The First of Three Fables

This is peculiar: clearing out years of papers and scribbling, I found something I was challenged to write ages ago by my then husband. He dared me to write a fable. From the notations on the original, it had to be 1964-1966. A different life; a different me; a different writer. I'm going to put it here, and hope that a reader will tell me what this is about. And if I'd be wise to delete it! Here goes...

In a land of many shadows stood a town of many walls. The walls were built of violet colored stones and the foundations were of white marble. The roadways of the town were on top of the walls. The people lived in houses that stood between the walls, and one house did not face another. Doors and windows opened to the walls. The people strolled their roadways with pride. The high walls, the low walls of violet colored stones with white marble foundations crossed each other and crossed each other. The people were proud.

The wall of gray fieldstone was old. No one walked on that one except Ahni. Ahni was the little boy who everyone knew was mad because he spoke to the birds and said they spoke to him. Ahni would sit on the old gray wall and look out over the meadow of golden grass to the distant blue mountain. Beyond that mountain lay the distant places. Only Ahni looked out over the meadow. He was watching for the stranger who the birds said would come. Every day Ahni would watch. The people would look across the many walls and see him there and they would laugh, strolling the violet roadways with pride. Only Ahni looked out over the meadow of golden grass.

One day as the people strolled and Ahni watched, he saw a figure moving through the meadow. The stranger had come! Ahni called to the birds and they flew across the orange morning to greet the comer. Ahni recognized him, because it was himself-to-be who came. The stranger stood in the meadow and called to the old men. His voice reached them in tones of whispered words. The old men hurried along the old, gray wall to see the stranger in the field. They didn't see that it was Ahni-to-be. They only saw the stranger's walking stick with the white marble handle. They were filled with desire to posses one so lovely. Their old marred hands curved for such a handle on such a walking stick. The only marble in the town lay beneath the walls of violet stones. The old men ached for the marble; wept for the marble. But they didn't have the strength to tear down the walls.

Ahni was young and strong. He was mad because he spoke to the birds and said they spoke to him. So Ahni tore down the walls, stone by stone....stone by stone. This frightened the people and they hid in their houses. The old men wept and ached for the marble. The stranger waited in the meadow holding his walking stick with patient pride. Ahni tore down the walls. The old men beat at the marble and scraped at twigs. Each old, marred hand shaped a walking stick to match that of the stranger. When they finished their work, the stranger who was Ahni-to-be moved back through the field of golden grass, and the old men followed him. He led them up the distant blue mountain, and they climbed the blue beyond the mountain's height....

The people crept slowly from their houses. The doors of the houses now opened to a neighbor's house. The people walked among the violet stones which lay in great useless heaps upon the ground. The night was coming and the people were afraid. They piled stone upon stone, stone upon stone until new walls were built. Grotesque walls were built because there were no white marble foundations. Walls that could not be traveled upon. Stone upon stone...

The people did not see what Ahni saw: meadows of golden grass lay on all sides of the town, and blue mountains and distant places. The people built their grotesque walls of violet stones without white marble foundations and Ahni crossed the fields of golden grass. The old gray wall stood humbly in the shadows of the town of many walls. And Ahni-who-was sat and watched for the second coming.