Pliny's Riddle

Next morning when I opened my copy of Natural History, a piece of paper fell out.

There was something written on it, in pencil, and it looked like Pliny's writing.

Here is a riddle just for you
Hair of gold and eyes of blue
Where's my lunch?

That didn't seem like much of a riddle. I'd been busy all day yesterday and hadn't had time to leave him any lunch, but there was plenty of bread and ham. Lazy old Roman.

I went looking for him.

Pliny, I said. Couldn't you have made your own lunch?

I did, said Pliny. What are you talking about?

The riddle, I replied.

Oh, the riddle, said Pliny. It wasn't finished. I was distracted by having to construct a sandwich. It isn't easy to do.

A riddle or a sandwich? I asked.

Both, he answered. But I meant the sandwich.

What about the riddle? I asked. Have you finished it yet?

Yes, he said, but it's probably too late now. Have you read page 68?

No, not yet. So what's the riddle?

Pliny recited:

Here is a riddle just for you
Hair of gold and eyes of blue....

He stopped. What do you think of the rhyme? he asked. We ancient Romans aren't used to rhyming.

You and blue? I said. An excellent rhyme, but do go on.

Taller than the average height
Generally keeping out of sight
A harsh voice too
Who am I?

I don't know, I said. Swedish people?

No! Pliny laughed, in a manner that seemed a bit forced.

It's a comical riddle, he explained. So the answer is what you would least expect.

Chinese people? I asked.

Pliny looked disappointed.

Taser!!

Pliny, may I ask a favour?

Certainly.

Will you write my blog today? I feel a little tired.

Tired! That is no......why yes, I will, with the greatest of pleasure.

O thanks, Pliny. What will you blog on?

Let me think... ah yes. I shall blog on the topic of laziness.

No that isn't fair. Think of something else.

Well then, I shall have a look in the newspaper. Here is a story of a most excellent woman. I shall blog about her.

Who is it?

She is Isobel Redmond, the Leader of the State Opposition. This woman has volunteered to have a Taser gun fired at her person, in order to demonstrate that the effects are not harmful. A brave woman indeed. Worthy to be counted as a Roman. Most admirable. Most admirable.

Oh Isobel Redmond. I like her too. But I think that sounds a bit nutty. What do the police think?

They have declined her offer, for some unfathomable reason.

Well, what if she died?

Then she would have still have proved something useful.

The Compass

Goodness me! Who is that child? asked Pliny the Elder, looking at a photograph that had been left out on a table. It showed an African child standing in front of a cracked mud wall.

That's our Kenyan foster child, Sefu Ali, I replied. He's 11 years old. And he's looking none too happy.

An understatement, said Pliny. I have never seen such a thunderous expression in my life, not even on the face of an emperor.

Yes, it gave us quite a turn. We get a photo of him every year, and he always looks quite taciturn, but this one takes the prize. I keep looking at it. The glowering scowl, the piercing stare under the beetling brow, the arms tightly folded over his chest. What if he's trying to tell us something?

If he is, what might it be?

It might be that he would rather be doing something else, like playing soccer. But it looks like something deeper than that. He doesn't want to be exhibited to his benefactors. He's asserting his right not to collude in it.

Good for him! said Pliny. He would make a superb Roman.

I think I'll send him a present, I said. To cheer him up.

What do you send to the child who has nothing? asked Pliny.

Anything. I said. As long as it doesn't weigh more than 500 grams. I'm thinking of a geometry set.

Excellent, said Pliny. Make sure it has a compass.