“I don’t understand,” Wendell said darkly to Garim, as they walked together by the garden’s gate.
“You have said those words before,” the storyteller said, grimly.
“Yes, but... now I really mean them. Now I don’t even know what I’m supposed to not be understanding. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t understand my life.”
“Perhaps that is a good thing,” Garim said, opaquely. “Those who claim to understand their life are usually fools or gods.”
Wendell felt a growing frustration as he talked with the old man. Garim was his friend, he always had been, he knew, even though at times he seemed deliberately difficult. But now, when Wendell needed him most, he couldn’t even begin to explain his nameless thoughts to the old man.
“Before I left the castle... I had a dream,” Wendell confided.
Garim said nothing.
“Someone... told me, that I was… the perfect one. That, stars sang when I was born!”
Garim looked off into the distance.
“Do you believe it?” he said seriously.
Wendell wanted to answer yes, but he could think of no reason, no explanation to back it up, to explain how he had felt in the dream!
“I see,” the old storyteller mulled.
“And what would Karen say about it?” he said suddenly.
Wendell didn’t know what he was getting at, but he could see Karen’s face clearly, telling him that he wasn’t so perfect, indeed!!
Wendell said nothing, and soon they parted ways, with no more words to say, and he was left alone again with himself, to argue endlessly about what the old man had said, even though he didn’t understand a word of it. If he didn’t understand, why did it bother him so much?