I will again, as I am wont to do, start my column by telling a story. “The force that through the green fuse drives the flower…” sits just beneath the text I am presenting. It insists our element is time, and we can achieve what we desire if we trust and use that force (in my case, literacy). Larkin, the British poet, was of the same opinion regarding time.
But I cannot house the homeless, or feed the hungry, or employ the needy or do any or all of the things that have gone wrong since the advent of our country in 1994. We have sunk into a morass, and we are still sinking. An organisation to help people afflicted with substance abuse claims the sufferer has his moment of clarity when he reaches rock bottom. To me, the swamp we are in seems to be bottomless.
My story, which is by the Grimm brothers, tells of a man who hooks a golden fish. He is poor and lives in a hovel with his wife. The fish speaks and says: “Please do not kill me. I am a Prince under the spell of a wicked witch. If you spare me, I will grant you any wish.”
The astonished fisherman, being a soft-hearted person, unhooks the fish and tosses it back into the sea. He goes home and tells his wife the tale.
She lets rip with a harangue that has him quivering in fear. She orders him to go back and demand that the fish at least give them a proper home to live in.
Disconsolately, he returns and speaks an incantation over the waves: “O Prince of the sea/hearken to me/my wife Ilsabill/will have her own will/and hath sent me to beg a gift of thee”.
The fish appears, listens to the poor fisherman’s wish for a better home for his wife and then holds his breath. “Go home,” says the golden fish, “she is already in a cottage.”
He can hardly believe his ears. More than that, he couldn’t believe what he saw when he got home. A lovely cottage, with a garden for flowers and vegetables, chickens in the yard and a beautiful arch of morning glory over the doorway.
My readers can probably guess the rest of the story. The wife soon tires of the cottage because it is too small and dragoons her husband into going back to the sea and asking for a castle. As expected, it happens. And of course, the demands increment until the requests become well-nigh impossible. And every time the poor man went and upped the demands of his fractious wife.
But there comes a time when the fish stops the fisherman sternly and says: “Enough. Your wife has overreached and soured the goodwill. Now go home to your first miserable little hovel because your Ilsabill has spoilt it all with her insatiable greed.”
You are free to make of the story whatever you wish. My point is made. It was fun to read. And the variations are endless and the names and nations are as various as you want and there can be a moral or not.
But my attempts at fostering the reading habit is not enough for our perceived needs in our country. And we do not have access to the golden fish. And the casino and the national lottery won’t cut it. Neither will self-enrichment through conscienceless stealing help those who really need the help most.
We need at least one element from the story, and that is, someone to listen while we state the perceived shortcomings for whatever reason. I am not naming names. And the ones who go out to look for the fish who can make promises come true must learn the discretion of gratitude and moderation.
And, if there is a government agency or one single politician with a conscience, let them read the story and listen to the lesson. We have the time (running out), the will (we were given promises) and the religion (we are beginning to call God names). We now want action. Otherwise, the tale will spin out of control.
As the late Arch said before he died: “I am warning you.”
* Alex Tabisher.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
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