Southern Elegance

Each day along the Highway the man could be seen collecting the flax that grew wild in the ditches and valleys. He would eat the seed, and bundle the stems as he walked through the untenured lands where chance had blown his harvest. Indeed, some might have praised him for his industry, except that this was the habit of children, and for an adult, considered akin to scavenging. Naturally, the man was considered low. Treated as an outcast, none of the villagers who lived near to where he gathered flax along the roads each day would talk with him. He did not frequent the betting pools or taverns and so the man had little recourse even with other men. Few gave him any thought, as he quietly laboured through the seasons, and yet the children came to know and like him. Why? The reason never changes for children, he was interesting. Their routine was dull, and he made life more interesting for them.

Whatever the man was in the adult eyes, he was wonderful in the children's eyes because he always had a wonderful tale for them to hear. Naturally, the children did not tell their mothers of this. Mothers are always too ready to say, "You cannot do this!" In the eyes of the Mother, the man was a stranger, and may have been dangerous. "You must stay away!" they would warn their children ... Which, of course, only made the stranger story teller even more interesting.

Children are wise in their simple ways, but of course, as time went on they were noticed following the man. And as is to be expected, this caused quite a ripple in the quiet humdrum of village existence. "He must be stopped!" They cried to the village elder and magistrate. "He is polluting our children with tales of journeys to far lands, and great, imaginary places. They are getting confused and are left idle with dreams because of it!"

The village elder listened loosely to the shrill complaints of the women, and asked questions of the man and his habits. It soon became clear that the fellow flouted no law, nor interfered in any way with the normal processes of life, and so he simply declared that the problem was not his. "He breaks no rule with the words that he speaks... A storyteller we all are at some time!" The Magistrate said to the collection of women at his door. "Further, he makes no trespass by gathering flax on untenured land. It is his right as a citizen to do so. Therefore I have no ruling except that you of yourselves must have your children in hand, and allow this man as much right as you would give to yourselves."

The villagers turned away greatly displeased. But it was not at an end. As is the way in such places, the wives rule their men according to how their mothers ruled them. And so, after a few days, the women had returned. This time they had a gathered flock trailing behind them, discussing the forth coming event. With much wailing they called once more on the magistrate, and furthered their complaint. "We have ordered our children not to talk with the man, to not speak or listen to him," they claimed, "And yet he talks to them still!" The Magistrate sighed. He had known this story a hundred times in a hundred different ways. "Does he go out of his way to talk with them? Does he seek them out?" he asked.

Consternation broke out amongst those present. The rabble muttered amongst themselves, comparing any notes that might incriminate the accused. Finally one spoke out, a whizzened old crone. "He does not seek out the children, but by some black force he draws them to him against the wishes of their parents. We claim this as grounds for evil magic, for our children were well behaved before he came here."

This apparently irrefutable logic brought a resounding murmur of approval , and before him the magistrate saw a thatch of nodding heads. "But you yourselves stated but days ago that your children sought him out long before you forbade them to see him. I can hardly see this as a claim of some dark wizardry ... rather one of disobedient children!" The elder retorted carefully. The crowd began shouting out accusations about the man, threatening that unless justice were done by the court, it would be done otherwise. Finally the magistrate saw that for peace in the village the crowd would have to be appeased, and so he arranged a hearing on the following day, sending word to the man demanding his presence.

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The sun shone brightly that morning, and with the cattle lowing in the pasture that surrounded the town, the village magistrate, wearing his gown of justice, sat in his chair of judgement. He had ordered it moved from the courtroom out into the open air arena, where the minor details of life were settled. In this manner he would give the wives an appearance of importance, yet keep the matter to a local dispute. The small shade cloth erected above him was decorated with some of the paraphernalia of the courts, and the presence of his secretary confirmed to all and sundry that this was a matter of weight. A large crowd of curiosity seekers had gathered for the event, as the whispers had built up about the dark stranger stealing the village children's hearts from their parents. Even though the fellow was most often ignored, he was known to all, and indeed considered a little mysterious by many. And so it came to pass, with the heat building up in the day, before a small, noisy crowd stood the man, The Gatherer of the Flax. He was of a peasant appearance. Ill fitting clothes, uncut hair that stood like a mane about his face, and a rough, tanner complexion that told of years in the wind and sun. Experience was worn into his face like ruts on a well used road. He had, however, unusual eyes... This is what the magistrate noted above all. Eyes clear, undulled by the monotony of daily life, and untouched by the tedium of humdrum affairs. This above all marked him as a man of difference. Of course, few there that day would see this, with their minds being too wrapped up in the small cattle-like world of subsistence. Yet the magistrate recognised that spark ... A spark that in other circumstances he might have wished to have known more of. Perhaps the day would provide a little more than the normal trivia?

"You..." the magistrate called, indicating for the man to come forward. "You have been accused of misleading the children of this village. You are accused of detaining them and causing them to dream and neglect their duties. How do you answer this claim?" The man looked up, and unclasping his hands, spread his arms in a shrug saying, "How can I detain the children? They are like the birds who would come to where I sit. I do not hold them, or cause them to dream... I merely answer questions that they would ask." The crowd of women behind ruffled like a peacock ready to display its wares. The Magistrate, aware of the mindlessness of such a gathering took the proceedings in hand with the full weight of his judicial manner. "What questions do they ask, and what answers do you give?" He queried.

The man shrugged again. "They ask of why the birds sing, why the rivers run... Why the sky is blue..."
"And what do you reply?"
"I say the birds sing because they love life, and wish to add a little beauty to this world... I say the rivers run because they know that idleness in the sun will cause them to become useless like a stagnant pond. I say the sky is blue because it is different from the green of tree and grass... I tell them that God made it this way and if it happens that God made them to be of a different colour or type that they should be proud of this difference, for this is how God made them."

"See!" cried a woman from the crowd. "He fills their heads with empty nonsense, dreams! The children listen to this more than they listen to their parents... and we can't get them to obey us" The crowd murmured its agreement.The magistrate signalled them to order, asking further of the man, "And what do you do? Do you have a trade?"

"Yes," The man replied. "I am a worker of wood, a carpenter, but having left my tools behind with my family I now live by gathering the flax that grows loose along the highway. I knit it into rope, and trade this for food and shelter."
"It is clear," stated the magistrate, "That you are not a burden to the public for you do support yourself. I think this is no thief before me, nor is he accused of such ... It is also clear that you mean no evil intention to the children of this village, but I ask you, what right have you to take children from the way of life their parents intend?"

This brought a rousing murmur of agreement as the villagers admired the way their magistrate tactfully dealt with the problem. How clever he was! "What gives a bird the right to sing?" The man replied. "I simply say what I will, the children decide to listen ... How does this draw them away from their parents'?

"The magistrate looked deeply into the man's eyes, understanding for a moment the pain hidden therein. What looked back touched him more deeply than he expected, and almost caused him to falter. It was like a golden coin, shining in the depths, saying "Touch me, I am yours!" So he shook his head, and resumed his magistrates tone and bearing.

In another time and place, he may have done otherwise, but not today. Without the restless crowd about him he may well have invited this vagabond to his back porch to try and help him understand the way of the world. Such a man faced man. He wanted to take that coin he offered so that he might offer it back, saying, 'LOOK! HERE IS THE COST OF YOUR TRUTH." But of course, he could not.

Instead he drew the man aside from the villagers and spoke. "I see, friend, that you have a true wisdom... But this wisdom you hold so carelessly hurts the small minds that cannot hold it. It is like you are giving these people a weight, a burden they simply cannot bear. You, by your simple words, have brought joy to our children, but when they go to bring this light home to their parents, it hurts their parents eyes."
"Eyes that have for so long been blind with the darkness of tradition and ignorance cannot accept the brightness you would offer with the simple words you speak. It is a yolk they must bear, in their view. The light simplicity of being hurts the common man, and for this pain they would hate you."

Drawing himself upright, and beginning to more fully understand that pain he saw buried in the man's heart, the magistrate continued... "No matter my decision," he indicated to the villagers near them, "They would harm you should you remain. Understand, if you can, that I by law cannot send you away, but I can, as a friend, suggest that the swan does not sleep with the carrion, for soon the jackals will come and tear it apart, not seeing the difference."
"But you stay here? You guide these people? What is the difference?" the peasant fellow's strong, dignified demeanour and well educated voice gave him a look more like that of a prince, than a scavenger.

The Magistrate smiled to himself, for in his naivete the young man missed something of great importance. "They respect me, and fear my power. Because of this, I can serve the Lord in the way he has chosen for me. You to have been chosen to a higher calling, I can feel it in you.? But I promise you, that call will harm you if you remain." The man's eyes grew distant, and he nodded, apparently hearing much weight in the magistrates words.

"And so I would say, as a man, that you must go. For your own sake and this villages continued peace.... even though it be the peace of night ... you must go. And yet I would also say, as a man, that it pains me that I shall not know you."

The man gazed over to the distant Mountains, nodding his head in understanding. "I thank you for your kindness," he said, taking the elders hand. "You, I can see, are a patient shepherd... " And with this he began to leave. "But wait!" the elder called... "I do not know your name... What are you called?"

The man turned, his tender eyes lit with a love born of hardship. "Jesus." he answered. "Jesus of Nazareth" ... And with this he turned and left behind the villagers. He made his way from the little township, heading towards the West, and a destiny that he knew awaited him.