Twenty-nine Sparks
By Trevor Ryan
Copyright 2013 Trevor Ryan
I sat with my back to the window with the warmth of the late afternoon sun on the back of my neck. The breeze from the window was making the plastic control ball chain from the vertical blinds rattle against the steel guard rail and I pressed my ear to the metal listening to the vibrations. I made a slow beat with my tongue, absentmindedly rummaging through the cracks between the lounge seats. My hand came across a Joker card and I flicked the corner of the card making it snap.
‘Choose a lucky page number,’ I said.
Kensuke followed my directions and stabbed the card slowly into the book’s middle.
His brow furrowed as he stared into the open book.
‘The most intolerable pain is produced by prolonging the keenest pleasure,’ he read slowly.
‘Like doughnut poisoning?’ volunteered Mai, who I had last seen at a clandestine teacher-student party by the river. We had shared a chemical heat patch.
‘But why is it the most pain, Thomas?’ asked Kensuke.
‘Well,’ I answered, ‘“most” doesn’t always mean most. We might say “you are most welcome” for example.’
They looked at me sceptically.
‘What can I say?’ I continued, and grimaced as I tried to pop one of my vertebrae. ‘Rules are overrated.’
I tried to deflect the question.
‘You’re the psychiatrist, Kensuke,’ I said, leaning back again. ‘Why is it that pleasure and pain are so close?’
Kensuke smiled.
‘For you, maybe nothing is intolerable.’
*
Dear Thomas,
Here is a fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a squirrel. During the summer he busily collected acorns and buried them in a hole. As the winter came he began to worry that his lazy neighbours would steal his acorn collection so before hibernation he put up a sign with a rule on it: ‘Let’s just eat our own acorns.’
When he awoke, he was surprised to see that some of his acorns were missing.
‘Come out you naughty squirrels, did you take my acorns?’ he cried.
‘Sorry neighbour,’ they replied. ‘We mistook your acorns for ours.’
‘If it was a mistake,’ the squirrel replied, ‘why did you only dig up my acorns by mistake but not your own?’
The other squirrels thought and said, ‘What a surprise, you are right. It must be squirrel nature to treat our own acorns more carefully.’
The next summer the busy squirrel carefully collected his acorns again and put a new rule at the bottom of his tree: ‘Let’s treat other squirrels’ acorns as if they were your own.’
When he awoke in the spring, to his surprise, all of his acorns were gone.
*
The Joker chose ‘Man thinks. God laughs’ but nobody showed so I left the pages open in the classroom. There was a knock at the staffroom door.
‘There’s a patient for you,’ joked one of the other teachers.
Since the recession Taro spent his days making computer keyboards in a factory but his true calling had been crafting quality furniture and he hadn’t seen his ex-wife or son in years. He had arrived a few minutes late and had been sitting in the classroom without me.
‘I’ve just been thinking,’ he explained.
‘And?’ I asked.
‘When do I get to hear god laugh?’
I glanced nervously at my supervisor.
‘Keep listening,’ I said.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the squirrel fable is ‘A clear rule is a just rule’. My opinion is ‘A clear rule is just a rule.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, a judge was trying a baker. The baker was accused of making bread with a cunning shape that made less bread but sold for the same price. The judge opened his book of laws and found the rule for bread. It said bread should be a circle. There was no picture in the book so even when he checked the bread carefully he could not decide whether it was a circle or not.
‘Assistant, come here! I need a circle to compare to this bread.’
The assistant replied, ‘What is a circle?’
‘A circle is like the sun.’
After one hour, the assistant returned with a lantern.
‘Judge,’ he said, ‘this might be a circle, although it is not quite as bright as the sun.’
‘No,’ frowned the judge. ‘A circle is like the sun because it is round not because it is bright.’
The assistant left again and after an hour returned with his sister.
‘Is this a circle?’ he asked. ‘She is quite round.’
‘A circle,’ the judge spelled out to his assistant, ‘is the longest way you can get from one place back to the start.’
‘I understand,’ said the assistant and disappeared again.
When he came back the judge said, ‘Did you find me a circle?’
‘Yes,’ said the assistant, ‘I am a circle. The baker’s bread is nothing like me so he must be guilty.’
*
I saw the contents of Mamoru’s briefcase as he was preparing for class. I could see some photographs.
‘They’re of my paintings,’ he mumbled. ‘Some of them were shown at city hall.’
I handed him the Joker.
‘To be an artist means never to avert one’s eyes,’ he murmured, withdrawing the card and staring around the room uncomfortably.
‘Can we see your photographs? Don’t be shy, I’m sure they’re great.’
He handed them over reluctantly. I passed them back and sat in appalled silence.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply, you said the moral to the circle fable is ‘A good judge needs good rules.’ My opinion is ‘A good rule needs a good judge.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a very rich and powerful merchant. More than anything he loved his beautiful lady. He paid a famous artist to make a picture of her using a print block. The merchant was greedy and realised that the fine picture would have more value if there was only one copy and ordered the artist to hide the original block from all eyes.
One year later there was a fire at the merchant’s house and he lost both his beautiful lady and the picture. He came again to the artist’s house in despair.
‘Artist! Please make me another print of my lady. The memory of her beauty is already fading.’
The artist shook his head.
‘I’m sorry but you must be making a mistake. I have no such block.’
The merchant pleaded with the artist. ‘But I know you did. I remember the picture even clearer than I remember my lady.’
The artist smiled.
‘If that is true, perhaps it is merely the picture of another man’s lady that you remember.’
*
Tomato had a beautiful smile. I fanned myself with her student folder and noticed that a small smiley face had been drawn in the corner, secret code for an attractive student.
‘By Saint Augustine. Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.’
‘But not yet,’ I repeated.
‘What is chastity and continence?’ she asked.
‘Chastity means purity. Especially before marriage. Continence means not leaking all over the place.’
Her smile faltered and she coughed into a handkerchief.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the artist fable is ‘Love of money is no love at all’. My opinion is ‘The past is in the present. The present is in the past.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
/> Once upon a time, there was a remarkable market stall. It had anything anybody wanted. Unfortunately, the stall rule was: ‘You may only buy what nobody wants you to have’.
One day, a man came to the stall and said to the veiled salesgirl.
‘How much to see your face?’
‘I’m sorry, but my face is not for sale,’ she replied.
‘But the rule says that I can buy anything at the stall that nobody wants me to have. Do you want me to see your face?’
‘No’ she replied.
‘Then you must let me buy what I want.’
‘But you are somebody,’ she replied cleverly, and repeated the rule. ‘You may only buy what nobody wants you to have.’
The man was beaten and went home. Yet he came back to the stall the next day and said, ‘I will buy your veil. Nobody wants me to have that, not even me.’
When the man saw the salesgirl’s face, he took a good look and, deciding that he did not want it, made up his mind to keep the veil after all.
*
‘You said the sentence wrong,’ Namiyo remarked. ‘It should be “how old you were”, shouldn’t it?’
I checked the book of quotations again.
‘No, it definitely says “how old would you be if you didn’t know how old you was”.
My voice dropped to a whisper, ‘But it’s okay to break the rules for effect.’
‘Ha,’ she said, ‘Maybe I should be teaching you then.’
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the veil fable is ‘Logic wins the day’. My opinion is ‘Power wins the day’. Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, a tall man and a short man met along a road on the way to market. The tall man noticed that the short man was eating a round fruit and smiling as he walked with a barrel.
‘What kind of fruit are you eating?’ the tall man asked.
The short man replied, ‘rotten fruit.’
The tall man was surprised.
‘Why are you eating rotten fruit?’
The short man laughed and said, ‘That’s its name. The fruit starts rotten and slowly becomes fresh. Would you like some?’
The tall man was very polite and said ‘No thank you. It must be a very expensive kind of fruit because I have never heard of it before.’
The short man smiled: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you one free piece from my barrel. It has no value for me because this free piece of rotten fruit is rotten, which means that it starts fresh and goes bad like regular fruit.’
The tall man accepted the fruit and was surprised at how delicious it was for a rotten piece. He thought the fresh ones must be even better and paid all his money for the rest of the barrel.
*
‘Nobody loves life like him who is growing old,’ I had Shigeru read.
Tsuyoshi was the first to answer.
‘Fear of death,’ he said morbidly.
Shigeru smiled and said to Tsuyoshi, ‘You’ll understand when you reach my age.’
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the rotten fruit fable is ‘A fool and his money are easily parted’. My opinion is ‘What is unripe may never ripen. What is ripe may never rot.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a village that went on a pilgrimage each year. A young boy, a strong man, and an old man were last in the procession. A priest met them on the road.
‘Why don’t you help your son?’ he said to the strong man, who was weeping. ‘His bags are very heavy for a small boy and you could carry more.’
The strong man replied, ‘I have no son. This is my grandson and the duty belongs to his father.’
The priest asked, ‘What of your duty to your poor old father?’
The strong man replied, ‘I have no father. This is my grandfather and the duty belongs to his son.’
*
What do you want to be when you get out of high school, Aki?’ I asked.
‘A killer,’ he replied, without blinking.
‘A good beginning makes a good ending,’ I read from the book.
He remained expressionless.
‘Good things are good to break,’ he said, and stared out the window blankly.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the pilgrimage fable is ‘Blind duty is a fool’s duty.’ My opinion is ‘No man is strong enough to walk alone’. Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was an army. They had made camp on one side of the border because they were preparing to invade the next day. The sergeant was woken up by a terrible din. He found that the private was noisily banging a drum with a stick.
‘What are you doing private?’ the sergeant shouted over the noise.
‘I’m trying to silence this drum so I can get some sleep,’ said the private.
‘Fool!’ the sergeant cried, ‘you are keeping everybody awake!’
The sergeant took the stick and started beating the private, who yelped in pain. At last, this woke the major, who was very angry.
‘What are you doing sergeant?’
The sergeant shouted over the noise.
‘I’m trying to silence this private, major.’
‘Fool!’ the major cried, ‘you are keeping everybody awake!’
The major took the stick and started beating the sergeant, who yelped in pain.
When morning arrived and everyone had received a sound beating, the tired army slept peacefully through its own attack.
*
‘Work sets you free?’ read Yujin, who was paying off his father’s debts to his uncle with his own labour. The Joker was cruel sometimes.
‘Are you free?’ he grinned at me. ‘Or are you just pretending to work?’
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the drum fable is ‘No enemy like the enemy within.’ My opinion is ‘A high fool is lower than a low fool.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a farmer. He left his farm in the drought to look for work in the town. At the town hall he saw four positions advertised: jobs for Somebody, Anybody, Nobody, and Everybody.
First he applied for the job for Somebody, but the clerk said, ‘Sorry, there are no vacancies left. Everybody is working for Somebody at the moment.’
Second, he applied for the job for Anybody.
The clerk said, ‘Sorry, you can’t work for Anybody without an introduction from Somebody.’
Third, the farmer applied for the job for Everybody, but the clerk said, ‘Unfortunately, you can’t work for Everybody directly, only through Nobody, because Nobody works for Everybody.’
‘Okay, I’ll work for Nobody then,’ the farmer said and returned to his farm.
*
I gazed out the window and saw a familiar, dilapidated blue car parked by the station. It was packed full of old newspapers and a portable TV the driver used to watch horse races.
‘Let’s gamble,’ I said, smiling.
‘The power to make money is a gift of God,’ Mariko read.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the farmer fable is ‘Everybody can be somebody but anybody can be nobody.’ My opinion is ‘Everybody is more than somebody and nobody is just anybody.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a gambler. He could not stop himself from gambling and over time he had lost everything but the clothes he was wearing. As he was walking barefooted on the rough road he saw an old man coming the other way.
‘Old man, let’s have a wager. Your shoes or my shirt.’
He looked around and his eyes settled on two blackbirds perched on a branch. I wager that the left one will fly away first.’
The old man shook his head.
> ‘That is not fair. Maybe these birds are your friends. Let’s wager on these two fallen trees here. Let’s wager on which fell first.’
The gambler grumbled, but could not resist.
‘Very well. You first.’
The old man smiled and pointed to the second tree, which lay beneath the first.
*
‘All the people like us are We, And everyone else is They,’ Lotta read. ‘Must be a Japanese saying. There is always inside and outside here. Family, company, country, whatever. And everybody has a mask that they will only take off for insiders.’
‘Isn’t that true everywhere?’ Kei asked and she frowned.
‘You can’t see it objectively. You’re Japanese.’
‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the gambler fable is ‘Rules make the winner.’ My opinion is ‘Winners make the rules.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a Baron and a village. The Baron lived in a manor looking over the village. One night some of the villagers went secretly to the manor to discover the secret of the Baron’s riches. Thinking they were unseen, they peeked into his window. The Baron checked his pocket watch out of habit and hoped the villagers would soon go home. When the villagers saw this they thought, ‘Now we understand. The Baron is a rich man because he is so careful about time.’
The villagers sold their animals and bought a village clock and when the Baron looked down on the villagers one afternoon he saw them gathered in the village square staring idly at their new clock. Fearing the worst, the Baron quickly announced lower taxes. The villages rejoiced because they had no means left for paying the tax anyway.
*
I handed Marumi one of the tourist brochures for ‘the World’s Last Paradise’, which we used as lesson material for students enrolled in the travel English course. As she browsed through it, I eased the Joker card between the pages of my book.
‘Travelling is a fool’s paradise,’ she read slowly.
*
Dear Thomas,
In your reply letter, you said the moral of the clock fable is ‘The ruler is also ruled.’ My opinion is ‘The rules change every time they are read.’ Here is another fable. What is the moral?
Once upon a time, there was a snail who carried his house on his back. One windy, rainy day a tiny hole appeared in his house, but the snail did not think it was such a big problem. The next windy, rainy day the tiny hole became a little bigger, but the snail still thought it was not such a big problem. The next windy, rainy day, the hole was big enough to let the wind and rain inside. The wet, cold snail tried to leave through the front door but was surprised when his wet, cold house followed him.