No one knew where the stranger had come from. No one had seen him arrive. One evening he was discovered already established in a small valley on the frontier of the settlement. The land he had chosen was barren and rocky and had never been claimed by any of the clans, so there were no challenges to his claim.
In the days following his arrival, several of the neighboring settlers made friendly overtures, politely hailing from just beyond his borders, but he made no response at all. The little community was far from the capital and the people tended to be conservative; still, they were by nature kindly and did not wish to appear provincial or intolerant. Respecting his desire to be left alone, the settlers returned to their homes, their curiosity unsatisfied.
The stranger was of course the subject of much speculation. He was clearly not from any place nearby. He looked nothing like anyone they had ever seen. He was tall and broad and golden. The few neighbors who had actually seen him reported that he often stood nearly motionless for hours at a time, his long legs braced wide apart, his odd protruding eyes sweeping his rocky valley as if searching endlessly for something he had lost. Now and again he would scrabble in the dust at his feet, idly picking up rocks and digging little trenches, but he neither planted nor built shelter. Some thought that he was a religious ascetic, come to the desert to flay himself clean of the physical; others that he was a great magician fallen into disfavor at the court; still others thought him a fugitive, perhaps some foreign lord escaping a lover's vengeful husband.
One dark night in his second winter with them, two of the boldest youngsters, fortified by home brew and each other's dares, crept into his valley to see the mysterious stranger for themselves. They slunk from rock to shadow until they could see him looming above them, a black shadow against the sky. His head was thrown back, his flat foreigner's face staring up at the wheeling stars, humming tonelessly to himself. Suddenly he seemed to become aware of his observers, for his head turned slightly and he said something aloud in a strange clicking, chirping language. Terrified, the two spies leaped up and dashed back to the settlement.
News of the nocturnal visit soon spread, and the next evening the youngsters were called up before the council of elders. The chief elder reprimanded them gently for their rude intrusion on the stranger's privacy. The culprits expressed repentance, but they were solemn and subdued by their experience. Each had sensed a terrible sadness in the stranger's presence, an inconsolable loneliness that had shocked and moved them.
Their listeners were saddened to learn that the stranger was so unhappy. They had assumed he was solitary by choice, never considering that he might be yearning for the company of his own kind. They were an intensely social people. Theirs was too small a community, in too marginal a land, to have any hermits. Each depended on each. They were fascinated by genealogy; valued the bonds of family and clan; and treasured the interconnected threads of friendship and loyalty that gave structure and meaning to their lives. They were appalled at the thought that the stranger might be suffering silently in their midst, yearning for companionship while they went about their lives just beyond his borders.
One of the elders proposed that they should do something for the stranger to show their sympathy and good will. After a long debate, it was resolved to present him with a small tasteful gift of local manufacture. A competition was announced and all the foremost artists and artisans submitted entries. In the end, they chose a small stylized statue of the stranger himself, the face turned longingly to the sky. It was felt that the statue, independent of any language barriers, would convey unmistakably that they understood his sorrow. It was beautiful enough to show that they were a sophisticated and sensitive people, and yet small enough that they could not be accused of ostentation.
A few days later a deputation of the leading citizens went out to the stranger's valley to present the gift. The proud sculptor carried his work where all could admire it. Cresting a rise, they saw the stranger standing in the midst of a rocky plain. His face was staring up at the sky, exactly as the sculptor had depicted him. Nervously, the little procession approached the stranger. Close up, he was much larger than they had realized, towering over even the tallest of the delegation. He gave no indication that he was aware of their presence. The chief elder made a short presentation speech, though they could not be sure the stranger even understood their language.
When he finished speaking, there was an awkward silence. The stranger continued staring up into the sky, as if communing with whatever gods he worshipped. The committee held a quick whispered conference, then left the statue standing at the end of one of the little trenches the stranger had dug in the red dust. Surely he would notice it there when he was finished meditating. Then, daunted by his silence, they backed away and stood nervously shuffling, anxious to be away. The stranger did not move; even the humming reported by the young spies was absent. The only sound was the wind whistling among the stones. Each member of the delegation felt his heart touched by a vast and terrible loneliness, much more than that expected of a stranger in a strange land. They sensed a mighty hope lost, some noble quest left uncompleted. Above all, they felt the utter aloneness of the golden stranger, as if he were the last of all his kind, forever sundered from his home by some vast and uncrossable abyss. One by one, they began to creep away, back to their homes.
At last only the sculptor remained, torn by doubt and disappointment. He had secretly hoped that his gift would break through the stranger's silence. What stories might he have told! The sculptor looked from the massive figure before him to the small representation at his feet, both in the same pose and both equally motionless. He felt a sudden anxiety that perhaps his work had somehow offended the stranger. He studied again the strange markings on the stranger's broad chest. He had purposely chosen not to reproduce them. Personally, he found them aesthetically unappealing, but it had also crossed his mind that they might be blemishes or scars which it would be impolite to emphasize. His work was not meant to be representational, after all; he had omitted or modified many details in a conscious effort to express the yearning he had sensed in his subject. But perhaps he had been wrong. If the markings were a clan affiliation or an emblem of rank, he might have inadvertently given offense by omitting them.
Chagrined, he resolved to try again; this time he would make the statue as
accurate as possible. He drew out his sketchbook and began carefully copying
down the markings. He frowned in distaste. They still seemed crude, inartistic
in their meaningless asymmetry:
copyright 1996 by Brian K. Crawford