The Song of Life

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The Song of Life

By George Sranko

In an ancient kingdom long ago, it was the Emperor's birthday. Every year, on this day, in a tradition handed down for centuries, the Emperor would tax the people by receiving his weight in gold.

According to ancient custom a massive oak and silver balance had been erected in the center of the castle courtyard. The Emperor sat suspended on a platform below one end of the sturdy beam. The other end supported the weight of a growing basket full of gold coins.
It was a great day; the young man's first birthday as the new Emperor. He had just turned sixteen. His father had recently died and he suddenly found himself on the throne.

The people were happy because the young man was much lighter than the old Emperor had been and so the pile of gold would be much smaller this year. The boy was dressed in imperial splendour, wearing the finest silks of dazzling blue and red. He sat cross-legged on a satin pillow and nodded slightly to his subjects as they bowed before him and placed their coins on the pile with a tinkle.

The young emperor found it tedious sitting still on the small platform waiting for this ragged crowd to pay him homage. He let out a big yawn and stretched his arms wide. Crows were picking at food scraps on the other side of the courtyard.

"Even the crows look better than most of this scruffy crowd..." he thought to himself.
The shuffling line of people was like an endless, babbling centipede working it's way across the cobblestones. Close to the Emperor, however, the crowd grew silent. Even the children hushed up as they came closer to the all-powerful one.

The Emperor's word was law and the young man's father had been a ruthless tyrant. Many people had been sent to work in the mines or had never been seen again because of one wrong word or action.

After a long while it was an old man’s turn to place his gold coin on the growing pile. He stepped forward from the head of the line. Simply dressed, he had white hair and a soft, white beard. His eyes also seemed soft and settled gently on those around him. He bowed low before the Emperor and then stood straight.

His mouth stretched into a silly, toothless grin!

The young Emperor watched with disgust and wondered what the old fool had to grin about. The old man dropped a feather onto the pile of gold coins and turned to follow the others leaving the courtyard.

The Emperor called out, "Stop that ancient bone-rack! What is this? How dare you insult me with a worthless feather! Guards, drag this old buzzard out of my sight before he drops any more of his filthy feathers. I'll deal with him later."

The old man grinned as he was roughly jerked away by the soldiers. He waved a merry good-bye to the Emperor.

"Let’s see that feather," the Emperor snapped at a nearby attendant. The Emperor examined the feather for a minute or so and absently twirled it between his fingers as he waited for the intolerable minutes to pass. Somehow, at least, that grinning fool had made the afternoon seem less tedious.

After the ceremony was over the emperor ordered the guards to bring the gold to him and left for his rooms in the castle. During dinner he examined the contents of the basket. Pushing his hands deep within the pile of heavy coins he admired his growing wealth.
"Have the old buzzard brought to me," he ordered his guards after dinner.

The old man entered the room filled with fine silk tapestries, thick rugs and cushions tossed in every corner. A breeze whispered through the room, filled with the perfume of fresh cut flowers.

The Emperor sat spread out across a large couch covered with the white pelts of the rare snow-leopard, munching on honey candy.

"Well, old man, this better be good," he said. "How dare you insult me with this worthless feather when I demand gold or silver?"

"My apologies, my lord, I’m a simple traveler passing through your kingdom. I don’t have any gold to give... but I wanted to give you something… The feather is the one thing I treasure most."

The Emperor just about choked, he started laughing so hard. "A feather, you old doddering fool? That’s what you treasure most in the whole world!"

"Please, oh, please take my kingdom for your feather! Please, take everything -- but I MUST have your feather," he mocked.

"The feather is given with love, my lord, the gold is not," said the old man quietly.

"What? Don’t talk such drivel! What do I care how its given? – its gold I want, not your filthy feathers! I can’t believe I’m listening to this -- a beggar telling me about giving! See this - this is real!" said the young Emperor as he walked to a pile of gold and lifted a handful of coins. He opened his hand and let the coins shower loudly onto the glimmering pile below.

"Love and feathers are for doddering old fools - only gold is worthy of an Emperor!" said the young man.

The old man chortled and snickered.

"You have all the gold you could ever desire, my master, yet you have nothing to compare with the riches this tiny feather has to offer. Gold only satisfies your greed, my feather is a gift to your spirit."

"BAH! You old fool! I spit on your feather! Phthoo!"
The feather slowly drifted to the marble floor.
The old man grinned even harder.

"Nevertheless, gold cannot bring you true joy and the feather can," he said.
"Get out of here! If you love feathers so much you can spend a few months in the chicken coop cleaning up the royal chicken poop. Ha-ha! A poem just for you, old man."
"Guards! Take this old fool and find him a place with his feathered friends."
The Emperor turned to his piles of gold and let the shimmering coins trickle through his fingers.

* * *

One year later the Emperor sat on a massive chair suspended below the wooden beam of the balance. Because of the added weight of the chair the pile of gold was much larger than ever before. The people grumbled even more loudly than they had when his father had sat there demanding gold.

The young Emperor sat lounging in the chair, fanning himself with a fine paper fan, gazing blankly into the crowd. The wait was almost interminable – and if it wasn’t a matter of being an age old tradition he would have asked his fattest servant to take his place.
Suddenly the same old man was there again, stepping forward from the line and bowing low. Recognizing the ridiculous grin, the Emperor leaned forward and asked, "Well, Chicken Poop, have you learned your lesson? Have you brought a gold coin for me this year?"

"No, my lord," answered the old man, "but I have brought a gift that weighs less than a feather and is even more precious. It’s the song of the wren; do you hear it?"

The old man pointed to the top of a tall oak tree standing near the castle wall where a tiny winter wren trilled its splendid song above the sound of the crowd.

The Emperor looked up in disbelief. Now the fool was giving him the song of a wren! This was the last straw! The poorest wretch in the entire kingdom was giving him something he couldn't even own.

He listened for a few seconds. The liquid song pouring from the tiny bird's throat was curiously stirring. It felt as if his heart was being tugged by a mysterious thread.
Reaching into a pocket in his gown he touched a piece of gold fabric with the feather sewn into it… he had kept it all this time without any good reason. For several minutes he sat, as if in another world, listening to the bird singing.

A part of him suddenly felt very empty. He thought of his father. He had never felt close to his father... or to anyone, really. Now even his father was gone and the young emperor felt the full force of his loneliness.

With a shake of his head, the young Emperor came back to the present and looked up. The old man had disappeared. Springing from his chair, he looked eagerly in all directions.
The basket of coins crashed to the ground with the sudden shift of weight and tipped over, sending coins rolling and spinning crazily on the cobblestones and in the dust.

The Emperor's accountants and attendants quickly swooped and scurried to gather up the coins like hungry crows fighting over scraps.

Without even noticing the commotion he had just caused, the Emperor said, "That’s enough. Let them go home." He waved his arm towards the crowd and walked towards the castle entrance.

"What is it the old man said…," he thought to himself. "He said the feather was given with love and it would bring joy while the gold coins could not. Now the crazy fool says he has given me the song of this bird!"

The young Emperor stopped to listen and once again felt his heart lifted by the delicate sound.

Now that he listened carefully, it did sound beautiful. Yet... how could the old man give him this gift? Anyone can hear the song of a bird. This was no gift!

During the days and months that followed the young Emperor listened a great deal to the song of birds, particularly the tiny wrens. He would often sit under the oak trees with the gold cloth and feather in his hand thinking about the old man and what he had said.
"He has given me something... yet I cannot describe it," he thought.

"The gold coins disappear, they come and go, but the gift he has given me remains with me. He was right - it is a gift much greater than any gold coin and yet I cannot hold it in my hand because it is here inside of me… a part of me. And this tugging at my heart...?"

* * *

The third year came, his nineteenth birthday, and the Emperor once again sat suspended under the beam of the balance. The massive wooden chair was gone this year and he sat on a satin pillow. He looked eagerly into each person's face as the women and men progressed up the line and dropped their gold coins. Hundreds went by and the old man still did not appear. The young Emperor grew anxious.

"Please, let him appear. Please - I must talk with him..." he whispered to himself.

After many hours the line grew shorter and still there was no sign of the old man. The young Emperor thought his heart would break in two as he watched the last few people shuffling up towards him. He took the small gold cloth with the feather from his breast pocket and stroked it gently with a finger.

Suddenly there came a sweet trilling sound from above; a wren sang from the great oaks above the courtyard.

He looked up and there he was - at the gate. The old man hadn't changed much. He still wore the same simple clothes. Now he carried a walking stick as he made his way up to the center of the courtyard.

When the old man drew near the young Emperor said, "I’ve missed you - I was afraid you would not come." He looked at the old man's silly grinning face with joy.
For some seconds neither of them spoke. The young Emperor felt his throat tighten.
The old man finally said, "Ah, ha! It’s you again! Still hanging around…"

"I’ve waited so long to see you!" said the Emperor. "The days have dragged by. What can I do about this ache in my chest? Why does my heart ache when I listen to the wren sing?"
The old man slowly knelt down before the Emperor.

"Let me settle these old bones closer to the dust," he said, with a wave of his hand as the young man protested.

"The bird sings it's song for all to hear," he continued. "It sings of passion and joy, of pain and bittersweet sorrow. This is the song of life for those who have ears to hear it. The bird sings, yet only a few are listening."

"So it is with the love in our hearts. Love is straining at the gates within all of us. Yet only a few are listening."

"Fling open the floodgates so your love flows as freely as the song of the gentle wren. Let it loose and shower it freely upon all the people and all the creatures of the world!"

Upon saying these words the old man closed his eyes and a peaceful smile replaced his silly grin.

Slowly he slumped to the ground.

"What are you doing?" asked the young Emperor. "Water," he called, "bring some water, quickly!"

He jumped to the side of the old man and held his hand. It felt limp.

"No!" he cried. "Don't go away. You can't die. I love you, old man. I love you!"

It was the first time the young Emperor had ever spoken these three simple words to anyone. I love you.

He said the words with all of his heart and, as he said them, he felt something release within. Light flooded his world and he felt his love spread in all directions. The young man had never experienced such joy.

And so it was that the old man gave his third and final precious gift to the young Emperor.
And high in the oak a wren began to sing once more.

The End