The Fishwife

Looking at the sun, Stanley decided he would try the western route. It was not necessary that he go west, but parables are often easier to find on paths already blazed. In a more desperate situation, one might enter a parable at any given point in any situation, but that takes some imagination. Mortals are generally entranced by scientific endeavors and are more prone to trust something once they know it's been done. In the case of parables, it is customary to ask where they generally occur, if nothing else, to act as a starting point. Stanley had no intention of being original.

After leaving the sparse trees of Jacob's mother's summer cottage, Stanley crossed a hilly field and a tiny stream, where he came to a small brick house with a short flight of stone steps approaching the front door. Before he stepped up, the door opened and a small, squirrelish woman popped her head through the opening.

"Come, young one, come," she said enthusiastically. "We've been expecting you. The world is a vast place and we all need guidance at times. This is your lucky day. Come in, please." The interior of the house was lined with shelves, some with old, leathery books, others filled with obsessive odds and ends, empty picture frames, giant glass insects, convoluted tea-brewing instruments, but what dominated the room was a large circular chart drawn on seamless vellum in black and emerald-green inks, which hung like a tapestry from the far back wall. The writing was like nothing Stanley had ever seen. Jagged, scrawling letters formed concentric circles that ended in a large red spot in the center of the chart.

"Sit here, young one, sit here," the woman said. She shoved a chair into the backs of Stanley's legs, forcing him to drop to the seat. "Hello, and hello, enough of that chat. We have business to do, and that's my business, so let's get to it." Stanley was excited. This woman had ideas. You could feel it in her voice. She was ready to tell you your future and send you on your way with a swat of productive energy. "Now, young one," she said, "Tell me why you've come to meet with me today." Stanley was so caught up in the energy, this question took him somewhat by surprise. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Well," he said, "I used to live at a farm on a pile of horse manure. It wasn't a bad life, but there came a point when I wasn't comfortable being there anymore." The woman nodded, her eyes wide. "I now live in a cottage east of here. I suppose I want to know what sort of trade I ought to go into."

"Aha! yes! That's why you come to me, and believe me, I will find you a trade. I know all the trades - builders, binders, fishermen, merchants, scholars, sages, butchers, bakers, and candle-stick makers. I have a knack, well, more of a gift, for showing young men their true potential." She scurried over to a black desk and rummaged through the top drawer. "I once had a young man come in here hoping to make a living telling stories - but as everyone knows, story-telling is a dying field. Too many stories everywhere! Talk all day, but listen to me for one hour and that young man soon had a smithy's hammer in his hand and a head full of soot. Good with fixing things, he was. I showed him the way. I show them, they find the way. That's how it works!" She brought out a gleaming lens with etchings on it and fastened it over her eye with a braid of sinew.

The woman sat herself down in a chair at the desk with a sigh of delight. "So tell me," she said, "what radiance are you?" Stanley stared, expecting her to continue, but she did not. He had not the slightest idea of what a radiance was.

"I'm sorry if this is a dumb question," he said, "but what do you mean by 'radiance'?" The woman laughed and rocked herself in the fatiguing chair.

"Oh, no worries, none at all. Your radiance will tell us how you conduct yourself. You might know it from seeing your reflection in a frozen waterfall, or by the hue a full moon colors your eyes. Do you remember now?"

Stanley hesitated, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I know my radiance. I've never done either of those things."

"Well, if I don't know your radiance, how am I supposed to read for you?" She said, raising an eyebrow. Her eye looked enormous through the lens. She now seemed more like a hawk than a squirrel. "Look, your radiance would be wonderful, but lets not waste time, how about your aura. What are your top five?"

Stanley's anger was steadily rising, and he wondered if his aura might not leap out and smack the lens off the squirrel lady's face. How was he expected to know these things? She was the one with the magic paper on the wall. "I don't know my aura. I don't know my radiance, or anything like that. I thought you'd be able to help me. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Well, I could spend the next couple years getting to know you - or you can tell me your aura and your radiance. You think I can just read the chart with nothing to read? What if I gave you a book with no words and told you to read it? Not very helpful, huh?" It was clear she was becoming just as impatient with Stanley as he was with her. "You want me to just look in your eyes and pull out a deer with 'destiny' caught in its antlers?"

Stanley decided it would be better not to argue with this woman. Insanity can sometimes misrepresent the fragility of its owner's temper. "Ok, so you can't help me," he said, "at least tell me where I can find out my radiance."

"Told you already. You've already been told, foolish one. A waterfall of ice or full moon-ed eyes," she said.

"Yes, well, where is the nearest frozen waterfall?"

"The only waterfall is the Stony Falls. You go west."

"and they will be frozen?"

"They're the only falls," she said. She tossed her eye-piece back into the drawer and slammed it shut. "It's not my problem if they're frozen or not." Her jaw began to quiver, and Stanley decided it was time to leave.

"Thank you for your time," he said.

"A waste of my time, young one, a waste." He walked out of the house and down the stairs. Hopefully his search would yield some better advice.