Prose

Sage and blacksmith. Clever burro.

Once upon a time there lived a blacksmith. His father was a blacksmith, and his father’s father too. Who was he to become, if not a blacksmith? So he became a blacksmith. From childhood, he was learning his handicraft, helping his father in a smithy, as his father once helped his father, and thus he learned. A good or bad blacksmith became the blacksmith? It depends how to judge, but not worse than his father, and his father was a blacksmith no worse than his father.

And when the blacksmith’s father died, the forge did not go out, and the smithy was still breathing and puffing with heat, and the hammer was thumping on the anvil. And could it be otherwise, if there was the blacksmith in the smithy?

And once upon a time there lived a sage. His father was a sage, and his father’s father too. Who was he to become, if not a sage? So he became a sage. About how he became a sage, one can write a whole book, and about whether he became good or bad sage - no less than two books. So let’s just say - he became a sage.

Once the blacksmith was forging in his smithy, and the sage was riding a burro along the road. The blacksmith would not meet the sage, and the sage would not meet the blacksmith, but the burro suddenly began to limp. The sage dismounted from the burro, looked at the hoof and realized that the burro needed to be urgently shod. Well, he understood, as he was still a sage, but he was not a blacksmith at all - so he could not shoe the burro himself. But the sage heard muffled sounds in the distance, and immediately determined that they were hammer blows on the anvil, which meant that the smithy was somewhere nearby. Such a sage was our sage.

And really, a few minutes have not passed, when the sage was already knocking at the door of the smithy, and soon the door was opened to him.

“Hello, blacksmith”, the sage bowed, “I am a sage, and I need your help”.

“Hello, sage”, the blacksmith bowed in return, “tell me straight away what your need is”.

 “My burro...” – and the sage asked the blacksmith to follow him, telling about his long and lengthy way, about how he was rushing to another sage to share with him his thoughts about the reason for the sky being blue and how he needed a burro on the road, who, as ill luck would have it, began to limp.

Meanwhile, the blacksmith examined the burro’s hooves so imperturbably chewing the grass, as if he was a sage too, like his master.

“Well, sage, I’ll shoe your burro, but not one hoof, but all four, otherwise he’ll limp again soon”.

“Four? Well, if you think it’s necessary, then do it, of course”.

The blacksmith brought the tools he needed, and the sage, meanwhile, engaged in reflections.

“Blacksmith, you must understand, that my burro is of a foothill breed, not steppe and not of plain one, that’s why his hooves are more stiff by nature. I would say that your blow should be on sixth... no, almost even on fifth part more strong than usual...”

In the meantime, the blacksmith prepared his tools and came to the burro.

 “Or, of course, you can take the iron for forging that is brought from across the sea. It is of better quality, and then you can thump with the same force as usual. The whole thing, you see, is in the special composition of the ore in those lands...” – the sage was inspired by the new theme.

The blacksmith, nodding, began his work, attentively listening to the sage.

 “But you hardly thought that the hooves on the left and right sides have a bit different form and even incline. I discovered it today, when my burro began to limp. And although the difference is barely observable, it is nevertheless necessary to slightly tilt hand when hammering, say, like this...” – and the sage’s hand began to shoe an imaginary burro right in the air.

“Really?”, the blacksmith shook his head, lowering the first leg of the burro and taking up the second one.

 “Yes, indeed. After all, you see, every burro, of course, is different from the others, but in fact, for the most part, he is the same burro, as any other, as was his father, who was just like his father! And listen to what another sage wrote about similarity and likeness in one ancient manuscript...well, hem, about crocodiles, but this is inessential in this case” – and the sage began to cite from memory the ancient sage lines.

“O!”, the blacksmith even gave a whistle, finishing with the second leg of the burro.

 “Oh, that is just one example. But what do I see, my friend? You are a little bit wrong disposing the weight of the body when hammering! Thus, you are losing the power of the blow and making your back suffer! If you just move a little here...and your shoulder goes here...yes, by the way, since we are talking about your body, I’ll show you a wonderful breathing exercise that will help you relax your muscles and take the right position...” – and the sage began to show what kind of exercise was vitally important for the blacksmith.

“But I’ve have limping since childhood - I fell into a ravine”, the blacksmith explained, finishing the work with the third hoof.

 “Ah, that’s it”, the sage was a bit embarrassed, but his face immediately brightened up, “but in any case this exercise is necessary in the work! And do you know, my dear blacksmith, why there are so many ravines in this area? There are several reasons you should know. First, the type of the ground...”

The sage’s story was flowing and flowing, and his wisdom was bubbling, not in vain he was a sage, not, say, a blacksmith. And the blacksmith in the meantime thumped the last time the last hoof and put it on the ground.

“Yes, there are many ravines here”, he agreed with the sage, “that’s all, your burro is ready”.

The burro nodded in confirmation of the words of the blacksmith. It would be hard to believe in such a thing, but it was such a sage burro - he carried the sage for many years and listened to his wise speeches. Actually, the sage did not notice how wise his burro was - he just knew for sure that burros could not be wise, and that’s all.

“How it could be so – ready?”, the sage stared at the blacksmith, being astonished, “thanks, of course, but how is it – ready?”

“Well...just ready, and this is it”, the blacksmith shrugged.

 “And…you did not do calculations at first, with what effort you need to thump, considering that my burro is of a foothill breed?”, the sage asked incredulously.

“No, what for. You thump once - and you know how to thump further, with what effort”, the blacksmith again shrugged.

 “Strange, strange...although you probably followed my advice and used in your work the iron, which is brought from across the sea”, the sage smiled knowingly.

 “No”, the blacksmith shook his head, “just ordinary iron”.

“How is it so...and what, you say that you did not take into account the difference between forms of right and left hooves too?”

“No”, the blacksmith smiled, “all hooves are just hooves”.

“It’s probably not worth asking about the breathing exercise”, the sage mumbled.

“Yes, of course, there is no time for it”, the blacksmith waved his hand.

 “I understand nothing”, the sage was completely confused, “but how did you manage to do this work then?”

“Well, just as always did...it is not something difficult. Like my father taught me...”

“So just...did it, and that’s it...”, the sage still could not come to his senses, “Amazing! Did it, and that’s it, without thinking...a new approach, undoubtedly, my friend blacksmith!”

The blacksmith smiled confusedly in reply.

“And what about the fee? How much should I pay you?”, the sage asked.

 “No, no, do not pay anything, sage. You have told me so many things while I was working, I’ll tell everyone for what kind of man I shod a burro”, the blacksmith waved his hands.

“But maybe you want to be rewarded getting knowledge why the sky is exactly blue? My theory is not confirmed yet, but I think it deserves attention. Until the morning, I would tell you everything, and we would discuss it before I step force”, the sage rejoiced, finding a solution.

“No, no”, the blacksmith put his hands in front of him and even stepped back, “I still have a lot of work, and, to be honest, it’s enough for me that the is sky is just blue”.

 “Then for what is my wisdom? And who needs it in general, if any burro can be shod without it?”, the sage was completely drooped.

“Come on, sage” the blacksmith patted him on the shoulder, “what kind of world it would be without sages? You need to continue your way as soon as possible. I will survive if I do not know why the sky is blue, not red or green, but what about the other sage? He can even die without this knowledge, and that’s all”.

“Yes, yes, you are, of course, right”, the sage hesitatingly, but nodded, “because he has not broached this subject in his treatises yet. Why the snow is white - yes, he explained it gracefully, but as for the sky...”

Mumbling to himself, the sage sat down on the burro and continued his way, forgetting even to say goodbye, lost in his thought. The blacksmith wiped sweat from his forehead, took his tools and went to the smithy. While he was putting tools in their places, he thought for a moment: really, why the sky is blue? But since the blacksmith had no answer and there was a lot of work, he stopped thinking about it, taking up the hammer.

And the sage, having just left the blacksmith, saw a fluttering butterfly in front of him. And so gracefully and airy she was flying, that the sage began to think about what would have happened if a man had made wings like a butterfly had. Being carried away by this question, the sage immediately forgot both the blacksmith and the burro’s hooves.

And the burro walked and smiled, saying nothing. He was a very sage burro.

The blacksmith was a blacksmith, and the sage was a sage. The blacksmith was a real blacksmith, no worse than his father, as his father was no worse than his father, and the sage was a real sage, no worse than his father, as his father was no worse than his father. And the blacksmith could not become a sage, and the sage could not become a blacksmith. And both of them had something that the other did not have, and did not have something the other had. And then the blacksmith thought what a good sage he had met in his life, and how much knowledge he had in his head, and that the blacksmith himself would never have reflected on the reason why the sky is blue. And then the sage thought what a good blacksmith he had met in his life, and how skillful his hands were, and that the sage himself would never be able to shoe his burro. And the blacksmith thought that it was not his business to tell the sage what to think about. And the sage thought that it was not his business to tell the blacksmith how to shoe the burro properly. And the burro thought, how it was good that the sky is blue and he had new horseshoes.

© Denis Meshcherskiy 2018
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Sage and blacksmith

It is said that once upon a time there lived a sage. He lived at the foot of a big mountain, in a solitary place, and the way to him was difficult and long. But there was such a rumour about the sage that people came to him from afar to get an advice. And he answered all, and like the sun rose up for them again - so deep and wise were his words. People said that he knew everything, and there was no such question to which he would not find an answer.

And a blacksmith heard about the sage. His heart has been heavy for year, and there was no one to share with, there was no one to ask what to do in his situation.

The blacksmith left his smithy and set off for his way. He walked for a long time, and many dangers waited for him on the way, but he was a brave and stubborn man and once he reached the foot of the mountain where the sage lived. He came to the hut and knocked on the door.

"Come in, blacksmith," came a voice from the hut, and the blacksmith went inside.

"How do you know that I am a blacksmith, oh, sage?", he asked a gray-haired old man sitting on a rug.

"It's very simple, my friend. Before you enter, you coughed, as only those who was breathing for many years near the forge in the smithy can cough. But if even this did not convince me of the correctness of my judgments, then I would understand what you are, by the way you opened the door to my hut - pausing on the threshold and shrinking back slightly, as if letting the heat out from a smithy", replied the sage to the blacksmith, and in his eyes ocean of knowledge was lapping.

"Oh, how wise you are, sage", the blacksmith bowed low to him, "you know everything, so tell me just one thing..."

And the blacksmith told the sage that he has a son, and he loves his son, but he can not replace son’s mother, who died many years ago. That's why the son grows morose, silent and even evil. And the blacksmith does everything to let his son live well, and fosters him the way his own father once fostered himself, but nothing comes out: it seems that the son estrangers himself from his farther more and more.

"What shall I do, tell me, sage?", the blacksmith finished his story, bowing low again.

The sage was sitting motionlessly while listening to the blacksmith, but suddenly he got up and began to pack his things in a sack. And the blacksmith saw with surprise that the sage was crying.

"Why do you cry, sage?", asked him the blacksmith, "and why do not you give me any answer?"

The sage, without answering, continued his packing, and when he finished, he raised his eyes full of tears to the blacksmith.

"I can not answer you anything, blacksmith, because I do not know the answer. And if I do not know, I am not a sage, but a fool. And there is no place for a fool among people, that is why I packed my things to climb the mountain and live there, among wild goats and birds, who will not ask me questions and will not need my answers. Farewell, blacksmith".

And they both came out of the hut, and each went his own way: the sage went to the mountain in tears, and the blacksmith, also in tears, went back home. And he thought that all are fools - both sages and blacksmiths, and he was crying because instead of going to the end of the world to the sage, he could go to his son and talk with him, because no sage could give an answer for his son.

© Denis Meshcherskiy 2018
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Old tale about father and son

Once upon a time there lived a father. And he had a wife, and he had a son.

Once upon a time there lived a mother. And she had a husband, and she had a son.

Once upon a time there lived a son. And he had a father, and he had a mother.

Once upon a time there lived a family. And there was a father, and there was a mother, and there was a son.

A family must have a house. And the family had a house. And the family was long time ago, and the house was long time ago. But the tale isn’t about it, is it?

The house was on the fringe of the village and the family lived in the house. And the house stood on the fringe of the village, because it was a family of aliens, not from the land that was there. And where can aliens live, if not on the fringe?

How did the family live – for whom is it interesting to read about it in a fairy tale? Lived and lived, grieved and not very, and sometimes did not grieve at all. Just lived.

What did the family do - what all families do. Fed itself, fed the earth, dressed itself, dressed ground with grain too. Earth is like a family: if do not feed - do not reap.

And the father went to trade fair, and the son went to trade fair. And the father went to a blacksmith, and the son went to a blacksmith. The father went to different places, and the son went to different places. Although how they went - went.

And the father began to notice that the son became different. How different - he could not say, but different - and that's it.

And the son began to notice that the father became different. How different - he could not say, but different - and that's it.

And the mother began to notice that the father and the son became different. How different - she could not say, but different - and that's it.

It seemed like the son was the same, but he wasn’t. Once scowled, once grinned, once even roared, and so all the time.

It seemed like the father was the same, but he wasn’t. Once scowled, once grinned, once even roared, and so all the time.

And the father began to follow closely the son, and the son began to follow closely the father. And the mother began to follow closely them both.

And the father became afraid of the son, and went to the bathhouse to sleep. He said that the son snores very loudly.

And the son became afraid of the father, and went to the bathhouse to sleep. He said that the father snores very loudly.

And so it was: one night the father slept in the bathhouse, next night the son slept in the bathhouse. One night - son, one night - father. They hasped the door from inside and slept peacefully, otherwise how could they sleep?

And how else could the father sleep? The father understood that when the son went to the trade fair that time, he became a ghoul. How come? Yes, so, such a hard lot... And the father was afraid for himself very much. And for some reason, for the wife he was not afraid. And it constantly seemed to him that the ghoul came exactly after his soul.

And how else could the son sleep? The son understood that when the father went to the trade fair that time, he became a ghoul. How come? Yes, so, such a hard lot... And the son was afraid for himself very much. And for some reason, for the mother he was not afraid. And it constantly seemed to him that the ghoul came exactly after his soul.

And the mother looked at all this, looked and kept silence.

The son and the father were so used to sleeping in the bathhouse, that they forgot when they slept together, in the same house. In the daytime, they were not afraid of each other - the ghoul could not harm. And at night – just let him try to come into the bathhouse, there were both an aspen stake and a cross ready.

The mother kept and kept silence, and then one day suddenly went to sleep to the bathhouse. She did not say a word to anybody, and then it was too late - she hasped the door from inside. The father and the son shouted, asked her, but there was only one answer for everything – I want to sleep one night in the bathhouse, it’s not only for you two.

The father and the son walked around the bathhouse, shouted, knocked, but what could they do? They both returned to the house. And soon the night already knocked at the windows. An evil night, dark, only deathly moon was sparking through clouds. There was stuffy and scary for the soul. And how else it could be, if the ghoul was so near?

They both went to bed and pretended to be asleep. And both looked after each other. Just close your eyes, let a dream to win over you - and the ghoul will attack you. How could one think about a dream?

But the father used to sleep every night sweetly - in the house, when the son was in the bathhouse, and in the bathhouse, when the son was in the house. And no matter how much he was afraid, but the sleep overcame him in the deaf darkness.

But the son used to sleep every night sweetly - in the house, when the father was in the bathhouse, and in the bathhouse, when the father was in the house. And no matter how much he was afraid, but the sleep overcame him in the deaf darkness.

And in the morning the father awoke with horror – the daylight hit the eyes! Felt himself, touched – safe and sound. And didn’t become a ghoul. Looked at the son. He was not a ghoul, then? Felt ashamed and sad. Understood that the son just became a stranger to him, but he was not a ghoul indeed.

And in the morning the son awoke with horror – the daylight hit the eyes! Felt himself, touched – safe and sound. And didn’t become a ghoul. Looked at the father. He was not a ghoul, then? Felt ashamed and sad. Understood that the father just became a stranger to him, but he was not a ghoul indeed.

The mother returned from the bathhouse, looked at the father and the son and said: “Well, woke up, fools? Did not die? Let's go and do things, there's no use fooling around”.

Well, they went. And the father went, and the son went. Mother was right, as always. They were only losing the time and frightening from fear.

And they will become nearest to each other again, not ghouls to each other. The son to the father, the father to the son.

It is a next tale.

© Denis Meshcherskiy 2017