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Song of Man 25 by Khalil Gibran

Song of Man XXV

Khalil Gibran

I was here from the moment of the

Beginning, and here I am still. And

I shall remain here until the end

Of the world, for there is no

Ending to my grief-stricken being.

I roamed the infinite sky, and

Soared in the ideal world, and

Floated through the firmament. But

Here I am, prisoner of measurement.

I heard the teachings of Confucius;

I listened to Brahma's wisdom;

I sat by Buddha under the Tree of Knowledge.

Yet here I am, existing with ignorance

And heresy.

I was on Sinai when Jehovah approached Moses;

I saw the Nazarene's miracles at the Jordan;

I was in Medina when Mohammed visited.

Yet I here I am, prisoner of bewilderment.

Then I witnessed the might of Babylon;

I learned of the glory of Egypt;

I viewed the warring greatness of Rome.

Yet my earlier teachings showed the

Weakness and sorrow of those achievements.

I conversed with the magicians of Ain Dour;

I debated with the priests of Assyria;

I gleaned depth from the prophets of Palestine.

Yet, I am still seeking truth.

I gathered wisdom from quiet India;

I probed the antiquity of Arabia;

I heard all that can be heard.

Yet, my heart is deaf and blind.

I suffered at the hands of despotic rulers;

I suffered slavery under insane invaders;

I suffered hunger imposed by tyranny;

Yet, I still possess some inner power

With which I struggle to greet each day.

My mind is filled, but my heart is empty;

My body is old, but my heart is an infant.

Perhaps in youth my heart will grow, but I

Pray to grow old and reach the moment of

My return to God. Only then will my heart fill!

I was here from the moment of the

Beginning, and here I am still. And

I shall remain here until the end

Of the world, for there is no

Ending to my grief-stricken being.

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A Grain as Big as a Hen's Egg by Leo Tolstoy

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A Grain As Big As A Hen's Egg

by Leo Tolstoy

One day some children found, in a ravine, a thing shaped like a grain of corn, with a groove down the middle, but as large as a hen's egg. A traveler passing by saw the thing, bought it from the children for a penny, and taking it to town, sold it to the King as a curiosity.

The King called together his wise men, and told them to find out what the thing was. The wise men pondered and pondered and could not make head or tail of it, till one day, when the thing was lying on a window-sill, a hen flew in and pecked at it till she made a hole in it, and then every one saw that it was a grain of corn. The wise men went to the King and said:

'It is a grain of corn.'

At this the King was much surprised; and he ordered the learned men to find out when and where such corn had grown. The learned men pondered again, and searched in their books, but could find nothing about it. So they returned to the King and said:

'We can give you no answer. There is nothing about it in our books. You will have to ask the peasants; perhaps some of them may have heard from their fathers when and where grain grew to such a size.'

So the King gave orders that some very old peasant should be brought before him; and his servants found such a man and brought him to the King. Old and bent, ashy pale and toothless, he just managed with the help of two crutches to totter into the King's presence.

The King showed him the grain, but the old man could hardly see it; he took it, however, and felt it with his hands. The King questioned him, saying:

'Can you tell us, old man, where such grain as this grew? Have you ever bought such corn, or sown such in your fields?'

The old man was so deaf that he could hardly hear what the King said, and only understood with great difficulty.

'No!' he answered at last, 'I never sowed nor reaped any like it in my fields, nor did I ever buy any such. When we bought corn, the grains were always as small as they are now. But you might ask my father. He may have heard where such grain grew.'

So the King sent for the old man's father, and he was found and brought before the King. He came walking with one crutch. The King showed him the grain, and the old peasant, who was still able to see, took a good look at it. And the King asked him:

'Can you not tell us, old man, where corn like this used to grow? Have you ever bought any like it, or sown any in your fields?'

Though the old man was rather hard of hearing, he still heard better than his son had done.

'No,' he said, 'I never sowed nor reaped any grain like this in my field. As to buying, I never bought any, for in my time money was not yet in use. Every one grew his own corn, and when there was any need we shared with one another. I do not know where corn like this grew. Ours was larger and yielded more flour than present-day grain, but I never saw any like this. I have, however, heard my father say that in his time the grain grew larger and yielded more flour than ours. You had better ask him.'

So the King sent for this old man's father, and they found him too, and brought him before the King. He entered walking easily and without crutches: his eye was clear, his hearing good, and he spoke distinctly. The King showed him the grain, and the old grandfather looked at it, and turned it about in his hand.

'It is long since I saw such a fine grain,' said he, and he bit a piece off and tasted it.

'It's the very same kind,' he added.

'Tell me, grandfather,' said the King, 'when and where was such corn grown? Have you ever bought any like it, or sown any in your fields?'

And the old man replied:

'Corn like this used to grow everywhere in my time. I lived on corn like this in my young days, and fed others on it. It was grain like this that we used to sow and reap and thrash.'

And the King asked:

'Tell me, grandfather, did you buy it anywhere, or did you grow it all yourself?'

The old man smiled.

'In my time,' he answered, 'no one ever thought of such a sin as buying or selling bread; and we knew nothing of money. Each man had corn enough of his own.'

'Then tell me, grandfather,' asked the King, 'where was your field, where did you grow corn like this?'

And the grandfather answered:

'My field was God's earth. Wherever I ploughed, there was my field. Land was free. It was a thing no man called his own. Labour was the only thing men called their own.'

'Answer me two more questions,' said the King. 'The first is, Why did the earth bear such grain then and has ceased to do so now? And the second is, Why your grandson walks with two crutches, your son with one, and you yourself with none? Your eyes are bright, your teeth sound, and your speech clear and pleasant to the ear. How have these things come about?'

And the old man answered:

'These things are so, because men have ceased to live by their own labour, and have taken to depending on the labour of others. In the old time, men lived according to God's law. They had what was their own, and coveted not what others had produced.’

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The Imp and the Crust by Leo Tolstoy

The Imp and the Crust

by Leo Tolstoy

A poor peasant set out early one morning to plough, taking with him for his breakfast a crust of bread. He got his plough ready, wrapped the bread in his coat, put it under a bush, and set to work. After a while when his horse was tired and he was hungry, the peasant fixed the plough, let the horse loose to graze and went to get his coat and his breakfast.

He lifted the coat, but the bread was gone! He looked and looked, turned the coat over, shook it out -- but the bread was gone. The peasant could not make this out at all.

'That's strange,' thought he; 'I saw no one, but all the same some one has been here and has taken the bread!'

It was an imp who had stolen the bread while the peasant was ploughing, and at that moment he was sitting behind the bush, waiting to hear the peasant swear and call on the Devil.

The peasant was sorry to lose his breakfast, but 'It can't be helped,' said he. 'After all, I shan't die of hunger! No doubt whoever took the bread needed it. May it do him good!'

And he went to the well, had a drink of water, and rested a bit. Then he caught his horse, harnessed it, and began ploughing again.

The imp was crestfallen at not having made the peasant sin, and he went to report what had happened to the Devil, his master.

He came to the Devil and told how he had taken the peasant's bread, and how the peasant instead of cursing had said, 'May it do him good!'

The Devil was angry, and replied: 'If the man got the better of you, it was your own fault -- you don't understand your business! If the peasants, and their wives after them, take to that sort of thing, it will be all up with us. The matter can't be left like that! Go back at once,' said he, 'and put things right. If in three years you don't get the better of that peasant, I'll have you ducked in holy water!'

The imp was frightened. He scampered back to earth, thinking how he could redeem his fault. He thought and thought, and at last hit upon a good plan.

He turned himself into a labouring man, and went and took service with the poor peasant. The first year he advised the peasant to sow corn in a marshy place. The peasant took his advice, and sowed in the marsh. The year turned out a very dry one, and the crops of the other peasants were all scorched by the sun, but the poor peasant's corn grew thick and tall and full-eared. Not only had he grain enough to last him for the whole year, but he had much left over besides.

The next year the imp advised the peasant to sow on the hill; and it turned out a wet summer. Other people's corn was beaten down and rotted and the ears did not fill; but the peasant's crop, up on the hill, was a fine one. He had more grain left over than before, so that he did not know what to do with it all.

Then the imp showed the peasant how he could mash the grain and distil spirit from it; and the peasant made strong drink, and began to drink it himself and to give it to his friends.

So the imp went to the Devil, his master, and boasted that he had made up for his failure. The Devil said that he would come and see for himself how the case stood.

He came to the peasant's house, and saw that the peasant had invited his well-to-do neighbours and was treating them to drink. His wife was offering the drink to the guests, and as she handed it round she tumbled against the table and spilt a glassful.

The peasant was angry, and scolded his wife: 'What do you mean, you slut? Do you think it's ditchwater, you cripple, that you must go pouring good stuff like that over the floor?'

The imp nudged the Devil, his master, with his elbow: 'See,' said he, 'that's the man who did not grudge his last crust!'

The peasant, still railing at his wife, began to carry the drink round himself. Just then a poor peasant returning from work came in uninvited. He greeted the company, sat down, and saw that they were drinking. Tired with his day's work he felt that he too would like a drop. He sat and sat, and his mouth kept watering, but the host instead of offering him any only muttered: 'I can't find drink for every one who comes along.'

This pleased the Devil; but the imp chuckled and said, 'Wait a bit, there's more to come yet!'

The rich peasants drank, and their host drank too. And they began to make false, oily speeches to one another.

The Devil listened and listened, and praised the imp.

'If,' said he, 'the drink makes them so foxy that they begin to cheat each other, they will soon all be in our hands.'

'Wait for what's coming,' said the imp. 'Let them have another glass all round. Now they are like foxes, wagging their tails and trying to get round one another; but presently you will see them like savage wolves.'

The peasants had another glass each, and their talk became wilder and rougher. Instead of oily speeches they began to abuse and snarl at one another. Soon they took to fighting, and punched one another's noses. And the host joined in the fight, and he too got well beaten.

The Devil looked on and was much pleased at all this. 'This is first-rate!' said he.

But the imp replied: 'Wait a bit -- the best is yet to come. Wait till they have had a third glass. Now they are raging like wolves, but let them have one more glass, and they will be like swine.'

The peasants had their third glass, and became quite like brutes. They muttered and shouted, not knowing why, and not listening to one another.

Then the party began to break up. Some went alone, some in twos, and some in threes, all staggering down the street. The host went out to speed his guests, but he fell on his nose into a puddle, smeared himself from top to toe, and lay there grunting like a hog.

This pleased the Devil still more.

'Well,' said he, 'you have hit on a first-rate drink, and have quite made up for your blunder about the bread. But now tell me how this drink is made. You must first have put in fox's blood: that was what made the peasants sly as foxes. Then, I suppose, you added wolf's blood: that is what made them fierce like wolves. And you must have finished off with swine's blood, to make them behave like swine.'

'No,' said the imp, 'that was not the way I did it. All I did was to see that the peasant had more corn than he needed. The blood of the beasts is always in man; but as long as he has only enough corn for his needs, it is kept in bounds. While that was the case, the peasant did not grudge his last crust. But when he had corn left over, he looked for ways of getting pleasure out of it. And I showed him a pleasure -- drinking! And when he began to turn God's good gifts into spirits for his own pleasure -- the fox's, wolf's and swine's blood in him all came out. If only he goes on drinking, he will always be a beast!'

The Devil praised the imp, forgave him for his former blunder, and advanced him to a post of high honor.

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Leo Tolstoy on Biography Out Loud

Virginia Woolf declared him the greatest of all novelists. Dostoevsky, Proust, Faulkner, Nabakov Joyce all shared this same enthusiasm for this writer. Thomas Mann once declared, “Seldom did art work so much like nature.” He wrote a novel with 580 different characters, including some real historical figures. Who was this anarchist, pacifist, christian who is widely regarded as one of the world’s greatest novelists?

We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.

Leo Tolstoy once said, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” Not only did this Russian writer change himself, but the world was never the same after his masterpiece “War and Peace”. Tolstoy was a realistic writer, trying to show the society of his time. He never thought of “War and Peace” as a novel, but told others his first novel was “Anna Karrenina” which he wrote eight years later.

Born in 1828, he toured Europe, witnessed a public execution and met with Victor Hugo and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, an anarchist living in Vienna.

On 23 September 1862, Tolstoy married Sophia Andreevna Bers, the daughter of a court physician, who was 16 years his junior. They had thirteen children, five of whom died during childhood. Their early married life was happy and allowed Tolstoy much freedom to compose the literary masterpieces “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina” with Sonya acting as his secretary, proof-reader and financial manager.

Tolstoy died of pneumonia at Astapovo station in 1910 after leaving home in the middle of winter at the age of 82. His death came only days after gathering the nerve to abandon his family and wealth and take up the path of a wandering ascetic,[citation needed] a path that he had agonized over pursuing for decades. He had not been at the peak of health before leaving home; his wife and daughters were all actively engaged in caring for him daily. He had been speaking and writing of his own death in the days preceding his departure from home, but fell ill at the train station not far from home. The station master took Tolstoy to his apartment, where his personal doctors were called to the scene. He was given injections of morphine and camphor, but later died. The police tried to limit access to his funeral procession, but thousands of peasants lined the streets at his funeral.

Leo Tolstoy once said, “The vocation of every man and woman is to serve other people.”

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X-Ray Abundance

X-Ray Insights

Personal insight can come from many ways. Those “ah-ha” moments occur without our permission, but we have to be paying attention or we may miss them. Usually a great new perspective or a head-slapping moment happens when we least expect it, but I hope you are having some in your life. They are one of my favorite experiences. Sometimes I find out things I really didn’t want to do or want to know, and sometimes it can save a life.

I’ll use x-rays as the example of those light-bulb moments in our lives, since most of us make a discovery when the x-ray is show to us. We find out something we could discover no other way, unless you have x-ray vision. Enlightenment about something we need to learn can be like this. Where we were looking through a glass darkly once, the true reflection of the experience then becomes crystal clear. I’m pretty rambunctious, and once when I was a teenager I broke my own hand by striking a two-by-four. I thought it was padded, but when you hit solid wood with the side of your hand, you may break the upper joint of your little finger. It’s not excruciating, but it really, really hurts. You could probably still drive a car, but you wouldn’t be happy about it.

I was convinced it was broken, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince the parents to get it x-rayed. When you are fourteen, your options are limited. You can’t drive yourself to the doctor, and even when you get there, no one is going to x-ray your hand because you say it hurts. But after two weeks of moaning and groaning, I finally wore them down and into the x-ray machine my hand went.

The doctor looked serious. It made me kind of happy, because I was thinking I was right. “It is broken he said,” and I thrilled at the proof. But it was short lived. He only paused momentarily and continued, “It looks like we’ll have to break it again since it had started to heal crooked.” I instinctively grabbed the injured hand and declared it had been feeling much better later. After a short consultation, we all decided it could continue to heal in an un-straightened, un re-broken way and there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s still bent, but I can tell when it’s going to rain.

It’s quite an insight to find out you were right; the hand was broken, but another interesting insight to find out you suddenly don’t want it fixed.

Another x-ray provided not such a happy insight. I’ve explained before that I often have sinus problems which vexed my doctor until he took an x-ray of my head. He was as surprised as I was to discover I have extra sinuses, which extend beyond the usual eyebrow portrayal you usually see in those sinus headache commercials. I have extra sinuses as in they extend almost to the top of my head. It was a great moment of insight for both of us, since extra sinuses could be an explanation for my almost continuous sinus congestions, headaches and infections.

But again, sometimes an insight is not such a happy discovery. He was all smiles and excited, like he had discovered another branch of the human species, “Homo Sinicus”. But the more I thought about it the less I liked it. He looked at me and exclaimed, “This explains what’s been going on with your sinuses” as if I was cured. But all I could think about was the limited space available in any head. There’s room for sinuses and there’s room for brains. Apparently, I needed more sinuses than normal, which means I have less room for brains. It’s a sad day when your doctor tells you in a round-about way that you have a smaller brain than everyone else. But it does explain much of what has happened in the rest of my life. Next time I am pulled over for a speeding ticket, I’m going to try the “less brains” defense. “Sorry officer, but I have a smaller brain than your average driver, so…” It might work.

The best x-ray in the world was the one which discovered the cancer in my wife’s ribs. She had been experiencing pain she thought was cracked ribs, and when the doctor said it was probably cancer, both our lives changed forever. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, hair-loss, hair regrowth and the passage of fifteen years has found her in official remission. She was brave; I was scared, but we both survived. Better than an x-ray, these insights discover our determination, direction, and our weaknesses. Now that we have a new truth in our grasp, what are we going to do about it?

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Future Ex-Wife Happy Birthday Sung by Rudy and Me

A short piece from "Abundance" where Rudy wanted me to sing with him to his "future ex-wife" -- whatever that is.  We sing "Happy Birthday".

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Wages

Rules of Engagement

Wages

When we see someone poor, it is easy to see their need. When we think of the richest people, we don’t really wonder what they need, or if they have any needs. If you have all the money you could ever want, what would you buy with it? Perhaps having too much money can be as burdensome as having too little. I would like to volunteer to find out how much the super-rich must suffer trying to decide between one super expensive car, house, or jet and another. I wonder if boredom would eventually set it, and make you tired of buying things. Would you want to start returning things for a refund just because you were bored?

I’ve been paid a lot for not doing much, and I’ve been paid next to nothing for working harder than I had ever worked. I’ve also done volunteer work which was more satisfying than either of those jobs.

When MCI shot a commercial here in the state, they budgeted way too much money. This is why I got a phone call a couple months after being an extra in their commercial. They somehow decided MCI was connected to the driving of the Golden Spike in Northern Utah, since the point of the commercial was the telegraph operator sent the information to the rest of the world. I was just leaning on the telegraph pole, and they recruited me to be another telegraph pole guy. When they finished the commercial and had the extra money, the redistribution began. I got a call asking if I was the telegraph guy, and I clarified I was the one with the mustache. After already being paid two hundred dollars for a couple of days of work, the guy on the phone said I was being “bumped up” to being a featured extra, and would I please sign the contract being mailed to me? I said sure, and he said he would then send me a check for three thousand dollars. There was a significant pause as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was trying to tell me. Want some money? Sign the paper and send it back. I mumbled I would be glad to take the money.

That worked out to over a hundred dollars an hour or more no matter how you calculate it. Should I divide by the hours I was asleep, too? Or should I just count the actual hours. That makes it almost five hundred an hour. How come I can’t get a full-time job that pays like that? Maybe some of you are making that much or more an hour. It boggles my mind.

The worst I’ve been paid was working for the father of friend. He was a crafty old codger, not really specifying how much I would be paid to heft sheetrock and hold it against the ceiling. He was even too cheap to rent a great little tool which helps lift and hold sheetrock up against the ceiling. If you have never held those heavy sheets of paper-covered chalk, it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

When all was said and done, I worked for a couple of weeks for about a dollar an hour. Minimum wage at the time was about three dollars, but what can you do when your friend’s dad cheats you out of all that time and effort? You can count it up to experience and write about it later.

But I think I may even like volunteering more than being paid a pittance. I’ve done enough acting for the terrible wages most actors get, and I’ve also done a lot of acting which I call volunteer work since I’m not being paid and I’m just donating my time for the good of the organization. I can even write off much of this at a much higher hourly rate on my taxes. I’ve been in live stage productions where I’ve actually been ashamed of being paid since the show, the script, or something else was not up to par. In those times, I’ve even wished it was donated time, since then there might be an excuse for the problems.

During those times I’ve acted for free, I really have enjoyed more of the performances than when I’ve been paid. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning down compensation, small as it may be. I just won’t be as happy about it. It doesn’t make any sense.

But you’ve probably had the same experience with your volunteer work. Nothing is so satisfying as doing something good, and not expecting a return. It may be more valuable than anything else we do. Think of it this way. If you could have all the money in the world, or all the blessings in the world, which would you choose?

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Alyosha the Pot by Leo Tolstoy

Alyosha the Pot

Leo Tolstoy

ALYOSHA was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon's wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it. His mother had beaten him, and the children had teased him. Since then he was nicknamed the Pot. Alyosha was a tiny, thin little fellow, with ears like wings, and a huge nose. "Alyosha has a nose that looks like a dog on a hill!" the children used to call after him. Alyosha went to the village school, but was not good at lessons; besides, there was so little time to learn. His elder brother was in town, working for a merchant, so Alyosha had to help his father from a very early age. When he was no more than six he used to go out with the girls to watch the cows and sheep in the pasture, and a little later he looked after the horses by day and by night. And at twelve years of age he had already begun to plough and to drive the cart. The skill was there though the strength was not. He was always cheerful. Whenever the children made fun of him, he would either laugh or be silent. When his father scolded him he would stand mute and listen attentively, and as soon as the scolding was over would smile and go on with his work. Alyosha was nineteen when his brother was taken as a soldier. So his father placed him with the merchant as a yard-porter. He was given his brother's old boots, his father's old coat and cap, and was taken to town. Alyosha was delighted with his clothes, but the merchant was not impressed by his appearance.

"I thought you would bring me a man in Simeon's place," he said, scanning Alyosha; "and you've brought me THIS! What's the good of him?"

"He can do everything; look after horses and drive. He's a good one to work. He looks rather thin, but he's tough enough. And he's very willing."

"He looks it. All right; we'll see what we can do with him."

So Alyosha remained at the merchant's.

The family was not a large one. It consisted of the merchant's wife: her old mother: a married son poorly educated who was in his father's business: another son, a learned one who had finished school and entered the University, but having been expelled, was living at home: and a daughter who still went to school.

They did not take to Alyosha at first. He was uncouth, badly dressed, and had no manner, but they soon got used to him. Alyosha worked even better than his brother had done; he was really very willing. They sent him on all sorts of errands, but he did everything quickly and readily, going from one task to another without stopping. And so here, just as at home, all the work was put upon his shoulders. The more he did, the more he was given to do. His mistress, her old mother, the son, the daughter, the clerk, and the cook-- all ordered him about, and sent him from one place to another.

"Alyosha, do this! Alyosha, do that! What! have you forgotten, Alyosha? Mind you don't forget, Alyosha!" was heard from morning till night. And Alyosha ran here, looked after this and that, forgot nothing, found time for everything, and was always cheerful.

His brother's old boots were soon worn out, and his master scolded him for going about in tatters with his toes sticking out. He ordered another pair to be bought for him in the market. Alyosha was delighted with his new boots, but was angry with his feet when they ached at the end of the day after so much running about. And then he was afraid that his father would be annoyed when he came to town for his wages, to find that his master had deducted the cost of the boots.

In the winter Alyosha used to get up before daybreak. He would chop the wood, sweep the yard, feed the cows and horses, light the stoves, clean the boots, prepare the samovars and polish them afterwards; or the clerk would get him to bring up the goods; or the cook would set him to knead the bread and clean the saucepans. Then he was sent to town on various errands, to bring the daughter home from school, or to get some olive oil for the old mother. "Why the devil have you been so long?" first one, then another, would say to him. Why should they go? Alyosha can go. "Alyosha! Alyosha!" And Alyosha ran here and there. He breakfasted in snatches while he was working, and rarely managed to get his dinner at the proper hour. The cook used to scold him for being late, but she was sorry for him all the same, and would keep something hot for his dinner and supper.

At holiday times there was more work than ever, but Alyosha liked holidays because everybody gave him a tip. Not much certainly, but it would amount up to about sixty kopeks [1s 2d]-- his very own money. For Alyosha never set eyes on his wages. His father used to come and take them from the merchant, and only scold Alyosha for wearing out his boots.

When he had saved up two roubles [4s], by the advice of the cook he bought himself a red knitted jacket, and was so happy when he put it on, that he couldn't close his mouth for joy. Alyosha was not talkative; when he spoke at all, he spoke abruptly, with his head turned away. When told to do anything, or asked if he could do it, he would say yes without the smallest hesitation, and set to work at once.

Alyosha did not know any prayer; and had forgotten what his mother had taught him. But he prayed just the same, every morning and every evening, prayed with his hands, crossing himself.

He lived like this for about a year and a half, and towards the end of the second year a most startling thing happened to him. He discovered one day, to his great surprise, that, in addition to the relation of usefulness existing between people, there was also another, a peculiar relation of quite a different character. Instead of a man being wanted to clean boots, and go on errands and harness horses, he is not wanted to be of any service at all, but another human being wants to serve him and pet him. Suddenly Alyosha felt he was such a man.

He made this discovery through the cook Ustinia. She was young, had no parents, and worked as hard as Alyosha. He felt for the first time in his life that he--not his services, but he himself--was necessary to another human being. When his mother used to be sorry for him, he had taken no notice of her. It had seemed to him quite natural, as though he were feeling sorry for himself. But here was Ustinia, a perfect stranger, and sorry for him. She would save him some hot porridge, and sit watching him, her chin propped on her bare arm, with the sleeve rolled up, while he was eating it. When he looked at her she would begin to laugh, and he would laugh too.

This was such a new, strange thing to him that it frightened Alyosha. He feared that it might interfere with his work. But he was pleased, nevertheless, and when he glanced at the trousers that Ustinia had mended for him, he would shake his head and smile. He would often think of her while at work, or when running on errands. "A fine girl, Ustinia!" he sometimes exclaimed.

Ustinia used to help him whenever she could, and he helped her. She told him all about her life; how she had lost her parents; how her aunt had taken her in and found a place for her in the town; how the merchant's son had tried to take liberties with her, and how she had rebuffed him. She liked to talk, and Alyosha liked to listen to her. He had heard that peasants who came up to work in the towns frequently got married to servant girls. On one occasion she asked him if his parents intended marrying him soon. He said that he did not know; that he did not want to marry any of the village girls.

"Have you taken a fancy to some one, then?"

"I would marry you, if you'd be willing."

"Get along with you, Alyosha the Pot; but you've found your tongue, haven't you?" she exclaimed, slapping him on the back with a towel she held in her hand. "Why shouldn't I?"

At Shrovetide Alyosha's father came to town for his wages. It had come to the ears of the merchant's wife that Alyosha wanted to marry Ustinia, and she disapproved of it. "What will be the use of her with a baby?" she thought, and informed her husband.

The merchant gave the old man Alyosha's wages.

"How is my lad getting on?" he asked. "I told you he was willing."

"That's all right, as far as it goes, but he's taken some sort of nonsense into his head. He wants to marry our cook. Now I don't approve of married servants. We won't have them in the house."

"Well, now, who would have thought the fool would think of such a thing?" the old man exclaimed. "But don't you worry. I'll soon settle that."

He went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table waiting for his son. Alyosha was out on an errand, and came back breathless.

"I thought you had some sense in you; but what's this you've taken into your head?" his father began.

"I? Nothing."

"How, nothing? They tell me you want to get married. You shall get married when the time comes. I'll find you a decent wife, not some town hussy."

His father talked and talked, while Alyosha stood still and sighed. When his father had quite finished, Alyosha smiled.

"All right. I'll drop it."

"Now that's what I call sense."

When he was left alone with Ustinia he told her what his father had said. (She had listened at the door.)

"It's no good; it can't come off. Did you hear? He was angry-- won't have it at any price."

Ustinia cried into her apron.

Alyosha shook his head.

"What's to be done? We must do as we're told."

"Well, are you going to give up that nonsense, as your father told you?" his mistress asked, as he was putting up the shutters in the evening.

"To be sure we are," Alyosha replied with a smile, and then burst into tears.

From that day Alyosha went about his work as usual, and no longer talked to Ustinia about their getting married. One day in Lent the clerk told him to clear the snow from the roof. Alyosha climbed on to the roof and swept away all the snow; and, while he was still raking out some frozen lumps from the gutter, his foot slipped and he fell over. Unfortunately he did not fall on the snow, but on a piece of iron over the door. Ustinia came running up, together with the merchant's daughter.

"Have you hurt yourself, Alyosha?"

"Ah! no, it's nothing."

But he could not raise himself when he tried to, and began to smile.

He was taken into the lodge. The doctor arrived, examined him, and asked where he felt the pain.

"I feel it all over," he said. "But it doesn't matter. I'm only afraid master will be annoyed. Father ought to be told."

Alyosha lay in bed for two days, and on the third day they sent for the priest.

"Are you really going to die?" Ustinia asked.

"Of course I am. You can't go on living for ever. You must go when the time comes." Alyosha spoke rapidly as usual. "Thank you, Ustinia. You've been very good to me. What a lucky thing they didn't let us marry! Where should we have been now? It's much better as it is."

When the priest came, he prayed with his bands and with his heart. "As it is good here when you obey and do no harm to others, so it will be there," was the thought within it.

He spoke very little; he only said he was thirsty, and he seemed full of wonder at something.

He lay in wonderment, then stretched himself, and died.

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Adventurous Voyage

Rules of Engagement

Adventurous Voyage

Sometimes when we are on this marvelous voyage we call life, we endure some unpleasant parts of the adventure. These challenges are presented to us in many different ways, and the way we meet difficulty not only reveals our character, but continues to develop it. Problems we encounter call for solutions, but without the problem, would we have sought the solution?

I hope you are involved in some creative act. Every year, I create a garden in my back forty. It’s really only 40 yards, but that’s plenty of garden for anyone. I prepare for the spring in the dark of winter, when I could be easily persuaded no renewal will ever come from the seemingly eternal coldness. In hopes of spring, I plant new things in my little greenhouse every winter. I don’t know why I wanted to have dozens of different plants all growing in that little protected environment, and some of them don’t even make it out into the summer weather. But it is an action indicating a hope for the change spring will bring.

I can point to each year’s project from the greenhouse growing now in the yard. The purple cone flowers look especially great right now, and planting them and nourishing them from seed makes them so much more special in my mind. It’s a physical reminder that no matter how dark the winter, spring and summer will follow.

I sat on the porch last night after the dogs demanded to visit the front yard, not only to do their business, but to investigate who had recently been by. The cat uses this time to make me pet him, and I do even though I am allergic to cat hair, and only have a cat because our daughter volunteered us as foster parents. The cat stays outside, the mice run away, and when Parker comes up and purrs and rubs my leg, it’s easier to pet him than run away. I look at the oak half-barrel I put by the front door. Some people use these as planters with glorious flowers, but for some reason, I like to create my own little world.

These casks used to hold whiskey, and the insides have been charred. Since they held whiskey, I reasoned they should hold water, and when properly soaked, they provide a home to my creation. I really like small water features, so a small pump which was a candle in the bathroom becomes the oxygenator. Water drips from the plastic candles, which recirculates and introduces oxygen onto the water for plants. There are some water iris, miniature cattails and some water lilies. But sitting water breeds mosquitoes, so there are some mosquito fish in there too.

Here is a little world I have created, where the plants, the fish, and even the wasps who like the water depend on me to provide a hospitable environment. I don’t have to feed the fish, but I do need to remember to add water every once in a while, and maybe scoop out some of the excess moss. Even in my deliberately created world, the world outside that little world has its own influence on what I do. Mosquitoes want to interfere; the fish help control them. Moss wants to grow; I have to intervene. The sun beats down and evaporates water; I have to add some.

This same principle applies to our own little world. We all live here, and some of our most important responsibilities may be to help others, to make this world work both for us and others, to sometimes intervene and do what is needed. W.H. Auden once said, “We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know.”

Maybe our only role is to be available to help others when they need the help. I always feel so much better when I look outside myself and say as Bill Murray eventually did in “Groundhog Day”; “What can I do for you today?”

Especially when our voyage becomes rougher, it is a blessing to have others who can help in some way, even if only to express sympathy. Just think back to when someone took the time to listen, to come to your aid, or to save the day. I hope you have the opportunity to help someone else like this, creating a better world as we all work together to make this a better place for everyone.

In fact, it seems getting outside ourselves to help others is one of the best ways to help us deal with our problems. A wise person once said, “Trade your troubles with whoever you please, and you will want your own back.”

How’s your world? Need some help? Can someone else use yours?

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The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Paula saw a change in Ray’s face as he looked out the window. She was relieved he was looking elsewhere, anywhere, except at her. He frowned deeply and stepped back from the window a bit. She read his body language and prepared for the worst.

“I think someone may be coming over to visit,” Ray observed dryly. Then he looked around the room to see if there was a better place to greet his upcoming guests. He pulled Paula off the couch and walked backwards, drawing her along with her back to him, the gun between them. He reached the stairs which went up to the bedrooms. Paula stumbled as she blindly followed, walking backwards and nearly being dragged up the stairs with Ray. Halfway up the stairs he stopped and sat Paula down on the stairs below him. He decided that when his new friends came through the front door, they would only see her sitting in front of the guy they really wanted.

Greg Jones was sprinting to the front door of the Parker house, with Smitty behind him calling out for him to slow down and wait for backup. But Smitty knew Jones would not stop, even to have the front door covered before he stormed in. Smitty waved for some officers to enter in the back.

Greg grabbed the door handle and then thought better of it. Smitty’s shouted warnings had finally reached his logical brain, and he stood sideways against the door frame and told Smitty to cover him. They both were astride the door frame, and since Smitty knew he wouldn’t be able to stop him, he nodded his head and prepared to take fire.

Greg popped the door open and curled around the side of the door, waving his gun in front of him. He immediately saw Paula sitting on the stairs, halfway up, with Johnson mostly hidden behind her. He froze as the standoff began, and almost didn’t notice Smitty rushing in the door to see the same situation.

“Don’t get excited,” Raymond Johnson said firmly, holding the gun just below the base of Paula’s skull. “I’ve got a gun pointed right at you, but it’ll have to go through her first.”

Greg had assumed as much, and as the two officer stood like statues, a thousand possibilities began to flood his mind. He tried to clear them away by speaking calmly, too. “There’s no way out of here, Johnson. We’ve got this place wrapped up tight, and you’re not going anywhere.”

“Maybe,” said Ray slowly. “Or maybe you’ll just back out of here and get me some transportation. I wouldn’t want to have to shoot this beautiful hostage I found. And I don’t think you want me to either. So I may not be leaving here alone, but I think I will be leaving.”

The chance to shoot Johnson in the head flashed through Greg’s mind. He was an excellent shot, and this was close range, but the years of training began to kick in, and he realized he was putting Paula a greater risk by showing force, and forcing the hand of the gunman. “All right, we’re going to back out slowly, and see what we can do about getting a car. Just don’t do anything to her, and I’ll guarantee your safety.”

Paula was afraid the negotiations would go this way. Usually police tried to save lives of the innocent, and sometimes that meant giving in to requests from the guilty. She knew she only had one chance to get this right, and she had been planning it ever since she had been dragged up the stairs. She seemed to remember vaguely a part in a play, which involved a gun and a set of stairs. But she had to wait for the right moment.

Then it came. The door to the back swung open and heavy feet crossed the kitchen, momentarily distracting Ray as he looked back to see if there were other stairs going up from the back. There weren’t, but this was all that Paula Rogers needed, and she decided to stop being a hostage and start helping, one of the worst things a hostage can do.

But this time it worked. As she shouted out “Greg, now!!” she pulled her head forward and tucked into a ball, beginning a somersault down the stairs. Raymond Johnson had the opportunity to follow, but he let go of her blouse as she fell heavily down the stairs. Struggling to keep his balance, he drew the gun up at the two officers, who had already fired a shot apiece. Smitty’s bullet missed and nicked up the carpet, but Jones’s bullet sped to Johnson’s left shoulder and pushed him back up the stairs by its force. Ray did likewise, and scrambled up the stairs before either officer could get another shot off.

Paula fell in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, and as he watched Johnson scurry away, Greg Jones fell to her side and looked for injuries. She grabbed his face and gave him a big kiss, but he pulled her up and out the front door before either could speak.

Smitty was calling for all officers to fall back. Since the hostage was free, this was now a different type of situation, which called for patience instead of force. The suspect was bleeding, and waiting would be easier than getting another officer shot.

Greg was still inspecting Paula for a broken bone or two, but she kissed him again and said, “What is the matter with you? I’m fine.”

“But how,” he stuttered, “you fell down eight or nine steps. And you’re not hurt?”

“Just my pride,” she said, rubbing her backside. “No, really, I’m fine. I didn’t think I could do it just like back in college, but I guess once you learn to ride a bicycle…”

“What are you talking about?” Greg stopped her in mid-sentence.

Paula took a step back and let him examine her from top to bottom. “Do I look injured?”

Greg shook his head “No.”

“It’s like a part I played in college. I had to fall down a set of stairs headfirst, and the correct way to do that is to let your backside be the cushion. I must have fallen down those wooden stairs twenty times in that play, and I never got more than a bruise.” She paused and then looked him in the eye again. “By the way, nice shooting. We make a nice team, Officer Jones.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard.

The usually quiet suburban road was full of official machinery, from ambulances to police cars. Undercover cars were parked next to patrol cars, and the officers worked quickly to evacuate the neighborhood. They didn’t want any more hostage situations. Smitty was confident this would all be over soon. He called Skinner over.

“How long before the secret weapon arrives?” he asked.

Skinner checked his watch. “Estimated time of arrival is less than ten minutes. Think he’ll bleed to death before we get him out of there?”

Smitty snorted. “If we’re lucky. Do you have that bullet proof vest?”

“Right here.” Skinner held up a very heavy black Kevlar vest.

Ray grabbed part of the bed sheet from upstairs and pulled it off the bed. He wasn’t badly wounded, but didn’t want to bleed more than necessary. He wrapped the sheet around his arm and under his armpit several time, using enough pressure to stop the bleeding. This would have to do until he could think of something else. At least the cops had pulled back, and now that he had a little time, he breathed in deeply and tried to fight off the pain of the gunshot wound. He had to be thinking clearly.

The money was still downstairs on the couch, but Ray didn’t feel safe enough to go downstairs and get it. It would still be down there when he went down, and right now he needed to get these clowns to give him transportation. Then once he was out of here, he could think of what to do next.

Cody Merring crouched and walked at the same time next to the gurney which was taking Mr. Graham to the ambulance. The police did their best to shelter everyone from possible stray gun fire, and keeping the back door of the ambulance between the Graham house and the Parker house, they loaded John Graham into the back. Reba stood shell-shocked next to Cody, who wrapped his arm around her and tried to comfort her as best he could. “It’s all right, Mrs. Graham. You did a good job. He’s going to be fine. It doesn’t look like any major arteries were hit.”

Reba Graham looked up into the eyes of the youngster. “Thank you. You did a very good job, too.” Then she was walking to the front of the ambulance, and it pulled down the street.

Cody Merring went over to Officer Jones and checked to see if there were any other injuries. Jones told him to stand by, since the gunman had been wounded. “He’ll probably need to be bandaged up, too.”

Jones took Paula over to confer with Smitty. Cody Merring stood thinking for a moment. He had never really thought about the fact he might be called to help bad people recover from their injuries. During his training he’d thought about drunk drivers, and how they never seemed to have the worst injuries at the scene, and had wondered at the time how he would feel to have to help the drunken person responsible for the carnage. He now understood, and shaking his head, he only wanted to go home and let this jerk who had held him at gunpoint bleed away. But he knew he couldn’t. So he sat down and waited for his next job.

Raymond Johnson waited patiently by the phone. His shoulder was throbbing, but the blood had stopped flowing. He knew the cops would be calling. The phone rang, and Smitty spoke on the other end. “Johnson, this is Harold Smith. I’m with the state police. You need paramedics in there?”

Skinner smiled as he heard Smitty say this, knowing no paramedics were going up there. Smitty knew he only needed a few more minutes and the secret weapon would take care of the rest. He hoped.

“Yeah. Send up cops dressed like paramedics.” Ray said. “I want a car with a tank full of gas and clear passage out of town.” Ray heard himself saying this, and half-realized there would be no car waiting for him downstairs. The best he could probably hope for was not to get shot again.

“A car could be a problem, but are you sure you can drive?”

Smitty was trying to get a sense of the injuries Johnson had suffered, but Johnson wasn’t biting. “What do you mean? I feel fine.”

Smitty now grinned at Skinner. He had seen the hit, and if Johnson didn’t need major surgery on his shoulder, Smitty would be surprised. “Okay, I’ll check on the car and call back in five minutes.”

He hung up and Ray was left listening to the dial tone. “It was always good to leave them hanging on the line,” Smitty thought to himself. That way Ray would begin to see this lifeline as the only way of that house alive.

The vest was small, and they had to arrange delivery behind the garage of the Parker house. Surprise would be the biggest element, and Smitty didn’t want to ruin the shock value. Clear instructions were a problem, and checking the details several times indicated the mission was not clearly understood, but Smitty was patient and knew they had plenty of time to get this right.

It was probably not following procedure exactly, but it was a way to limit the danger to his troops. There would probably never be an official protest about the special circumstances, and Smitty doubted the participants would complain at all. His superiors might give him that one look, like they didn’t really believe what he had just said. But Skinner had come up with the plan, and he had to admit it was the best option they had at the moment.

The secret weapon walked up the stairs of the house, trying to be quiet as instructed. Ray could hear a noise downstairs and decided to turn his gun from the window, where he kept imagining how many cops he could shoot with his remaining bullets, to the top of the stairs. Whoever it was didn’t speak. Ray shouted down the stairs.

“Who is that down there? I have a gun,” he threatened. “Don’t come up the stairs.” Ray thought he heard a snort, a chuckle? Maybe just the shuffling of feet. “You better not come up here if you know what’s good for you.”

There was a noise of heavy footfalls on the stairs, coming up very slowly now. Ray had never encountered this kind of direct assault in his dealings with the police, nor had he ever heard anyone describe this kind of suicide approach. He raised the gun and decided whoever it was must have a death wish.

As the daylight had just begun to break over the city, and the lights to this vacant house were not turned on, Ray peered through the early dawn light to see a massive head and upper body appear in the stairwell. At first he thought it was John Graham, back to get his money, but this was a bigger man, who continued to grow as he rose up the stairs.

“Raymond!” Tommy recognized Ray first, and couldn’t maintain his vow of silence any longer. He walked toward Ray with outstretched arms ready to give him a big bear hug, which was normally painful. Ray could only imagine the pain he would feel if Tommy squeezed his shattered shoulder. Ray raised the gun and began to shoot into the giant’s body. Three shots in row.

Followed by three others, and then the gun clicked. He was out of bullets.

Tommy didn’t even stop. Though the bullets pushed dents into the fabric and would probably leave bruises on Tommy, the big man didn’t notice the short punches to his chest, and wanted more than anything to give his friend Ray a big hug.

And so that is what he did. Squeezing with all his might the friend he hadn’t seen since the train, Ray let out a yell that let Smitty and the others know it was time to go rescue Ray from Tommy. They had already heard Ray run out of ammo, and now the situation was clearly non-lethal. But they followed procedure anyway and went up the stairs by the book.

Tommy let go of Ray and watched the small man collapse in a pile of pain and misery. Tommy couldn’t understand why Ray wasn’t happy to see him, too. It had been such long time since they had been on the train together, and the nice man from the police station had insisted that Tommy give Ray an extra big hug when he saw him. Tommy had even been promised that if he was extra quiet before he saw Ray that there might be extra candy involved when they all returned to the station house together.

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