A Boy

In memory of Friedrich Holderlin

Once upon a time, a boy was born to parents who didnt much care for him. He was a special boy, not because his parents didnt care for him, of course, as we all know that is commonplace, but because he didnt need for them to care. Of course, he didnt know that at the time. Indeed, he often felt heartbroken by it at first. But eventually it became clear to him that he could be quite happy on his own. You see, luckily for him, he lived on the outskirts of a town next to a vast wilderness. He could walk out his back door and in ten minutes find himself in the middle of nowhere. And that is where the gods first found him, wandering aimlessly amidst them. They took an instant liking to him, as he was perfect in every way, like many boys are in the beginning. Naturally he didnt call the gods by name, nor did they use his, as we humans do (as if we really knew each other), though indeed the boy was better acquainted with them than he ever was with humans. They would often rescue him from the shouting and violence of the humans. Safe and well in their bosom, he would ask of them secrets, and they would share the ones they thought he was ready for. He became particularly delighted with the so-called simple things in life that are anything but simple: the haphazard harmony of wildflowers dancing in a gentle breeze, the poised, 1 | Page

majestic march of the constellations across the night sky, the gentle, pristine promise latent in a kiss of dawns dew. So hopefully you can see now how this boy could be happy in his own way, despite being cursed with such parents. Indeed, in many ways it was not a curse, but one of those mysterious blessings in disguise you read about but never actually experience. And though you might find him strange, he felt his strangeness was really not such a bad thing. One day years after hed become a man he was sitting in a little caf in Paris on the Rue du Bac (nearer to the quais Voltaire than the Jardin du Luxembourg) when the most extraordinary girl in the world sat down at the table next to him. She was young and beautiful as when the world was young and beautiful. Sitting next to her he felt young and beautiful again, like he felt on the inside still. So he struck up a conversation with her, because it seemed like she too had time on her hands, and also because he had so much now he felt he could lend her some in case she needed it. At first she had a hard time understanding him. He spoke very crudely although his French was perfect as if he didnt really understand how he should be talking to a beautiful girl half (or even less than half) his age. But quickly she realized that was just natural to him. So she relaxed, and soon she found herself feeling intrigued by his simplicity there was something almost ecstatic about him, like he was in love. 2 | Page

For his part, he realized she had been nowhere and seen nothing really yet (other than Paris and Bergerac, where her family had a summer cottage). At first, she spoke about her life in the way that young people do, with a mixture of affected boredom and repressed desire, but that was only because she thought she had to. Eventually, she began to share her real self with him, and that was when he realized he was speaking to a girl like he was a boy. So he told her the truth, that he had never loved anyone. That he had never needed to. That he could never love anyone, really, in the way humans do. After he made these startling confessions, she thought he was teasing her. But she soon perceived he was serious, although it seemed improbable to her that such a man could possibly believe that when it was obvious to her he was in love. And then it came to her, and it made her shiver maybe he was in love with someone and didnt know it! Which, for someone like her, was the very height and brink of romance. So she did what comes naturally to girls she fell in love with him. As hard and as fast as young people who dont know any better have always done (and hopefully will continue to do). Many years later when he was an old man, he was walking in the forest adjacent to his hometown when he came upon the god of the river. He said hello, as they hadnt seen each other for some time, and the god invited 3 | Page

him to sit down on the river bank for a chat. They reminisced about the good old days, as old people like to do, and later laughed politely at each others charming stories of far off places and events, as each of them had been everywhere and done everything. But when the river god asked about his girl, the once upon a time boy who was now an old man fell silent. What could he say, after all? The gods didnt know anything about love really. How could they? They were just gods. You see, he had come to realize they could adore him when he had been only theirs; but they had never actually loved him in the way his girl had loved him, in the way he had learned too late to love her. How could he share with a god the tragedy he had made of her? The god would only see the big picture what did it matter anyway, the god would think, because it had all been merely temporary. So he decided to change the subject, and soon their conversation came to an end, as effortlessly and naturally as all conversations should. That was one thing he really appreciated about gods they had better things to do and therefore never imposed themselves. Later that afternoon, he went to visit his parents graves. He hadnt been there for years. In fact, he couldnt remember the last time; indeed, perhaps hed never gone and had just forgotten. Like so many things. He thought it was too bad there are some things one cant forget, but then remembered there would soon be a time when all would be forgotten, including him. As he stood there 4 | Page

looking down on his parents tombstones, he realized there would be nobody to look down on his. The gods would not come to visit, as they were not sentimental; and although the plants and animals would, they would not be sentimental either: the weeds would grow, and the insects would eat him, and the birds would shit on his tombstone, and that would be about it. But he felt that all was as it should be, though you might not believe it. Because he knew he had been happy once. Truly happy. And he had loved once, truly. He was lucky because he also knew there was nothing left to do. He had one regret only he had never told his girl in time that he loved her too. But in that instant, he felt his regret so keenly, so exquisitely sharp and painful, when everything else had become so dim in him, that for the first and last time he wished his parents well.

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