Basilios

May we hear the story? asked Belle et Bonne.

Certainly, said Saint Nicholas. It all happened a long time ago. I used to be the Bishop of Myra, you know, in the third century. But this story takes place many years after my death.

I thought you said you were in it, said Wittgenstein, irritably.

I am, said Saint Nicholas, as you will see. It happened on my feast day. The people of Myra were attacked by Arab pirates from Crete. They took many prisoners including a young boy named Basilios. Basilios was sold to the emir, and became his cup-bearer, because he could not speak the language.

Hah! said Wittgenstein.

What do you mean Hah, Mr Wittgenstein? asked Belle et Bonne.

Cup-bearer, snorted Wittgenstein.

Please, said Saint Nicholas. The boy could not speak the language and so could not divulge any of the emir's secrets.

Hah! said Wittgenstein.

Do go on, Saint Nicholas, said Belle et Bonne.

The following year, back in Myra, it was my feast day again. Basilios's mother would not join the festivities, being still too upset at the loss of her son. Instead she stayed at home to pray. Suddenly her son, who at that moment was serving wine to the emir in a golden cup, was whisked away and returned to his mother back in Myra, still holding the golden cup. And who do you think was responsible for that?

Saint Nicholas looked at Belle et Bonne.

You! she cried. O well done! And how lovely that he was still holding the golden cup!

Well done indeed, said Wittgenstein drily. May I make an observation?

If you must, said Saint Nicholas.

I was only going to say, said Wittgenstein, that I know where you could introduce a bicycle.