209 lines
3.7 KiB
TeX
209 lines
3.7 KiB
TeX
\herosection{A Song About Rain}
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The kingdoms had been at war longer than Selen had been alive.
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North against South.
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Each had its songs.
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Selen knew them all.
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He had played the northern songs in northern halls, \\
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where men struck their cups against the tables \\
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and sang of victories their grandfathers had won.
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He had played the southern songs beside southern fires, \\
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where mothers taught their sons the names of towns \\
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that must someday be avenged.
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He was welcome in both kingdoms.
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Until each asked him to choose.
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\medskip
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The northern general summoned him first.
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“Write us a song,” he said. \\
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“Something the men will remember when they are afraid.”
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Selen looked at the soldiers outside the tent.
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Some were hardly old enough to shave.
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“They already have songs.”
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“Then write a better one.”
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Selen declined.
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The southern commander heard of this and sent for him.
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“You were right to refuse them,” she said. \\
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“Their cause is corrupt. Write for us instead.”
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Selen declined again.
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Within a month, he was welcome in neither kingdom.
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\medskip
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He went into the hills between them.
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There were villages there too small to appear on military maps.
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He did chores for meals and played for beds.
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Sometimes children gathered.
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So he taught them songs.
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Not northern songs.
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Not southern songs.
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Songs about rain.
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About kneading bread.
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About a fox who stole a magistrate's trousers.
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Melodies simple enough to hum while carrying water.
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Impossible to leave behind.
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Then he moved on.
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\medskip
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Years passed.
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Selen heard his songs in places he had never taught them.
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A girl sang one while sweeping the steps of an inn.
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A ferryman whistled another.
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Once, in a northern market, Selen heard two boys arguing \\
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over the proper ending of the fox song.
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Both were wrong.
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He kept walking.
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\medskip
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Then, one autumn morning, \\
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soldiers came through a village where he was staying.
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They were marching south.
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One of them was singing.
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Selen stopped.
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It was his song about rain.
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The others joined in.
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They had changed the words.
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Now the rain fell on southern graves.
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Selen stood beside the road \\
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until the last soldier disappeared.
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That evening he took out his instrument.\\
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For the first time in many years,\\
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he could not play.
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\medskip
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Winter came.\\
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Then spring.
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Selen remained in the village.
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He mended fences.\\
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Carried wood.\\
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Helped an old woman repair her roof.
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His instrument stayed wrapped beneath his bed.
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One afternoon a little girl found it.
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“Is this yours?”
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“Yes.”
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“Do you know any songs?”
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“I used to.”
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She considered this.
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“My mother knows one.”
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She began to sing.
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It was the song about rain.
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The old words.
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Selen listened.
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When she reached the second verse, \\
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she forgot what came next.
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He taught her.
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\medskip
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Selen died before the war ended.
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It continued another seventeen years.\\
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No song stopped it.
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No king discovered wisdom.\\
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No army laid down its weapons \\
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because a minstrel had taught children to sing.
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The war ended the way such wars often do.\\
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Too few sons left.\\
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Too little grain.\\
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Too many graves.
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\medskip
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Years afterward, men from the North and South \\
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were repairing a bridge destroyed in the fighting.
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They worked mostly without speaking.
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Near midday, one of the northern men began humming.
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A man across the river looked up.
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“You've got that wrong.”
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The humming stopped.\\
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The northerner stared at him.
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Then the southerner sang the next line.
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Someone laughed.\\
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Another joined in.
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Before long, men on both sides of the river \\
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were arguing over the last verse.
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None of them knew who had written the song.\\
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None knew where it had begun.
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By evening,\\
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the bridge reached halfway across.
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\reflectionshead
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Do we stop giving when we're not sure what others will make of it?
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