Truth Sets us Free

Dear Mister Ageless,

Allow me to introduce myself; we have a Mutual Friend. Our Mutual Friend is Kobo the Fossilised Clam, and I am sorry to have to tell you I have Bad News to impart.

Now I know from Kobo that you are quite Emotional, and that you and she are Fond of one another, so Brace yourself Mister Ageless, she is Dead.

Perhaps I have given you this News too Suddenly, but I think it Best to tell the Truth.

For Truth sets us Free as we learn from the Teachings of the Manifest Stone.

Let me tell you how it Happened.

I Believe you knew that Kobo and I had both ended up ( I don't mean Ended Up, for I have certainly not Ended Up) in the Metal Sink under the Window Sill. You also knew that she had arrived there as a result of ill-considered Laughing, while I myself had fallen in during a Failed Attempt to Pull her Out.

We were thus Together in the Sink.

I Prayed, as any Stone Worshipper would Pray in these Circumstances, and Kobo joined me although I must say I was unconvinced as to the Sincerity of her Prayers.

But then Something happened to her Mind, Mister Ageless, in the Sink. Without warning she dived into the Horrid Hole, which up to that moment had been the Object of our Mutual Fear. She disappeared leaving nothing but a Gaseous Drainy Smell. Not her Smell, you understand, but Air she had Displaced.

If only she had waited a Moment longer; Rescue was very Near at Hand.

The Manifest Stone answered our Prayers, ( well, mine). I was Lifted Bodily and replaced upon the Window Sill. I was placed even closer to the Manifest Stone than I had been before. This brought me Joy, Mister Agelesss! Great Joy!

But your dear Kobo is Defunct. There is no Point Trying to Find her. You should Make a New Friend. If you are Interested I would be Most Happy to enlighten you in the Revealed Teachings of the Manifest Stone. In fact you may have Lesson One right now: Life is Hard.

A Simple Lesson, Mister Ageless, but a Deep One. The Wisdom of a Stone.

Best Wishes,

Pierre ( F.)

Sisyphus on a Scooter

Oh look! Professor Healey's sent us another one! said Belle et Bonne. He must be on a roll.

What's this one called, asked The VeloDrone. King Keret on a Kawasaki?

How funny you are papa! Perhaps you should write one yourself. No, this one's called Sisyphus on a Scooter.

I should have known, said The VeloDrone. Read it to me, my dear.

She began:

Sisyphus on a Scooter

Sisyphus was the son of King Aeolus, of Thessaly. He was greedy and deceitful and had been known to kill his guests. He had seduced his niece and stolen his brother's scooter......

Scooter? interjected The VeloDrone. Did they have scooters in those days?

Papa! scolded Belle et Bonne. Remember the title!

.....so Zeus became angry and ordered Death to chain him up in Tartarus. As Death was fixing up the chains, Sisyphus asked him to show him how they worked, and so it was that Death fell for the oldest trick in the book. Now Death was in chains and Sisyphus was free. The trouble was that now no one could die.

This annoyed the God of War no end. Eventually he intervened, freed Death and Sisyphus was sent back to Tartarus.

Sisyphus' punishment was to roll a huge rock up a steep hill, and just before he reached the top, the rock would roll down to the bottom again, obliging him to keep on doing it for ever.

Even with the scooter, this was tough.

Well, said Belle et Bonne, what did you think of that, papa?

That was silly, said The VeloDrone. Where would he have got the petrol? I'm really going to have to insist that our contributors stick to bicycles.

The Waiting Room

I'm in the very corner of the eye doctor's waiting room, waiting.

I'm waiting for my mum who's having an injection in her eye. I don't want to think about it. I'm reading my book.

It's The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, by Rainer Maria Rilke, and I just started it this morning.

The waiting room is full of old people, waiting for their drops to take effect, and the people who have come with them, reading magazines. The youngest person in the room is the receptionist.

An old woman in a blue coat comes in. I'm early because I caught the bus, she says. But your appointment is tomorrow, says the receptionist. The old woman turns to leave.

My book is not the best one to be reading. Once, says Rilke, people knew that they bore their death within them, like the stone within a fruit. These days (1910) you die as you happen to die; you die the death that comes with your illness.

I look over at the magazine rack. Tucked down the side is a yellow children's book called Bunny and His Friends.

I wish I was reading that.