Loyal to the Group of
Seventeen’s Story—The Just Man
The next morning, when we had eaten and
everyone was awake, I ventured to ask Foila if it was now time for
me to judge between Melito and Hallvard. She shook her head, but
before she could speak, the Ascian announced, “All must do their
share in the service of the populace. The bullock draws the plow
and the dog herds the sheep, but the cat catches mice in the
granary. Thus men, women, and even children can serve the
populace.”
Foila flashed that dazzling smile. “Our
friend wants to tell a story too.”
“What!” For a moment I thought Melito
was actually going to sit up. “Are you going to let him—let one of
them—consider—”
She gestured, and he sputtered to
silence. “Why yes.” Something tugged at the corners of her lips.
“Yes, I think I shall. I’ll have to interpret for the rest of you,
of course. Will that be all right, Severian?”
“If you wish it,” I said.
Hallvard rumbled, “This was not in the
original agreement. I recall each word.”
“So do I,” Foila said. “It isn’t
against it either, and in fact it’s in accordance with the
spirit of the agreement, which was that the
rivals for my hand—neither very soft nor very fair now, I’m afraid,
though it’s becoming more so since I’ve been confined in this
place—would compete. The Ascian would be my suitor if he thought he
could; haven’t you seen the way he looks at me?”
The Ascian recited, “United, men and
women are stronger; but a brave woman desires children, and not
husbands.”
“He means that he would like to marry
me, but he doesn’t think his attentions would be acceptable. He’s
wrong.” Foila looked from Melito to Hallvard, and her smile had
become a grin. “Are you two really so frightened
of him in a storytelling contest? You must have run like rabbits
when you saw an Ascian on the battlefield.”
Neither of them answered, and after a
time, the Ascian began to speak: “In times past, loyalty to the
cause of the populace was to be found everywhere. The will of the
Group of Seventeen was the will of everyone.”
Foila interpreted: “Once upon a time …”
“Let no one be idle. If one is idle,
let him band together with others who are idle too, and let them
look for idle land. Let everyone they meet direct them. It is
better to walk a thousand leagues than to sit in the House of
Starvation.”
“There was a remote
farm worked in pastnership by people who were not
related.”
“One is strong, another beautiful, a
third a cunning artificer. Which is best? He who serves the
populace.”
“On this farm lived a
good man.”
“Let the work be divided by a wise
divider of work. Let the food be divided by a just divider of food.
Let the pigs grow fat. Let rats starve.”
“The others cheated him
of his share.”
“The people meeting in counsel may
judge, but no one is to receive more than a hundred
blows.”
“He complained, and
they beat him.”
“How are the hands nourished? By the
blood. How does the blood reach the hands? By the veins. If the
veins are closed, the hands will rot away.”
“He left that farm and
took to the roads.”
“Where the Group of Seventeen sit,
there final justice is done.”
“He went to the capital
and complained of the way he had been treated.”
“Let there be clean water for those who
toil. Let there be hot food for them and a clean bed.”
“He came back to the
farm, tired and hungry after his journey.”
“No one is to receive more than a
hundred blows.”
“They beat him
again.”
“Behind everything some further thing
is found, forever; thus the tree behind the bird, stone beneath
soil, the sun behind Urth. Behind our efforts, let there be found
our efforts.”
“The just man did not
give up. He left the farm again to walk to the
capital.”
“Can all petitioners be heard? No, for
all cry together. Who, then, shall be heard—is it those who cry
loudest? No, for all cry loudly. Those who cry longest shall be
heard, and justice shall be done to them.”
“Arriving at the
capital, he camped upon the very doorstep of the Group of Seventeen
and begged all who passed to listen to him. After a long time be
was admitted to the palace, where those in authority heard his
complaints with sympathy.”
“So say the Group of Seventeen: From
those who steal, take all they have, for nothing that they have is
their own.”
“They told him to go
back to the farm and tell the bad men—in their name—that they must
leave.”
“As a good child to its mother, so is
the citizen to the Group of Seventeen.”
“He did just as they
had said.”
“What is foolish speech? It is wind. It
has come in at the ears and goes out of the mouth. No one is to
receive more than a hundred blows.”
“They mocked him and
beat him.”
“Behind our efforts, let there be found
our efforts.”
“The just man did not
give up. He returned to the capital once more.”
“The citizen renders to the populace
what is due to the populace. What is due to the populace?
Everything.”
“He was very tired. His
clothes were in rags and his shoes worn out. He had no food and
nothing to trade.”
“It is better to be just than to be
kind, but only good judges can be just; let those who cannot be
just be kind.”
“In the capital he
lived by begging.”
At this point I could not help but interrupt.
I told Foila that I thought it was wonderful that she understood so
well what each of the stock phrases the Ascian used meant in the
context of his story, but that I could not understand how she did
it—how she knew, for example, that the phrase about kindness and
justice meant that the hero had become a beggar.
“Well, suppose that someone
else—Melito, perhaps—were telling a story, and at some point in it
he thrust out his hand and began to ask for alms. You’d know what
that meant, wouldn’t you?”
I agreed that I would.
“It’s just the same here. Sometimes we
find Ascian soldiers who are too hungry or too sick to keep up with
the rest, and after they understand we aren’t going to kill them,
that business about kindness and justice is what they say. In
Ascian, of course. It’s what beggars say in Ascia.”
“Those who cry longest shall be heard, and
justice shall be done to them.”
“This time he had to
wait a long while before he was admitted to the palace, but at last
they let him in and heard what he had to say.”
“Those who will not serve the populace
shall serve the populace.”
“They said they would
put the bad men in prison.”
“Let there be clean water for those who
toil. Let there be hot food for them, and a clean
bed.”
“He went back
home.”
“No one is to receive more than a
hundred blows.”
“He was beaten
again.”
“Behind our efforts, let there be found
our efforts.”
“But he did not give
up. Once more he set off for the capital to
complain.”
“Those who fight for the populace fight
with a thousand hearts. Those who fight against them with
none.”
“Now the bad men were
afraid.”
“Let no one oppose the decisions of the
Group of Seventeen.”
“They said to
themselves, ‘He has gone to the palace again and again, and each
time he must have told the rulers there that we did not obey their
earlier commands. Surely, this time they will send soldiers to kill
us.”
“If their wounds are in their backs,
who shall stanch their blood?”
“The bad men ran
away.”
“Where are those who in times past have
opposed the decisions of the Group of Seventeen?”
“They were never seen
again.”
“Let there be clean water for those who
toil. Let there be hot food for them, and a clean bed. Then they
will sing at their work, and their work will be light to them. Then
they will sing at the harvest, and the harvest will be
heavy.”
“The just man returned
home and lived happily ever after.”
Everyone applauded this story, moved by the
story itself, by the ingenuity of the Ascian prisoner, by the
glimpse it had afforded us of life in Ascia, and most of all, I
think, by the graciousness and wit Foila had brought to her
translation.
I have no way of knowing whether you,
who eventually will read this record, like stories or not. If you
do not, no doubt you have turned these pages without attention. I
confess that I love them. Indeed, it often seems to me that of all
the good things in the world, the only ones humanity can claim for
itself are stories and music; the rest, mercy, beauty, sleep, clean
water and hot food (as the Ascian would have said) are all the work
of the Increate. Thus, stories are small things indeed in the
scheme of the universe, but it is hard not to love best what is our
own—hard for me, at least.
From this story, though it was the
shortest and the most simple too of all those I have recorded in
this book, I feel that I learned several things of some importance.
First of all, how much of our speech, which we think freshly minted
in our own mouths, consists of set locutions. The Ascian seemed to
speak only in sentences he had learned by rote, though until he
used each for the first time we had never heard them. Foila seemed
to speak as women commonly do, and if I had been asked whether she
employed such tags, I would have said that she did not—but how
often one might have predicted the ends of her sentences from their
beginnings.
Second, I learned how difficult it is
to eliminate the urge for expression. The people of Ascia were
reduced to speaking only with their masters’ voice; but they had
made of it a new tongue, and I had no doubt, after hearing the
Ascian, that by it he could express whatever thought he
wished.
And third, I learned once again what a
many-sided thing is the telling of any tale. None, surely, could be
plainer than the Ascian’s, yet what did it mean? Was it intended to
praise the Group of Seventeen? The mere terror of
their name had routed the evildoers. Was it intended to condemn
them? They had heard the complaints of the just man, and yet they
had done nothing for him beyond giving him their verbal support.
There had been no indication they would ever do more.
But I had not learned those things I
had most wished to learn as I listened to the Ascian and to Foila.
What had been her motive in agreeing to allow the Ascian to
compete? Mere mischief? From her laughing eyes I could easily
believe it. Was she perhaps in truth attracted to him? I found that
more difficult to credit, but it was surely not impossible. Who has
not seen women attracted to men lacking every attractive quality?
She had clearly had much to do with Ascians, and he was clearly no
ordinary soldier, since he had been taught our language. Did she
hope to wring some secret from him?
And what of him? Melito and Hallvard
had accused each other of telling tales with an ulterior purpose.
Had he done so as well? If he had, it had surely been to tell
Foila—and the rest of us too—that he would never give
up.