The King

JOSEF
Across the valley, behind the hills, in a hut made of sticks and scraggly fronds, lived a youth named Josef. I am uncertain of his age, but he was neither too young nor too old. It is hard to stay alive in that wasteland, and Josef struggled daily in the heat of a burning sun to scratch a living from the barren soil. Some edible roots, a few vegetables that resembled potatoes and a sort of squash-like gourd were all he could manage to grow in the rocky ground. Thorns and thistles abounded, but did nothing to alleviate his hunger. A nearby creek trickled down from its hill-source bringing enough brackish water to irrigate his patch of land, and to supply his need for drink.
At night, when the air turned frigid, he would huddle in the poor shelter of his hut. The one room was plain and empty, save for some straw piled in a heap on the bare dirt floor. This served Josef as a pallet. A pile of stones housed a small fire that gave off a little heat against the chill of the night. It offered, too, a sense of protection from the things that inhabited the darkness outside. Josef would have despaired of his condition but for the dream he often dreamt, and the sound of the voice that called him as he slept.
His days were filled with toil. He was always hungry, for there was never enough to eat. He was most of all lonely. There were many others in the valley, but each was absorbed in his own effort to survive, and rarely did the people notice one another. Fear was a prominent feature of Josef’s life, for roaming the land were fearsome beasts, hideous to behold. Dodging them as he went about his chores occupied much of his time.
The boy had a persistent visitor, but one in whose company he felt uneasy. A certain sly fellow passed his way frequently, and always stopped for a word or two; wonderful words, full of promise. But there was something about him that caused Josef’s heart to quake. “ You are strong, Josef,” the dark one would say. “ You can be all that you want to be. Soon you will come with me, and I will make you a prince. You will be like a king, for you are strong and you can do anything your heart desires.”
How poor Josef longed to believe those words, to leave behind the toil and the pain, to be Somebody! But there was something in his own heart that denied the words, for to tell you the truth, Josef feared the dark wanderer almost as much as he hated his wretched existence.
This one was tall and gaunt, with a strange pallor to his face, and a penetrating look in his deep black eyes. His lips were red and his smile shone white and clear, but somehow it made Josef think of death, not the light and life it promised. He was clothed in a long garment, black as pitch, and it cloaked him in shadows. The terrible beasts that ravaged the land seemed to obey him. At least they never bothered him, and he always laughed as they circled Josef’s hut. “ Do not be afraid, young Josef. My little friends will not hurt you. You are safe with me. I can teach you to command them, for you are strong. You are invincible! You can learn, Josef, to be a prince. Think of it!”
And he would throw back his head and laugh, turn on his heels and leave Josef alone to think. The boy would watch as the wanderer sauntered confidently down the rocky path and around the bend, lost behind the next hill. He was always relieved to see him go, but he cursed himself for his fears and remembered that the dark one promised him only good. “ Soon” he would say to himself, “ I will go with him. I will learn all that he can teach me, for I am strong; I will be a prince!”
Thus encouraged, he would spend hours imagining himself a prince. Now this was not as easy as it would be for you and me, for Josef did not know what a prince was like. He did not have the books and stories that are so available to us. All he knew was that if he were a prince, he could command the beasts. He could walk free, never again afraid. This seemed a wonderful thing to him and he yearned to have it so. He filled his days with imaginings. He was strong; he was invincible!
But at night, in the chill of his little hut, he would dream a different dream. He would hear a different voice calling him. As soon as sleep came, on the good nights when the dream seemed so real, there he would be beside a wide river. Clear water rippled and sparkled in golden sunlight as it cascaded across huge rocks and tumbled headlong down its course and out of sight in the distance. The sound of the water touched some deep chord within his heart, and Josef was content to lose himself in its melody.
The banks of the river were steep, leading up to a grassy slope bordered by lush tropical woods. Sometimes Josef would stay close beside the water, watching it break against the rocks, sending bright streaks skyward. Sometimes he would climb the bank and lie at peace on the grassy turf watching the leaves of the trees dance in the gentle breezes, and gazing into the bright blueness overhead.
Always the wonderful voice was there, filling his dream with a heartbreaking sweetness. He could not understand all the words, but he clearly heard his name, and he knew the call was for him. Someday he must respond. How, he did not know. But when the voice spoke, Josef knew the promise of the dark one to be a lie. He was not strong, he was not a prince, nor would he ever be if he followed the disturbing call of the wanderer. When the dream voice spoke, he knew himself to be just as he was, small and weak and helpless. But it did not seem to matter so much, for here in the dream he was safe and filled with joy.