Page Text: Money for the Wise Man
by Nathan Hyatt
There was a wise man who lived at the foot of a great mountain in a land that time and distance have forgotten. In all the village it was said that he was endowed with great wisdom. He was exceedingly aged and had survived through times of peace and war alike. He never lacked for anything and gave the people medicine and cared for them. He did not have to farm the land or worry about anything, such was the care and honor the people had for him.
Also in this village, there lived a young man who was coming of age whose father had just died. He was the man of the house now and this frightened him. He lived with his uncle and mother and his uncle was quite ill. His mother was in fair health but she was very worried now that her husband was gone.
His father had been counted as most wise and honorable as had his own father before him. The young man was determined to be wise and honorable like his father and his grandfather and his ancestors before.
After he had mourned the death, he went to the wise man with a small sum of money and told the teacher he wanted to be wise.
The wise man said,
“If you will, give me the money you have in your hand. I cannot make you wise today.”
The young man handed the money over.
The wise man sent the young man home and told him to come back the next day.
The young man returned in the morning with an equal sum of money.
He was once again instructed to give the money over. He would not be made wise today. He was sent home again, and told to return the next day.
The young man returned with twice the money he had had on the previous two occasions.
The wise man accepted it and sent the young man home yet again.
The youth was becoming impatient. He determined to give the old man twice the sum he had given the last time, four times the sum he had given the first two times and to demand that he be made into a sage.
Nothing was said. The money was taken and the young man meekly handed it over.
The wise man indicated with a disgusted look on his face that the boy go away.
The boy walked home slowly with his head hung low and dejected. He wanted so much to have wisdom.
He would give the greedy man one last chance.
He came back the next day with a ring his father had left him. He gave it away, shaking nervously.
The wise man eyed the boy up and down and looked at him squarely.
“You” he said, “are most foolish.”
The boy burst into tears and ran home.
He did not return for several days.
His mother and uncle attempted to console him.
“Here,” said his mother one morning while rain fell upon the thatched roof and dripped into the home, landing in cracked clay pots and making puddles on the floor.
“Here is a little money. Take this to the one at the foot of the mountain and tell him it is all we have. Perhaps he will have pity on you and make you like he is.”
The young man took the money in his fist and stormed out into the rain. He stomped up toward the mountain. He knew he should be working the fields. Or that he should be working his father’s trade. Or his grandfather’s trade. Or that he should be studying warfare. He didn’t know how the wise man had come to be considered so wise. He did not care. He was angry. He had something to say.
Mud covered his bare feet as he stormed up the path, empty except for a foolish stray dog.
“You!” he said, upon rounding the corner and laying eyes upon the wise man, who was sweeping his porch while it rained.
The wise man looked up.
“You have taken all I have given you and you have given me NOTHING!”
The wise man smiled.
“I have a small amount of money here and let me tell you something.”
The wise man went back to his sweeping.
“I am NOT going to give you any more money to buy wisdom. I will give this to a beggar who is starving or to a woman who is freezing and needs a cloak. But I will NOT give it to YOU! I will NOT give you money for wisdom!”
Having said this, the young man turned his back on the old man to walk home.
“Eagle’s Heart” said the wise man, and called the young man by his father’s name and his grandfather’s before him.
The young man whispered the name he had longed to be called since he was a small child. He turned back around. He looked at the one who had spoken this name to him.
The wise man smiled and laughed and stretched out his arms and walked out into the rain.
“Eagle’s Heart, you are most wise. Come in out of the rain and let me fix you a cup of tea and a hot meal. I have a package of medicine for your uncle and something your mother will treasure all her days.”
If you enjoyed this story, please tell other people about http://consandnons.com and take a look around while you have a minute! Thank You!
Carlos the Cat (a short story in Spanish for students with English translation)
by Nathan Hyatt
Carlos el Gato
Por Nathan Hyatt
Carlos era un gato que vivía en un pequeño pueblo en un planeta distante. Un planeta muy lejos de lo nuestro. Vivía en un pueblo cerca de un base militar donde siempre se hacían experimentos para averiguar si era posible visitar a los lugares entre las estrellas. El planeta se llamaba X-64. Carlos quería unirse al ejército porque soñaba con visitar las lunas que orbitaban a X-64.
Pero pasaba los días triste y deprimido porque el ejército solo quería lanzar a los perros a explorar el cielo. Se pensó en aquel entonces que los gatos no sabían seguir las instrucciones. Pero Carlos sabía que él mismo sí sabía seguir las instrucciones. Él tenía prueba.
Cada mañana su ama de casa mandaba que él limpiara la cocina después del desayuno y lo hacía. Siempre lavaba los platos, los tazones, las cucharas, los cuchillos y los tenedores, aunque a los gatos no les gusta el agua. Se mandaba que captara a los ratones y que los dejara ir afuera y lo hacía (aunque él sabía que siempre entraban de nuevo.) También se mandaba que contestara el teléfono y lo hacía todos los días, aunque a los gatos no les gusta hablar.
Carlos pasaba el resto del día rozándose contra los muebles para quitar el polvo. Hizo esto a pesar de que no se mandara que lo hiciera. Intentó ser feliz y no pensar demasiado en el hecho que era gato y no perro y que la vida no era justa.
Pero cierto día pasó algo que cambiaría para él la vida para siempre. Sonó el teléfono. Ya que era su cargo contestarlo, lo hizo.
Fue un representante del ejército. ¡Buscaban a gatos para ayudar en explorar el cielo! ¿Podría ser que su sueño iba a convertirse en realidad?
Contestó varias preguntas y luego fue un silencio después de que dijo el llamante, – Un momento.
El corazoncito de Carlos latía fuerte, pero que tan fuerte. ¿Mandarían que él se sometiera a un examen físico? ¿Tendría que aprender a usar un arma? ¿Tendría que aprender a luchar usando sus patas para defenderse en situaciones peligrosas? ¿Tendría que aprender a llevarse bien con los perros?
– ¿Hola? – apareció de nuevo la voz.
– ¡Hola! – contestó Carlos, su corazón a punto de explotar dentro de su pequeño pecho.
– ¿Sabes cazar ratones? – preguntó la voz.
Carlos the Cat
By Nathan Hyatt
Carlos was a cat who lived in a small town on a distant planet. A planet very far from ours. He lived in a town near a military base where they were always doing experiments to see if it would be possible to visit the stars. The planet was called X-64. Carlos wanted to join the military because he dreamed of visiting the moons that orbited X-64.
But he spent his days sad and depressed because the military only wanted to launch dogs into space to explore the skies. It was believed at the time that cats could not follow instructions. But Carlos knew that he himself could follow instructions. He had proof.
Every morning his mistress wanted him to clean the kitchen after breakfast and he did so. He always washed the plates, the bowls, the spoons, the knives and the forks, even though cats do not like water. He was expected to catch mice and let them go outside and he did (even though he knew that they always came back in again.)
He was also instructed to answer the telephone and he did so every day, although cats do not like to talk.
Carlos would spend the rest of the day rubbing up against the furniture to remove the dust. He did this even though he was not instructed to. He tried to be happy and not think too much about the fact that he was a cat and not a dog and that life was not fair.
But one day, something happened that would change his life forever. The telephone rang. Since it was his job to answer it, he did.
It was a representative from the military. They were looking for cats to help explore space! Could it be that his dream was about to become a reality?
He answered several questions and then there was a pause after which the caller said, “One moment.”
Carlos’ heart beat hard, very hard.
Would he have to submit to a physical exam?
Would he have to learn to use a ray-gun?
Would he have to learn to use his paws to defend himself in dangerous situations?
Would he have to learn to get along with dogs!?
“Hello” the voice reappeared.
“Hello,” answered Carlos, his heart about to explode out of his tiny little chest.
“Do you know how to hunt mice?” asked the voice.
The End.
To contact Nathan Hyatt for bilingual Spanish/English instruction, editing, proofreading or consultation, contact him here: NathanHTutor@gmail.com
Cátame
by Pseudo Nimh
I was sure her name was Natalia. She caught my eye as if on purpose in that quaint, cozy corner of that magical restaurant with its old-world bottles of booze behind the bar and its light clientele; I the only tourist on this Friday.
“Hola!” she insisted.
I had made the mistake of introducing myself as being “Aquí de visita por unas semanas.” In the most authentic accent I could muster as a simple tourist in this land I wish not to name, in this establishment at the end of a quiet street where only the locals usually gathered.
She gave me credit for speaking the language well and it was credit I did not deserve and she knew it and eyed me playfully as she plotted against me romantically and poetically.
“Cátame,” she instructed, losing me instantly in those chestnut eyes that hid so many mysteries I could never hope to solve with the limited time and limited cash and stench of an American tourist in this land of Castellano.
Español o como sea. ¿Como fuera?
“Cátame,” she repeated, sensing she had found out how to set the hook as I suddenly realized she must have since I had apparently already sat down.
“¿Es que no quieres?
O ¿es que no puedes?”
I ignored her question, since I did not understand.
“¿En qué andas, Natalia?” I inquired rudely, wanting to know all about her business from the beginning, just like an American tourist would.
She threw back her head and laughed the laugh of an aged witch, una bruja, cackling at my clumsiness, and yet, there was a childishness to her carcajadas, embarrassing me as they echoed through the stone building above the blaring music.
The bartender frowned at me. Perhaps it was a warning. I should have heeded.
“¡Cátame!” she pouted, her lips winding up in a sexy pucker, her jet-black morena hair, cascading over her glaring eyes as they pierced me, her prey, stuck in a trap for which I was in no wise prepared.
“Natalia,” I ventured, as if preparing to talk some sense into an old friend, but I was rudely interrupted by a camarero, serving me a drink I had not ordered and saying, instructively,
“On the house, Mr. Baker.”
His perfect English almost angered me, but I found her eyes again and my ire was quickly forgotten.
In that moment, I decided that I must not attempt to find out how he knew my name or who was paying for this drink.
There was loud, native music as well as American Rock and Roll that night and I danced with this woman, listening to shouts of “¡Cátame!” the entire time.
I gave up my quest to determine what the command meant, and joined in the game by repeating it loudly to the small, but jovial crowd in the wee hours.
“¡CÁTAME!”
Laughter erupted.
I found myself drunk and without my briefcase on the way up the cobblestone street to a small dwelling, this beautiful, athletic lady of the evening guiding me, continuing the game, turning and crying “¡Cátame!” from time to time over the still-raucous noise ascending from the cantina, even at this distance.
She took me into her simple home, to her immaculate bed, so sardonically placed and grabbed me as if to start dancing again.
Instead she threw me forcefully onto her King-sized cama.
She pounced on me like the pantera she was and insisted, as if this were my last chance, “¡Cátame!”
I repeated it back to her, drunk and confused and she gave up the game in that moment and simply began her job of making love. She did all of the work and she did her work well.
I spoke her name.
She giggled, but did not pause her task of seducing the American tourist.
I passed out and I know not whether she completed her mission in the night.
I know only that I awoke with a throbbing headache and a hangover and no idea of the whereabouts of the briefcase which had only been full of sales materials and samples of fabrics used in school uniforms. I found a note explaining in perfect English that she had had a good time and that I knew where to find her if I should return to the country.
Signed and sealed with a lipstick kiss.
I made my way back to Chicago meekly with the note tucked carefully away.
I had thought through the loud music of the bar that she had said “Natalia.”
Her name was Catalina.
She went by the nickname “Cata.”
She only ever wanted me to say her name.
(to contact the writer, email:
ConAndNon@gmail.com)
When it Comes to Women, I Never Learn
by Pseudo Nimh
Charlie sits at the little cast-iron table outside the Blend Inn coffee shop and lets his Colombian coffee cool. He could have gotten something fancy, like a latte or an espresso, but he thinks it would be pretentious of him to drink an expensive beverage he hates when he can have something that he knows will hit the spot. He is waiting for a woman he met on social media. Her name is Leslie Glory or at least that is what he knows her as. She sent him a friend request and they had about 18 mutual friends, so he figured “What the hell?” She is half-an-hour late. His friend Don walks up.
“Oh, hey, Charlie!”
Charlie shoots Don a look that says “Get lost.” Don doesn’t get it and sits down.
“Don, I am waiting for someone.”
“A woman?” Don interrogates.
“Yes, if you must know.” Charlie hates himself for not telling Don that it is none of Don’s business.
“I’ll leave you alone!” Don surprises Charlie with his politeness.
“Thank you very much!” Charlie means what he says. He is thankful that Don does not wish to throw a monkey wrench into the one aspect of his life that seems to have a target painted on it with a sign below saying “Throw a monkey wrench at every attempt to get my love life off the ground!”
Don disappears inside. Charlie heaves a sigh of relief. He will give Leslie Glory or whatever her real name is precisely one more half-hour and then he will make new plans for the day. His phone goes off. It is a message from Leslie.
“We’re still on for tonight, right?”
TONIGHT!? Charlie’s plans with Leslie were for this afternoon! It is 4:30 pm! Charlie wants to think long and hard before texting back. He is trying not to turn into Mr. Mt. Vesuvius.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Charlie is forced to look up from his phone. He would be crazy not to. The voice belongs to a woman. It is not Leslie. It is a blue-eyed redhead who looks to be in her mid to late thirties. Cute enough. Forget about Leslie. For now.
Charlie makes a show of getting up and walking around behind his new acquaintance and pulling the chair out. The chair had already been pulled out by Don and never really put back. She takes a seat.
Charlie inspects her left hand for a ring and finds none. He doesn’t expect to. Reality check time. Maybe there isn’t any other place to sit. He looks around and sees that indeed there is not. Let’s be cautious. Let’s be a Gentleman.
“My name is Andrea.”
“Charles. Charlie. Whatever floats your boat.” RELAX, WILL YOU! His knee is about to shake apart. Maybe he has had too much coffee. Wait, he hasn’t had ANY of the coffee. I think it’s cool, Charlie. I think you can drink it.
“I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend here. It’s really crowded though. When she gets here, I guess we will need to go someplace else.”
Charlie has an inappropriate thought. He knows it is an inappropriate thought and he knows he has no business having it. Down, boy. Don’t think about two women and one man. Get that out of your head. Behave. Go with the flow.
“What is her name?” he inquires.
“Sarah. But she doesn’t like men.”
Time to take a cold shower, Charlie.
“She is my lover. We’re lesbians.”
That’s the thing about cold showers. You never run out of cold water.
“Right on! I am supposed to meet someone here too. Well, sort of. I think she got confused.” I got confused too. I got REALLY confused.
“There she is! Later!” Andrea gets up and scampers off, leaving Charlie sixpence none the richer. What to text Leslie?
“Sorry about the delay in getting back to you. When were we going to meet? We were going to meet at Blend Inn, weren’t we?” Send. Charlie places the phone on the table, not expecting a timely response. What do you know? A timely response!
“Can we cancel until some other time?” Don’t throw the phone. Definitely do not throw the phone on the ground and stomp on it. Definitely do not call her any names. At least not out loud.
I hate you.
Not you, Leslie. Well, not just you.
I hate myself.
“Sure! No worries!” Send. Nothing to reel in. Can’t even set the hook. They just eat the bait. I hate my life.
Charles sips his coffee which is now rather cool. That does not bother him. Food? Not hungry. Time to check out what is going on with Faceplace? Isn’t that how all this shit got started?
Yes. Yes, it is. You know what sucks? Yes, Charles, I know what sucks. Do you want to know what sucks? I will tell you what sucks. Never mind about three people hooking up or getting laid at all. Never mind about getting lucky. I can’t even snag a stable female friend, and that, THAT, my friend SUCKS. That sucks like there is no tomorrow. I can’t even make friends with a woman I have no chance with romantically. That sucks. I can’t call Leslie a friend. I have never met the woman and I don’t know that I will. Charles, you never learn.
Memories come flooding back. Crazy nonsense from times gone by. ONE stable romantic relationship which lasted for a long time. Then another man came between the two of us and it destabilized. Two years of trying like crazy to save our marriage and to no avail. Don’t blame yourself Charles. She was out of control. They all are, aren’t they?
There was that one girl. I don’t like to say their names. I was going through a divorce. She was going through a divorce. I said we shouldn’t force solutions and she didn’t listen. Charles, what are you saying? You didn’t listen either. I know. She called me over and over. Could. Not. Stop. We talked for five hours one Friday. She told me I had all those qualities a woman would want in a man and the only one she could think of was that I was such a good listener. Ya think? It’s not the money!
There was that girl I knew I wasn’t supposed to get mixed up with who dyed her hair my favorite color just to impress me. She got back together with the man she was going through a divorce with. These women have gotten on with their lives, Charles. Why can’t you?
I just keep telling myself I don’t need a woman to get on with my life. There was the 18-year-old girl I saw in that fast-food joint who wanted to know if I could help her get downers or pot. I offered her a ride to detox and rehab. Charles, you did all you could do. At least you didn’t take advantage of her.
There was the girl who had a boyfriend who enjoyed singing filthy songs to me at the karaoke bar when he wasn’t around. I told her friend I was going to hook up with her and she put a stop to it. Charles, you did the right thing. Her friend respects you. Got to get them off of my mind.
Charles tries to relax. He isn’t ready to face Don. Don will try to comfort him. Don is really bad at that. Don is not a woman. But, honestly, Charles. When was the last time you were comforted by a woman? Should I leave? No. Don’t isolate. Really? Honestly? Can I help it? Can I avoid isolating? Charles, listen to reason. Wait for Don.
Charles needs to think. He knows that it is thinking that gets him into bad days like these when he could be having fun doing something he has learned to enjoy doing as a single man who is not looking for a relationship. But he thinks anyway. You’re right. I do.
Let’s take a break from women. Forget about women. That is hard to do when you do what you do for a living. I write poetry for greeting cards. Charles, you write poetry for greeting cards and you don’t know how to relate to women. You suck. Tell me something I don’t know. Maybe I could go into standup comedy and write really mean poetry to the women who hurt me. Nah. That would get back to corporate and it would open up a can of worms. I’m screwed.
Charles, maybe you should do something else for a living. Attract a woman with a really cool job. Do you realize that in trying to get my mind off of women, all I do is just keep coming back to women? Charles, you don’t follow through. Think of another job for the sake of thinking of another job. Okay. Massage therapist. Oh, so you can meet women and get all touchy feely with them, right?
I am talking to myself and I feel like I am dealing with a woman. That is messed up. You’re right, it IS messed up.
Maybe I could go to school for psychology and learn to deal with my problems better and learn to help other people deal with their problems better. Maybe. I have a lot of anger. Toward women? OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Why can’t I get my mind off of them!?
Okay. Okay. Do you remember what we read in that book about optimism? Yeah. Bad things are temporary. Being alone and lonely is temporary. Right. And it’s not your fault. And it’s not going to mess up every aspect of your life. Right.
Know what? I could go to work in a pharmacy. They don’t worry about relationships at all during the day. They just fill prescriptions. I think what I really need is a break from women and thinking about women. I am not going to get it writing friggin’ poetry for greeting cards!
Don comes walking out with a woman on his arm. OH, FOR PETE’S SAKE! They walk right past you, don’t they, Charles?
A young man who looks to be in his mid-twenties comes walking up with a Dalmatian. They walk right up to you, don’t they, Charles?
“Do you have a girlfriend?” It’s a rather strange question coming from the young man, but Charles fields it.
“No. As a matter of fact, I do not. Not that it is any of your business.”
“Well, Trixie is a girl, and she wants to be your friend!” Trixie obviously does. She jumps up and licks Charles as though he is a meal.
“Whoa! Down, girl!” Charles can’t help but cheer up. He has been starved for affection.
“My name is Brad. Trixie is looking for a home.” Charles gets in touch with himself. He can’t do to this poor dog what has been done to him by so many people. Today can be his lucky day after all.
“Talk to me about the details. What do I need to do?” He really wants to do this. Brad fills him in on the details and everything comes together.
The next day, Charles is at home making plans to quit his job. He doesn’t know what he is going to do. He has some money saved. Perhaps he will write something else. Perhaps he will go to work in a pet store. He doesn’t have to feel alone. There are things he misses in life, but life is not over. Life is too short to live in the past. Our pain does not define us. You see, Trixie has three legs and Charles has a soft heart.
Charles, keep making friends.