No, That's Not It

Is it a sunflower? I asked.

Sunflowers don't have legs, said Pliny.

But it's the sort of thing you say in a riddle, I said. Nutella jars don't have hats.

That's what I thought, said Pliny. That was why I couldn't guess the answer.

So it's not a sunflower then. Don't tell me it's a race of people that stand on one leg?

You're getting close, said Pliny.

And they stare all day at the sun? I said.

Yes, said Pliny.

And they never spit, or get a headache?

Yes, said Pliny.

You haven't learnt, have you, I said. You've just listed their attributes without any riddling. Who are these people?

They are the Indian Gymnosophists, said Pliny. Perhaps you have heard of them. They live in India. They are over seven feet high. They never spit, or get a headache, or a toothache, or a pain in the eyes, or any other part. They are hardened by the heat of the sun. They are called Gymnosophists, or naked philosophers, and they remain standing from sunrise to sunset while looking fixedly at the sun, resting first on one foot, then the other.

Philosophers? I said, surprised. What kind of philosophy is that?

The philosophy of needing nothing, said Pliny. It is a philosophy that I admire. As you know I do not hold with luxury.

Except the luxury of relying on secondary sources, I said, unkindly.

That's It

So, said Pliny the Elder. It is a jar of Nutella. But a jar of Nutella unlike any jar of Nutella I have ever seen.

It was a particular jar, I admitted.

Indeed, said Pliny. Pray tell me about the icons and runes depicting heroism and despair.

It was a long time ago, I said. But I think that on one side of the glass Homer Simpson was about to swing his club heroically at the golf ball. On the other side he was grimacing because he had taken out a chunk of dirt instead.

I see, said Pliny. That can happen. But what was the hat of white?

The lid of the jar, I said.

And the paper coat of many colours?

A removable label.

I see, said Pliny.

He thought for a while.

I think I am ready to try another riddle, he said.

I don't have one, I said.

No, I have one, he said. See if you can guess it:

I stand upon one leg,
And stare all day at the sun
I never spit
Or get a headache
That's it
What am I ?

An Ethiopian? I guessed.

Why do we always think the answer to a riddle might be an Ethiopian? asked Pliny.

I don't know, I said. Is it the answer?

No, said Pliny. It never is.

Not an Ethiopian

Pliny, I said, you have no idea of the art of riddling. The idea is to think of something ordinary, then describe it in a rhyme, in such a way as to make it hard for anyone to guess what it is.

I did, said Pliny.

No you didn't. You took a piece of misinformation, wrote it down almost verbatim, and then expected me to guess what the piece of misinformation referred to. It's not the same thing.

Are you saying I didn't make it hard enough for you to guess what it was? asked Pliny.

No! If you hadn't told me the answer was the opposite of what I might expect I never would have got it. I'll give you a proper riddle. One I made up years ago. See if you can guess it:

My body is soft and dark and sweet
And coveted by folk with silver knives;
My outer shell is brittle hard and clear
I wear upon my head a hat of white;
My skin is painted with icons and runes
Depicting heroism and despair,
A yellow man, a green, ravaged earth, you will see there;
Protecting these from prying human eyes
A paper coat of many colours I do wear.

WHAT AM I ?

An intriguing riddle, said Pliny. Is it....an Ethiopian?

No of course not. It's a thing.

Is it an egg?

No. Do you want a clue?

Yes.

It's something inside something else. And there is something on the outside too.

This is most perplexing.

It's meant to be. Shall I give you the answer?

Please do.

The answer is: A jar of Nutella, with Homer Simpson playing golf painted on the glass.

Pliny looked puzzled.

Is there such a thing? he asked.

Of course there is, I said.