Fourteen Fraught Fables and One Debatable Day

Fourteen Fraught Fables

Fable #1

While visiting Buffalo, I walked to La Salle Park to see Lake Erie. Along the road through the park I was surprised to see so many cars standing with drivers inside reading newspapers. I wondered what they were waiting for there.

As I watched, one of the drivers left his car and exchanged smiles with a woman whose car he then climbed in. Next, two other drivers got out of their cars and stood together talking in a confidential way, with a lot of pointing at docks and breakwaters. Now I understood that La Salle Park must be where assignations take place and agents of secret organizations meet.

I crossed the pedestrian bridge over the Thruway and went to the police station on Niagara Street. I told the desk sergeant my suspicions about the drivers waiting in the park, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. Sitting in a car is no crime, he said. I was shocked to find the authorities so unconcerned, and determined to find such convincing evidence that they would have to take action.

Returning to the park in a rented car, I stopped along the road and began reading a newspaper. Suddenly a woman climbed in next to me. I think I’ve found another place to meet, she said breathlessly, but we’ll have to be very careful. It’s all written down here. She slipped an envelope into my pocket, kissed me, ran back to her car and drove off.

Before I could open the envelope, I became aware of a man stopping alongside my window and carefully folding his newspaper. Between pages twenty-four and twenty-five, he said in a low voice without looking at me, floor plans and photographs. He resumed his walk and dropped the newspaper into a nearby trash can.

After he returned to his car and drove away, I got out of mine and went to retrieve the newspaper. But before I could look between pages twenty-four and twenty-five, a police car came speeding toward me. I rushed back to my car only to find policemen closing in on all sides, guns drawn. I couldn’t help feeling pleased that the authorities were finally taking my advice about the suspicious activities in La Salle Park.

Fable #2

My first exercise in the hospital’s cardiac rehabilitation session was to pedal for ten minutes on a stationary bicycle. Gazing through the top floor room length window at the ring of hills beyond Pittsfield, I was suddenly struck by the realization that my forward-motion energy was being entirely wasted. Imagine if, instead, the strenuous pedaling were applied to actually riding the bicycle into the distance!

I turned to the woman on the treadmill at my right, You’d think all this work would get us somewhere, I said.

She laughed. Yes, but where is there to go?

To the hills, naturally, I replied, surprised she could look out the same window and not be struck by the same impulse.

I tuned to the man on the rowing machine at my left. With all the effort we put in, it makes no sense that we end up exactly where we started.

But we don’t, he said, We end up healthier, more fit.

I didn’t think much of that response. We could get healthier and more fit by exercising lying down, or, if staying in place, by lifting weights. Instead, we keep repeating the motion of going forward, without ever getting closer to those inviting heights.

Even before my ten minutes were up, the feeling of futility had become unbearable, and with a mighty effort I rode the bicycle off its stand and out the window. I pedaled eagerly over streets, houses, shops and trees, my course lying straight toward the rising range. I was delighted to hear the woman’s determined striding on my right, and the man’s vigorous rowing on my left. How satisfying it all felt, as if the exercises were renewing us in every way!

Now the city thinned out as we urged our machines over the forested foothills below the looming crests. Beyond, I felt sure, was something precious, some splendor I had dimly sensed when gazing longingly toward them in the past. The near sides of the towering mountains were in shadow, but from behind streamed a radiance ever more glorious as we approached, I looked around to exult with my companions, only to discover they had turned back and were scarcely to be seen. What an unfortunate choice they have made, I thought, with the majestic peaks rising so close!

With a supreme burst of power, I ascended along the vertiginous cliffs toward the magnificence above. When I took a last look backward before soaring over the awesome summits, I could make out a commotion of some sort in the cardiac rehabilitation room. But that would hardly matter to me now.

Fable #3

In London one Sunday I went to the Brick Lane street market. Most of the offerings were just junk, but among scattered papers on one table I noticed a document badly dog eared but beautifully designed and lettered. What is this? I asked the dealer.

Well now, that’s a rare one! he replied. It’s the deed to St. Paul’s Cathedral.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. That must be rather valuable.

I should say so! Just think of the rent you could collect!

But surely this isn’t the only facsimile, so why would—

Facsimile? he interrupted indignantly, No, sir, that’s the original deed. I said it was rare, didn’t I?

But how do you come to have the original?

Found it in a pile of trash from a cathedral office stripped for renovating. Discarded by error, no doubt.

How much are you asking for it?

Twenty pounds, sir, and you’ll never get another deal like it here or anywhere else!

I knew you were supposed to bargain at street markets. I’ll give you fifteen.

Fifteen pounds? He was incredulous. For the original deed to St. Paul’s Cathedral?

All right, seventeen-fifty.

No, sir, that deed doesn’t go for a penny less than twenty pounds!

I was impressed by his refusal to bargain and paid the twenty pounds. He rolled up the deed and tied it with a ribbon. You’ve got yourself a good property, he assured me.

I took the deed to St. Paul’s. In a small basement kitchen, I hung up my coat, put water on to boil for tea, and sat down to read my newspaper. A church staff member came in and asked rather rudely what I thought I was doing there. I told him that if he would ask the Dean to please come by, everything would be explained.

The fellow left, and a few minutes later the Dean came in. You do not belong here, he said severely.

I don’t wish to contradict Your Reverence, I politely replied, but I belong here more than anyone. I held out the deed. The Dean untied the ribbon, unrolled the deed, and studied it for a while. Then he rolled it up, retied the ribbon, and handed it back.

His bearing was very different now. I would appreciate a fortnight for the present owners and staff to remove their personal effects, he said.

Fair enough. Actually, I don’t mind if you want to keep using the upstairs on Sundays.

Thank you, but private ownership terminates consecrated status. However, I do request one concession: that you allow the faithful to visit their former place of worship in order to observe its ancient treasures—which are, of course, your treasures now.

I don’t see why not, as long as they don’t make too much noise.

They have behaved quite well for hundreds of years, he said, with more bitterness than I felt was called for.

After the Dean left I climbed to the walk around the outside of the dome. A dazzling sunset was reflected in the Thames. The sight was so magnificent that I involuntarily gave my benediction to all below.

Fable #4

As I drove on the Thruway toward my Berkshire home, a great hole appeared in the overcast and God looked down. I was delighted. The perfect peak in a perfect day! I said, enjoying my pun.

What made it perfect? He asked.

Well, I awoke with my loving family on a beautiful morning, drove through gloriously sunlit country to do my teaching, enjoyed my students and conversations with colleagues, received an encouraging letter about my writing, and now I’m on my way back to my handsomely appointed house in the Berkshires, looking forward to an evening of domestic and intellectual pleasures. A full and harmonious life, if I do say so myself!

And where do I fit into that full and harmonious life? He asked.

I realized that the way I had phrased matters failed to address that point. You are the animating spirit of it all, the timeless standard of fullness and harmony, I replied. He said nothing. I became aware of the discrepancy between the specifics of my daily life and the generalities of my spiritual precepts. All those pleasures I mentioned are merely transient and trifling, if not grounded in the concept of a magisterial intelligence, which You embody at its most sublime. Still he said nothing. Now I chose my words with especial care. Knowledge of You tempers my good fortune with humility. It curbs undue self-satisfaction to recall that my personal happiness is the most insignificant imaginable manifestation of Your exalted beneficence throughout the farthest reaches of Your universe.

The great hole in the overcast closed up. Nothing else happened. I thought everything was all right, but just as the Berkshires came into view the road ended at a chasm seven miles deep.

Fable #5

One spring day a shabbily dressed man approached me on Sixth Avenue in Greenwich Village. Can you spare a dime? he asked. Of course I walked past without a glance.

At the next corner, I was surprised to be met by the same man, who seemed in worse condition than before. Can you spare a dollar? he begged. I stepped up my pace.

I walked rapidly down the next block to be sure of losing him, but to my amazement there he was ahead, hobbling toward me in obvious pain. Can you spare ten dollars? he pled. I broke into a run.

Fleeing wildly down the sidewalk, weaving among pedestrians and darting across intersections, I was stunned to find him waiting in my path, so utterly decrepit he could barely remain upright. Can you spare a thousand dollars? he gasped. I quickly wrote out a check, relieved to be getting off so lightly.

Fable #6

Walking down North Street in Pittsfield, I noticed a free-standing commercial lettering board in the window of an office supply store. The letters inserted