoyed her with their questions and often pulled her away from her work, which got her into trouble. But when she was alone she realized she knew the house better than they did now because she had learned everything by herself in the darkness where they had not had to do anything.

One day she thought a strange thought to herself: “Why should I not open the shutters and the curtains in this room where I am working just for a minute? No one will know.” And she chose that very minute to carry out her plan. The shutters creaked as if they thirsted for a drop of oil and the curtains were like branches from a tree, they were so heavy. A thin, weary flash of sunlight came in from outside. The girl turned and faced the room. Why, nothing in there had been moved in hundreds of years! No hand had rearranged or prettified or altered anything! And what was so precious that it could not face the light, she wondered? The chairs were threadbare, the carpet was worn and looked tired of its own pattern. Not one table or picture or vase remembered how to shine! Was it for this that the light had to be kept out? Was this the reason why she had to labor in the dark every day like a miner in the deepest mine? She closed the shutters and the curtains again, sat down on the floor and thought about her tablecloth, glowing with all the light of home in the locked chest in the cellar.

The days rolled into months and the months into years. The girl knew every room like the back of her hand. She could glide through the house like a ship which followed the stars in the dark. And her seven years were nearly up. She felt her mother coming closer to her, and her sister and brother. She wondered what she could take back to them that would be of any use. And she made her mind up – she would take what she had brought with her, nothing more.

So on the last day of the seven years she went to the housekeeper as usual. The housekeeper gave her the instructions for the day then said, “At the end of the day come to me for your wages.” The girl cleaned and polished the final room as well as ever, all in the dark. When she was finished she presented herself at the pantry door again.

“Very well,” said the housekeeper with the same sort of smile she had employed on the first day, “you may choose one thing from the house to take with you in payment. The rest you have had in your board and lodging.”

“If you please, miss,” replied the girl, “I don’t wish anything from the house. All I want is my cloth back – it is mine and it belongs to me.”

“I doubt if that will be possible,” retorted the housekeeper. And no sooner had she said the words than the two children of the house – now seven years older – appeared at her back together with all the maids carrying their dull little lamps. The girl with the pinched-looking face was there too.

“She will not have it!” exclaimed the sister.

“She will not – not now, not ever!” echoed the brother.

“Then I will take it for myself!” cried the girl, exasperated by their stupidity. And she set off at a run for the dining-hall to find the old man with the keys.

“Stop her!” screamed the sister.

“Stop her now!” cried the brother.

And all the maids with the lamps and the brother and the sister chased after her, preventing her from going in the direction of the hall. The girl turned and went into a gallery of rooms on the lower floor. The whole company followed her. They were immediately plunged into darkness. The girl ran lightly from one room to the next, dodging all the chairs and furniture without needing to see them. But the maids and the sister and brother constantly bumped into things and fell over. They shrieked and screamed at each other to follow and catch her. The girl led them through all the adjoining rooms in the house and not once could they get near her, she knew her way so well in the dark.

At last she came out in the main dining-hall. She went up to the old man and said, “Please, sir, I need a key.”

“Which key?” he asked in his old way.

“The key to the cellar,” she replied, “and the key to the chest in the cellar too, if you please, sir.”

Without saying a word the old man removed the two keys from the ring and handed them to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked at her slowly with his leaden eyes. “You don’t need to say thank you.”

“But I want to,” replied the girl, and for the briefest of moments she thought the old man smiled.

She ran to the cellar just as the entourage of maids and brother and sister tumbled out of the last dark chamber.

“She’s nearly there!” cried the sister.

“Grab her!” roared the brother.

But the girl skipped past them and opened the cellar door before they could reach her. She hopped down the steps to the floor and opened the old chest. A wave of joy engulfed her: her tablecloth was still there! She set it on the ground and said, “Spread, little cloth, spread!” The cloth unfolded itself corner by corner and such a light came from it the whole cellar was filled with its splendor.

The maids and the sister and brother were dazzled by its light. They fell on the stairs and tumbled into each other on the floor. The housekeeper, who was with them now, cried out, “I am blinded, I am blinded, what shall I do?!”

And the girl could not help herself but had to reply, “Not everything is the way we would want it in this world. You must do what you can!”

She stepped around the maids with the dull lamps, over the girl with the pinched face, past the miserable housekeeper. They were powerless to stop her. The sister and the brother could not say they owned everything in the house now! She followed the familiar passage to the old man at the table. Then she said to him, “Sir, I bring you back your keys. And now it is time for me to leave your house and your employ.”

He turned and looked at her for only the third time in her stay. “Have you chosen what you will take from here?” he asked.

“I have,” she replied, “I will take what is mine.” But then she thought to herself that perhaps there was something else she would like to take as a keepsake. “There is something, sir – if you would let me take the key to the cellar door then I would feel well-rewarded.”

“That is a strange request,” said the old man, “but I will not refuse it.”

“And there is one more thing, sir.” She put her little tablecloth on the table and said, “Spread, little cloth, spread!” Once more the cloth unfolded itself corner by corner and filled the hall with its wonderful light. The old man did not seem to be surprised by it. “Sir,” went on the girl, “it would please me if, at this hour of the day every day, you would open the curtains and shutters throughout your house for just one minute and let the sun shine in just as my cloth is shining here now. Then I would feel that my time in your house was not wasted.”

“I will see to it,” said the old man, and he turned away from her without another word.

“Fold, little cloth, fold!” commanded the girl. She tucked the old leaden key into her pocket, picked up the cloth, and walked out of the house. She travelled through the land where the trees were shrunken and the wind always blew and then, at last, she returned to her own beautiful bright country. She came once more to her own dear house and there she saw her mother in the doorway. They cried tears of joy to see each other again and her sister and brother were overjoyed too.

“But what have you brought back with you?” asked the mother after she had heard all about it.

“I have brought our little tablecloth back,” replied the girl. “And nothing else except the key to that cellar door.”

“Let me see the key,” said her mother.

The girl took the key out of her pocket. But what was her astonishment to see that instead of being dull and leaden and heavy, the key was now fashioned out of pure gold and shone more brightly than anything in the house except the little tablecloth itself!

“With that key,” said the mother, “no door will be barred to you that should be open! It is your greatest treasure and you have your reward for all your years of work in the darkness.”

And the girl and her mother, and her sister and brother, all hugged each other and wished that none of them need ever go away again for a very long time.

As for the old house, they say that one minute crept into two, and two into three, until there was an hour or more of light every day in the dark old rooms. Life became easier for the girls with the dull little lamps and they managed to squeeze all their cleaning into the one hour of daylight. Quite soon the housekeeper saw, and everyone saw, that nothing in the rooms was as it should be. They changed things around, replaced the old with the new, until the day came when someone said, “Do we need to keep the curtains shut at all?” Even the sister and brother forgot how horrible they had been to the poor girl.

“Do you remember that girl who came here?” asked the sister. “Wasn’t she lovely?”

“She was lovely,” said the brother.

“And how beautiful her tablecloth was,” went on the sister. “I do wish I could see it again!”

“Yes, I wish I could see that tablecloth again!” exclaimed the brother. “It was really, really beautiful!”

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved

Chapter Three

The sixth day dawned – the final day on which Henkal could sit the exam for his scholarship to the university. And all his universal knowledge was sitting in his head, ready to leap into his pen that day. The sun rose on the same day for Jonas, who trusted in its warm rays to light him to the zoo and to his entrance test.

Henkal was prepared to meet his friend anywhere along the road. It didn’t matter anymore – the bridges had been passed, all the work had been done. As he approached the sixth bridge he fell in with many city-workers who were walking to work. No two people were the same – everyone’s step had a different meaning, leading to a different purpose. Henkal felt the hidden purpose in his own footsteps.

Suddenly, without warning, he saw every one of these people as his friend Jonas. They had the same hopeful expression on their faces, as if to say, “We believe in you, Henkal”. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes and saw – his real friend Jonas, standing a few paces away below the parapet of the bridge. “This is it, Henkal. Today’s the day!” said Jonas brightly.

Henkal shook him by the hand, like a man on a separate mission. “This is it, Jonas. My road goes up to the right, to the university. Yours goes to the left, over the bridge to the zoo.” “But Henkal,” said Jonas, a look of panic in his eyes, “aren’t you coming with me?” For a moment the world trembled before Henkal’s eyes. His friend and the bridge became a blur. “Jonas! Jonas” he gasped, as if starved of air. “You know I sit my exam today! Everything depends on it – the cities, the art, governments, civilization!” Jonas lowered his eyes. “Yes, Henkal, I forgot.”

Henkal felt dizzy. He took the sheaf of papers from Jonas’ hands – the papers they had prepared all week, to help Jonas in his test. “It’s all here,” he cried, “everything you need to get you through!” He thrust the papers back into Jonas’ hands. “I’m sorry, Henkal, I didn’t know,” said Jonas abjectly. He shuffled the papers together, turned round slowly, and walked up onto the bridge.

Henkal looked at his friend, who was, he felt, like the better part of himself. So trusting, so faithful, so sincere in his desire to be a zookeeper. He saw his friend’s footsteps slow down and stop. How could he have been so stupid? There was no way Jonas was going to pass the test. He could hardly read, let alone put together a legible essay! Jonas could barely string together a dozen words in a sentence! How could he sit before a group of zookeepers and answer questions or talk about a chosen subject? Henkal knew that Jonas would not be able to cross that bridge without him.

He saw his friend standing halfway across the bridge, unable to move, and he saw the loneliest thing in the world. Jonas was a natural zookeeper, he was born to it, and he couldn’t do it by himself. In his mind Henkal tore up all the papers they had written that week. He tore them up and threw them in the canal. He cried out, “Jonas!” and ran up onto the bridge to his friend.

Jonas turned and saw Henkal running towards him. His face lit up and he smiled broadly, no matter what Henkal had to say. “Henkal,” he said, “what is it?” “I’m coming with you!” said the other boy. “I’m coming with you!” “But Henkal! What about your exam?” “This is my exam! Your test is my exam! You are my exam! I’m coming too. We’re going to do it! You’ll do the test but I will be your hands to do the writing and your voice to speak. Do you understand?” “Yes, Henkal. Thank you.”

The two friends crossed the bridge together. They followed the road all the way to the zoo and were there in time for the entrance test to begin.

Jonas seemed to grow noticeably fuller as they entered the zoo. It was as if the colored birds, the scaly reptiles and the wayward animals were all waiting for him to understand them. His arms lost their floating movement as they reached out towards the creatures in the cages and enclosures. Henkal followed the signs to the main office building. He told the secretary that Jonas had come to take the test and that he, Henkal, was there to help. The secretary made them wait in a small room with pictures of zookeepers on the walls. It seemed they were there for two hours before one of the zookeepers called them in to the main hall.

The College of Zookeepers was in attendance. They sat in a row behind a long table. Jonas waved at his uncle who sat on the right. The uncle nodded back to him. The zookeepers looked very serious, as if they were determined to uphold an ancient tradition.

“Who is sitting the test today?” demanded the Chairman. Henkal nudged Jonas and whispered in his ear, “That’s you. Say, ‘I am’.”  “I am,” said Jonas in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry?” said the Chairman. “I am,” repeated Jonas a little louder. “And what’s your name?” “Jonas, sir.” “Oh, yes,” said the Chairman, turning to the uncle. “That will be the nephew we expected.” “That’s right,” said the uncle. “And who is this?” went on the Chairman, looking at Henkal. “I’m here with Jonas today,” said Henkal fearlessly. “I’m his friend. I’m here to help him. My name’s Henkal.” “Well,” said the Chairman, “we don’t usually allow friends. A test is something you do by yourself.” “Yes,” said Henkal, “but Jonas is different. He hasn’t been to school and he can only write a little bit. He doesn’t know how to talk in an educated way. I know it’s unusual but I’d like to write down the answers for him. He’ll tell me what to say and I’ll write it. And for the speaking part he’ll tell me what he wants to say and I’ll put it into words for him.”

“Well, that’s very unusual indeed. We’ve never done things this way before,” said the Chairman. He leaned over and whispered to the uncle. The uncle whispered back. “Your uncle has confirmed this,” went on the Chairman, speaking to Jonas. “And what do you think of the arrangement?” “I’d like Henkal to speak and write for me,” replied Jonas warmly. “He’s the best!” “But the answers will be yours?” “Yes, sir,” said Jonas.

So with the arrangement in place Jonas began the test. They went to another little room with a table in it. One of the zookeepers stayed with them. They began to write the essay on the chosen subject: snakes. Jonas did not stick to what they had said before. He told Henkal about all the hundreds of times he had handled the snakes in the desert. He made it very clear what the snakes wanted and liked and how they felt. Henkal nodded each time and wrote down what Jonas intended. He wrote it in such a way that the words were Jonas’ but the meaning would come through to the zookeepers. His hand seemed to be guided. They worked as one, Henkal and Jonas.

At the end of the hour they had a small break then sat before the zookeepers again. Now began the presentation on the animal of Jonas’ choice: the donkey. Jonas spoke softly into Henkal’s ear: his love of the animal, his understanding of its habits, how he could talk to it. Henkal put this into a flow of words and images which expressed exactly what Jonas meant. After twenty minutes the zookeepers were nodding enthusiastically.

There followed the questions and answers. Henkal needed very little from his friend to say what it was Jonas knew. He spoke with his heart and his mind and it was as if Jonas’ own experience was speaking. Henkal realized how much Jonas had learned while he, Henkal, had been in school.

Then came the nutrition and the habitats and the final rounding-up. The zookeepers spoke to Henkal and Jonas as if they were one person.

“Thank you,” said the Chairman at the end. “Will you wait for our decision?” The two boys returned to the little room they had waited in earlier. They waited for what seemed like hours.

Meanwhile the zookeepers discussed the case. “He really knows his stuff,” said one. “Who does?” asked another. “The boy.” “Which one?” “The boy taking the test.” “He loves his subject,” said another. “Who?” “Jonas.” “But did he speak?” And so it went on, with the zookeepers liking what the boys said and wrote but not being able to make a decision.

“I see we have a problem,” said the Chairman at last.

Henkal and Jonas were called back in. The Chairman addressed them both. “We haven’t been able to decide on a place for Jonas,” he began. Henkal felt a stab in his middle. “Henkal spoke and wrote for Jonas the whole way through. We liked what you said and the way you said it. We think that together you make one zookeeper. We only have one place on offer and one salary. We would like you both to take that place. We would like you to work together as one zookeeper. I’m sorry we can’t offer you two jobs and two wages. If you’d like to take this offer we’ll start you in the zoo tomorrow.”

Henkal looked at Jonas who wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He thought about himself and the university. He’d missed the chance. But what was more he’d felt a new life opening up for him when he worked together with Jonas. What did he have to lose? “We’ll take the job, sir,” he said.

And so it was Henkal and Jonas began their new career – one career – the very next day. They worked as one, Henkal talking and explaining, Jonas feeling and knowing what the animals wanted. They lived on very little but were happy. As time went by Henkal and Jonas developed a special skill as a zookeeper. People heard about them. They travelled and talked in other zoos about their work. They visited other countries. They made discoveries and taught about the animals. In short, Henkal found himself doing everything he’d wanted to do about civilization.

After many years they returned home to the village again. They walked back along the canal road, past the sixth, the fifth, the fourth, third and second bridges. When they came to the first Jonas stopped. “Henkal,” he said, “do you think – do you think we are noble yet?” “Noble?” asked Henkal in surprise. “Oh yes – I’d forgotten.” He thought for a moment. “Yes, Jonas,” he said, “I think we are the best that we possibly can be – until something greater comes along.” Jonas beamed a smile that would have lit up the entire sky and the two friends continued on their way home.

(There ends the story of Henkal and Jonas. Thank you for listening. If you have any observations or comments I’d love to hear from you below!)

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.

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…)

Henkal and Jonas Chapter Three

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. (Click on ‘stories’ category for chapters two and three.)

Henkal and Jonas Chapter Two

Henkal and Jonas Chapter Three

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2010. All rights reserved.