It was a long journey and I stopped to rest. My legs ached from hanging loosely down from the saddle blanket. My ass from the donkey’s backbone. My lower back from the animal’s steady plodding sway. My hat shaded me but sweat oozed out around the brim and coursed down my face, collecting in my moustache and beard. I halted the donkey and slid off. I shambled to the edge of the road hoping the bow in my legs would straighten up. The dusty air was no better at the side of the road but I perched atop a rock anyway. My donkey lumbered off to graze near-by, content to be free of my lead. I tried to clear the dust from before me. I sneezed. This was not the first time. I decided that resting here, in such tainted air, was not such a good idea. But where was the surcease? I led my reluctant ass back to the roadway, mounted and continued my journey.
Not too much farther along, I came upon another traveller. I stopped. He sat on the side of the road. On a stone. His staff lay at his feet, covered with the detritus of his travels and collecting more. I saw no pack beside him. He was travelling light. He rocked and moaned as if asking pity of the relentless gods. Clutched in one hand, the veins standing out against his dusky skin, was a little pouch. A medicine or herb bag. Perhaps a magic charm lay within, for he occasionally shook it.
“Is that medicine in the bag?”
“Yes. Here. Take it.”
“I don’t need it but it might do you some good. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing can help me. I’ve lost my way and don’t know where I am.”
“Well, then, come along with me. We shall be two.”
“No. I can’t.”
“I don’t understand. We must find you–”
“Where are you going?”
“Down the road. To my destination”
“Where is your destination?”
“At the end of my journey. And yours?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“I see.”
“A sword blade cuts things but eyes do not see themselves.”
“Then what can you tell me?”
“I can tell you why this road is so dusty.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I can.”
I thought about this for a moment. This powdered air was a bit unnatural. There was no wind. As he didn’t seem inclined to continue, I thought I might humor him and dismounted, taking a seat beside him.
“Why is this road so dusty, then?”
“Do you really want to know or are you humoring me?”
“Yes. I have sat beside you.”
“I see that. Are you sure you don’t want this medicine? It’s good medicine. No explanation needed.”
“I have no disease.”
“Well then. . .I’ll begin my story. It isn’t a long story. As stories go.”
“I have plenty of time.”
“Are you some kind of holy man?”
“No. I wouldn’t say so.”
“Ah. . .a wise man!”
“I wouldn’t call myself that.”
“It’s what others think and say about you that makes you what you are.”
“So wise men and fools live together.”
“Yes! That’s it. And they travel down this road. But that’s not where the dust comes from. That is from the digging of Jeppe. You don’t now Jeppe. You’re not from these parts. This dust is because Jeppe became obsessed with digging. So much so that people avoided him. And this road. One day he found a tiny gold nugget beside the road. A little farther on he spied another. Jeppe was a fool. He did not look up to see that there was a rich merchant ahead of him with a hole in his saddlebag. Jeppe ran home to get some digging utensils. His wife caught him. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ ‘I’m digging for gold.’ ‘You put those tools back before I beat some sense into you.’ ‘Oh woman of little faith! What do you think this is?’ He thrust the gold nuggets in her face. She took them from him. As was her wont. She took everything from him lest it slip through his fingers. Jeppe scampered off to his digging.
“Jeppe dug pits all along the roadside. He dug furiously. There was no gold. Never had been. Jeppe, though, could not see that, immersed in his cloud as he was. Once he had dug up one side of the road, he started on the other. The clouds of dust he raised became thicker. So thick he could not see where he was going. Or what he was doing. Travellers began taking other roads than this to avoid the dust and discomfort. The way was longer but what could they do? They raised the prices on their goods to make up for lost time. Around town, it began to be asked, ‘When will the fellow who plays with dirt ever be done?’
“Well, one day Jeppe struck his gold. ‘Eureka!’ he cried. ‘I’ve done it!’ By this time he had dug himself out near the lake. You’ll see the place a little farther on. There’s a marker there. He had covered that lake with dust. The townsmen said that at night the frogs could be heard coughing and choking in Jeppe’s dust. People couldn’t eat fish any more. They died from lack of oxygen.
“Jeppe saw his little vein of gold and shouted. Thinking one more thrust would unearth more gold, he jabbed at the sparkling metal. His shovel clanged. Sparks flew. Dust and debris were tossed up around him. Jeppe screamed, grabbing at his face. He twisted and shouted and writhed about until he fell into the lake and drowned. Jeppe hit gold alright. And then he blinded himself with a shard of the precious metal.”
The man became silent. He still rocked back and forth. He still held the bag of medicine out and up, an offering. I waited for more but as no more seemed to be forthcoming, I spoke up.
“So that’s why this road is so dusty?”
“It is.”
“That’s very interesting.”
“You must take the medicine.”
“I have no need of it.”
“You will. It is medicine. It will cure you. If you go along this road.”
“Let me tell you a story.”
“Eh? You have a story?”
“Yes. I’ve travelled a bit.”
“Ah. Have you? Well, then. I’ll hear your story.”
“In a far off land there was a doctor. He was a very good doctor. People liked him. One day a strange epidemic came into his town. It crippled children and killed adults. It threatened to sweep through the district, leaving a decimated ruin of a world behind. Luckily, however, this good doctor stumbled onto a cure for the disease. Instantly he became famous. For the epidemic was not just in his district. It was throughout the land.
“As the ravaging disease was taken under control, more and more uses were found for his medicine. His fame grew as did the stories about him. But his practice at home suffered. He fell under the spell of Super Doc. His diagnosing became superficial, always ending with a treatment of his curative. There were deaths and defections. This doctor had stopped paying attention to people.
“This went on for some time until he had lost all his old patients. He then turned to treating out-of-towners who wanted a personal infusion of his magical curative. The doctor, coming to believe that it could cure anything, was more than happy to oblige. Until he gave his medicine to a young girl who promptly died. When questioned about this, it was found that the doctor had not diagnosed the girl but simply given her the miracle cure as a matter of course. The girl was his daughter.”
“So. . .you will take this medicine?”
“I’m not sick.”
“You will be when you get to the other side of this dust.”
“Hmm. . .since you are staying here in the middle of this dirty fog, I should think you will need it more than me.”
With that, I gathered up the halter rope of my donkey and set out on my journey again. The man had been right. The dust did get worse. But once past the lake, the air suddenly cleared. I took a deep breath. I felt this was the first I had breathed in weeks. I sat down to rest and clear my lungs. I sat back and looked at the clouds and thought about the meaning of life. Interesting that there were as many meanings to life as there were people. Everyone was ready to fight for the preeminence of his meaning. How silly this was. There is a saying, all voices are the master’s voice, all forms are the master’s form. Still, there are those that think one voice is many voices. If it’s all one, why does anyone fight over it? Why does anyone try to change others’ minds? There is no miracle cure for life.
I took a deep breath and rose. I could not stay here forever, lost in the ramblings of an aging man. A common man on a journey of no particular importance. I gathered up my donkey’s lead and led him down the road into the sunset, happy to walk at a time like this.
Tags: dust miracle cure, medicine, secor, stone man
