This
story picks up halfway through a conversation that Gabriel overheard one day as
he was walking by the great banquet hall.
(muffled)
(muffled)
The
Ancient One:... It’s not what you think.
The
Woman: It’s not good down there?
The
Ancient One: No. It is good. It’s
just…not what you think.
The
Woman: Are there not varieties and colors and scents and sounds?
The
Ancient One: There are.
The
Woman: Are there not challenges to overcome, lessons to be learned, ideas to be
had?
The
Ancient One: Oh, there’s no shortage of those.
The
Woman: Then what? Do they?...(in a hushed voice) Do they not know the great song?
The
Ancient One: They know it…I’m sure they know it. But they don’t knooww it. They’ve understood the melody
and rhythm but not the dynamics. Sometimes I think they feel it. Crave it, even.
But then when they try to play it, the instrumentation is all wrong. The timbre is
too thin. They like to doodle about the various parts in their trios and their
quartets but never with the whole orchestra.
The
Woman: It sounds to me like they don’t know the song at all, then. These trios
and quartets, do their hearts not beat? Do their lungs not breathe? Do their babies not giggle? Do their oceans not rage? Does spring not come? There must be plenty to sing about. How could
they know the parts but not the song?
The
Ancient One: It’s complicated. They do know it. And they don’t. They know it
when they’re with their friends and with their families. They’ve formed great
groups and even societies that almost seem to play a line of harmony. But they
don’t really get harmony. It’s always
in opposition to some other family, some other society. They play their minor
third or their perfect fifth like it is
the song itself. They try to drown out all the others. And so the song is lost
entirely.
The
Woman: Well someone needs to teach them.
The
Ancient One: It’s not that simple.
The
Woman: What do you mean "it’s not that simple?" What could be simpler?
The
Ancient One: They think I want them to play their harmonies loudly and urgently like that. They think they have to play loudly like that in order to make a grand arrangement. All of them. Or, I
guess, each of them. They each think that I care only for their own part as if
it is, by itself, a symphony.
The
Woman: So teach them differently.
The
Ancient One: I can’t.
The
Woman: Don’t be absurd. Of course you can.
The
Ancient One: (in a despondent tone)
I’ve tried. I’m too much for them. Too big. Too bright. Too powerful. Too…much.
The
Woman: (laughing) Oh, you jest. Who
could be gentler than you?
The
Ancient One: It makes no difference. They fear me. I don’t mean they fear me. I mean they’re afraid. They
clam up and panic and band together into pathetic little clans thinking they
have to win me over to their side or I’ll crush them or something.
The
Woman: So you need to come to them small...weak, even.
The
Ancient One: Do you know what you’re proposing? It’s not what you think. Down there, you’ll
get sick, your skin will scar and welt. Briars and Thorns will tear and cut
your body.
The
Woman: I know that. You don’t think I know that? But if a thorn tears at my skin, it's been tearing at theirs as well. How can I not hurt if they are hurting?
The Ancient One: I know. I know. But they’ve made it even more complicated still. They've made it...difficult even to gather the produce of the land. They
stockpile it. They obsess over it. They sell it and profit from it. They’ll tempt you to play their little
games. To compete for what was once a gift.
The
Woman: I know they will. But how else will they ever learn the song?
The Ancient One:
There will be war, famine, disease. You’ll see entire cities leveled.
Civilizations crippled by sickness. Great men will rise up. They’ll abuse and
even kill their own people and then try to spread their way across
creation. You’ll want to help but will be powerless to stop them without
resorting to their own methods.
The
Woman: (hesitantly) I know.
The
Ancient One: What drives you to want to do this? Look at the paradise you’re
surrounded by. Why bring this on yourself for a bunch of ingrates? Why hurt? Why mourn? Why suff…?
The
Woman: Because I’m just like you!
(a long silence)
The
Ancient One: Don’t think that because you’re small, they’ll be kind. When you refuse to pick a side, all sides
will converge on you. Mercilessly. They’ll think that destroying you will
somehow be a strength to their own side. And what then? If they don’t know the very
song that they were born to play. They don’t understand anything, don’t you
see? They’ve made themselves thick with fear.
The
Boy: We’ll both go.
The
Woman: (swiveling in her chair) What?
The
Boy: We’ll both go. If only she goes, they’ll think that she is playing for
this side or that side. Then even within each side, some will say that she loves the one at the expense of
the whole. Others the whole at the expense of the one. They’ll turn violent.
She won’t stop them if only to keep from picking a side, so they'll eliminate her
without a fight. And when they do, they still won’t get it. So what then? Who
will stay there and bring them along?
(silence)
The
Boy: (softer, this time) We’ll
both go. Our minds are made up on this.
The
Woman: Yes. We’ll both go.
The Ancient One: (voice, shaky) I know you will. I know you will.
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