* FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE QUESTIONER
FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE QUESTIONER
As Emma unpacked the baggage she felt a surge of irritation at the boy for not being there to help her as he always was. Well, he was off with his cousin and forgot she needed him, which was rare. At dinner she took time to scan the tables where the family sat. Spying the cousin, Joel, alone she frowned and motioned for him to come. She asked him, “where is my boy, isn’t he with you?”
“No, auntie,” he replied in surprise. “I haven’t seen him since we packed up this morning before dawn. But if you like I’ll ask around among the cousins for him.”
“Do that, please,” she nodded gratefully, returning to help the baby with his soup.
As they prepare for bed Emma and the boy’s father waited for Joel to return with the boy and were shocked when he came to tell them that his cousin was nowhere to be found. Their irritation dissolved into fear and concern. He had always been so responsible; it was impossible to think of him deliberately not coming with them.
The next day Emma left her other children with her sisters-in-law and rode with the boy’s father back into the City. How eagerly they had gone just a week before on the way to the family dinner. That was the occasion for the trip but she and the children loved to go to the mall, the sports events, to the concerts – why, her boys even went to see an arcade. Each child had found cousins his or her age, often she didn’t see them until they gave her a sleepy goodnight kiss. Now, in whose house had her boy slept?
By noon they were at Cousin Anna’s house, gratefully sipping a cold drink and explaining their return. “How strange! Are you sure he isn’t with any of the family that travels your way? “ Anna exclaimed.
The mother had been sure that the boy had stayed with Anna, now her embarrassment at admitting her negligence in watching for him vanished. Anna’s boy went to the homes of all the relatives in the City with the father as the mother waited anxiously.
As evening tinted the buildings shades of crimson, the boy’s father came slowly back, alone. “There are so many people in the streets from the fair that you can hardly walk. If he isn’t with family he must be on the streets but I didn’t see him.”
Emma had been thinking, “Perhaps we should go to the police and check the hospitals tomorrow.” Her tired mate looked at her for a long moment, sharing her fear, trying to keep her calm. “Tomorrow.”
The next day at the police station the sergeant was incredulous, “You want to report a missing boy! Lady, I got 20 drunks locked up, a dozen people who got mugged last night, there were 50,000 people here last week and you want me to find your boy! He probably went home with someone else. You already looked? Well, we buried a boy yesterday, about 15, got knifed a couple days ago. He was fair-haired and had a scar on the cheek. Not yours? Well, try the first aid station and the hospitals.”
They spent the morning and afternoon going to schools, hospitals, the arcade, the speedway, the soccer fields, anywhere that a boy might have been captivated. At last they went back to the police, trembling from worry and exhaustion. No one had seen their boy or could remember him. The sergeant was still busy but asked, “No luck? Well, tonight check the bars and the baths. Your boy isn’t that kind, eh? Well, there are people who like innocent little boys.”
Now frantic with worry, the parents struggled through the blaring music and drunken bodies in bar after bar, sickened at the sight of the degraded humans who came out after dark. The street hustlers took pity on them in their quest but hadn’t seen the boy.
In bed that night the mother lay dry eyed, unable to sleep. How long would they search, was he even in town? She would go to the temple tomorrow to pray, there was nowhere else to turn.
At that very moment the boy slept peacefully, watched by the Scholar, who considered him thoughtfully. He knew so much about him and yet so little. The first time he noticed the boy was at the public lecture on “The Future of the City”. The Scholar was the youngest and, he told himself, the most talented of the panel of speakers. After he spoke his attention was drawn to the boy sitting in the front row, listening intently to the City elders.
He had popped up that afternoon in the middle of the monthly forum held in the temple library. There had been the usual mix of political, religious and cultural talk when a thin voice spoke up in a momentary lull. “Why has the Giver of Life not sent us any messages for hundreds of years?”
Clothes rustled and aged necks creaked as they regarded the interloper in their midst. The child would have been hustled out, except for his question – the question that they, the leaders of the City and nation had not dared to ask themselves. They had read the old musty history books, full of action, dashing soldiers, and brave kings; full of denunciation of wrongs. They didn’t know why in their time and their forefather’s time there had been silence. Perhaps it was because the forefathers hadn’t liked the messages the Giver of Life sent, and had silenced his messengers. The whole question brought up ideas that the Council didn’t want to face so they had ignored it. The Scholar, had asked that same question in private with a few friends, with the longing of those who sensed the reality in the musty old books. Now this extraordinary boy had put that longing into words. As he was drawn forward and given several explanations he was not put off with their knowledge or lofty positions. His calm bearing demanded the one thing in short supply – the truth.
Later the boy asked many more questions and listened carefully to the answers. Really, it was as if he were examining them and hearing beyond their words to their inner thoughts. The first night the Scholar had invited the boy home and over supper tried to find out more about him. The boy instead had drawn him out about the workings of the Council and asked him that which could not be answered, “Why is the Presence gone from the temple?”
Now, after two days of observing the boy he had deduced much about the sleeping child – his mastery of the ancient books, his singleness of purpose, his penetrating questions, which cut through extraneous matters and caused the recipient to think deeply, his gentleness, strength and courtesy. What he didn’t know was where the boy had come from – he must have parents who cared for him – where were they. And why wasn’t the boy concerned that they hadn’t looked for him?
The Scholar was in the temple library reading, watching the boy lose himself in study of a volume that he hadn’t tried to understand in years, when the doorman announced, “there is a couple looking for their boy.” Only the Scholar saw them enter hesitantly, the marks of sleepless nights and harried days lining their faces. As they saw the boy the worry dropped away to be replaced by irritation and anger. The mother chided him, “How could you do this to us? Father and I have been frantically looking for you.”
The boy looked up at them with love and a hint of reproach. “Three days it took to find me? “
The parents and child faced each other for long moments. How could they have forgotten his character and looked in the arcades and bars? Now they remembered the promises at his birth, his chubby fingers tracing the ancient letters, his baby voice asking to hear the stories, his astonishing grasp of history, his endless questions which had gone far past the limits of their knowledge, his intensity as they went to the temple each year. Then had known the seed of Otherness in their child, has glimpsed it growing through the years, had seen it bud and flourish – and had mistaken his restlessness these last months for adolescence. The pull of the Presence had been ever stronger and now the sudden awareness of Otherness had flowered in his spirit. His desperate need for more knowledge had overcome his filial duty. He finally asked, “Didn’t you know I had to come to my Father’s house? “
As the Scholar watched, he sensed the momentousness of the encounter. It brought back memories of when he was much younger, learning from the old masters in this very temple. One master, Simeon, had been sure for years that the Presence would appear in his lifetime. The Scholar had been with him when a humble couple brought their firstborn son to be presented. He remembered the old master studying them, the measured tread crossing the room, the uplifted baby, the outpouring of prophetic praise, the words to the mother, “A sword will pierce your own soul. “ The Scholar thought to himself, that was about a dozen years ago, and realized with a shock that the boy was just that age. He looked at the middle aged Emma and saw her serenity, intelligence and good sense underlying the weariness.
As the Scholar watched he saw the boy and his parents accept that henceforth the boy would be obedient to the Presence and not to them. The boy stood up, closed his book and walked over to his parents. Yes, he would be going home with them, after all he was still young. He would still need the sanctuary of their home, the boyish play with his brothers and sisters, their deep wisdom to understand what was happening as awareness grew within him.
Emma glanced at the Scholar who had watched over her boy, saw his recognition of her, and read all that he had learned of the boy. He too would treasure his knowledge and be ready for the next appearance of the Questioner.
Gerry Gutierrez
Oaxaca, 1995
As Emma unpacked the baggage she felt a surge of irritation at the boy for not being there to help her as he always was. Well, he was off with his cousin and forgot she needed him, which was rare. At dinner she took time to scan the tables where the family sat. Spying the cousin, Joel, alone she frowned and motioned for him to come. She asked him, “where is my boy, isn’t he with you?”
“No, auntie,” he replied in surprise. “I haven’t seen him since we packed up this morning before dawn. But if you like I’ll ask around among the cousins for him.”
“Do that, please,” she nodded gratefully, returning to help the baby with his soup.
As they prepare for bed Emma and the boy’s father waited for Joel to return with the boy and were shocked when he came to tell them that his cousin was nowhere to be found. Their irritation dissolved into fear and concern. He had always been so responsible; it was impossible to think of him deliberately not coming with them.
The next day Emma left her other children with her sisters-in-law and rode with the boy’s father back into the City. How eagerly they had gone just a week before on the way to the family dinner. That was the occasion for the trip but she and the children loved to go to the mall, the sports events, to the concerts – why, her boys even went to see an arcade. Each child had found cousins his or her age, often she didn’t see them until they gave her a sleepy goodnight kiss. Now, in whose house had her boy slept?
By noon they were at Cousin Anna’s house, gratefully sipping a cold drink and explaining their return. “How strange! Are you sure he isn’t with any of the family that travels your way? “ Anna exclaimed.
The mother had been sure that the boy had stayed with Anna, now her embarrassment at admitting her negligence in watching for him vanished. Anna’s boy went to the homes of all the relatives in the City with the father as the mother waited anxiously.
As evening tinted the buildings shades of crimson, the boy’s father came slowly back, alone. “There are so many people in the streets from the fair that you can hardly walk. If he isn’t with family he must be on the streets but I didn’t see him.”
Emma had been thinking, “Perhaps we should go to the police and check the hospitals tomorrow.” Her tired mate looked at her for a long moment, sharing her fear, trying to keep her calm. “Tomorrow.”
The next day at the police station the sergeant was incredulous, “You want to report a missing boy! Lady, I got 20 drunks locked up, a dozen people who got mugged last night, there were 50,000 people here last week and you want me to find your boy! He probably went home with someone else. You already looked? Well, we buried a boy yesterday, about 15, got knifed a couple days ago. He was fair-haired and had a scar on the cheek. Not yours? Well, try the first aid station and the hospitals.”
They spent the morning and afternoon going to schools, hospitals, the arcade, the speedway, the soccer fields, anywhere that a boy might have been captivated. At last they went back to the police, trembling from worry and exhaustion. No one had seen their boy or could remember him. The sergeant was still busy but asked, “No luck? Well, tonight check the bars and the baths. Your boy isn’t that kind, eh? Well, there are people who like innocent little boys.”
Now frantic with worry, the parents struggled through the blaring music and drunken bodies in bar after bar, sickened at the sight of the degraded humans who came out after dark. The street hustlers took pity on them in their quest but hadn’t seen the boy.
In bed that night the mother lay dry eyed, unable to sleep. How long would they search, was he even in town? She would go to the temple tomorrow to pray, there was nowhere else to turn.
At that very moment the boy slept peacefully, watched by the Scholar, who considered him thoughtfully. He knew so much about him and yet so little. The first time he noticed the boy was at the public lecture on “The Future of the City”. The Scholar was the youngest and, he told himself, the most talented of the panel of speakers. After he spoke his attention was drawn to the boy sitting in the front row, listening intently to the City elders.
He had popped up that afternoon in the middle of the monthly forum held in the temple library. There had been the usual mix of political, religious and cultural talk when a thin voice spoke up in a momentary lull. “Why has the Giver of Life not sent us any messages for hundreds of years?”
Clothes rustled and aged necks creaked as they regarded the interloper in their midst. The child would have been hustled out, except for his question – the question that they, the leaders of the City and nation had not dared to ask themselves. They had read the old musty history books, full of action, dashing soldiers, and brave kings; full of denunciation of wrongs. They didn’t know why in their time and their forefather’s time there had been silence. Perhaps it was because the forefathers hadn’t liked the messages the Giver of Life sent, and had silenced his messengers. The whole question brought up ideas that the Council didn’t want to face so they had ignored it. The Scholar, had asked that same question in private with a few friends, with the longing of those who sensed the reality in the musty old books. Now this extraordinary boy had put that longing into words. As he was drawn forward and given several explanations he was not put off with their knowledge or lofty positions. His calm bearing demanded the one thing in short supply – the truth.
Later the boy asked many more questions and listened carefully to the answers. Really, it was as if he were examining them and hearing beyond their words to their inner thoughts. The first night the Scholar had invited the boy home and over supper tried to find out more about him. The boy instead had drawn him out about the workings of the Council and asked him that which could not be answered, “Why is the Presence gone from the temple?”
Now, after two days of observing the boy he had deduced much about the sleeping child – his mastery of the ancient books, his singleness of purpose, his penetrating questions, which cut through extraneous matters and caused the recipient to think deeply, his gentleness, strength and courtesy. What he didn’t know was where the boy had come from – he must have parents who cared for him – where were they. And why wasn’t the boy concerned that they hadn’t looked for him?
The Scholar was in the temple library reading, watching the boy lose himself in study of a volume that he hadn’t tried to understand in years, when the doorman announced, “there is a couple looking for their boy.” Only the Scholar saw them enter hesitantly, the marks of sleepless nights and harried days lining their faces. As they saw the boy the worry dropped away to be replaced by irritation and anger. The mother chided him, “How could you do this to us? Father and I have been frantically looking for you.”
The boy looked up at them with love and a hint of reproach. “Three days it took to find me? “
The parents and child faced each other for long moments. How could they have forgotten his character and looked in the arcades and bars? Now they remembered the promises at his birth, his chubby fingers tracing the ancient letters, his baby voice asking to hear the stories, his astonishing grasp of history, his endless questions which had gone far past the limits of their knowledge, his intensity as they went to the temple each year. Then had known the seed of Otherness in their child, has glimpsed it growing through the years, had seen it bud and flourish – and had mistaken his restlessness these last months for adolescence. The pull of the Presence had been ever stronger and now the sudden awareness of Otherness had flowered in his spirit. His desperate need for more knowledge had overcome his filial duty. He finally asked, “Didn’t you know I had to come to my Father’s house? “
As the Scholar watched, he sensed the momentousness of the encounter. It brought back memories of when he was much younger, learning from the old masters in this very temple. One master, Simeon, had been sure for years that the Presence would appear in his lifetime. The Scholar had been with him when a humble couple brought their firstborn son to be presented. He remembered the old master studying them, the measured tread crossing the room, the uplifted baby, the outpouring of prophetic praise, the words to the mother, “A sword will pierce your own soul. “ The Scholar thought to himself, that was about a dozen years ago, and realized with a shock that the boy was just that age. He looked at the middle aged Emma and saw her serenity, intelligence and good sense underlying the weariness.
As the Scholar watched he saw the boy and his parents accept that henceforth the boy would be obedient to the Presence and not to them. The boy stood up, closed his book and walked over to his parents. Yes, he would be going home with them, after all he was still young. He would still need the sanctuary of their home, the boyish play with his brothers and sisters, their deep wisdom to understand what was happening as awareness grew within him.
Emma glanced at the Scholar who had watched over her boy, saw his recognition of her, and read all that he had learned of the boy. He too would treasure his knowledge and be ready for the next appearance of the Questioner.
Gerry Gutierrez
Oaxaca, 1995
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