Jester (part 1)

This Fairy Tale appeared the same way as the others, just flew in, settled on my shoulder and told me its story, and I wrote it down. This story turned out to be big, so I decided to make two letters out of it. This letter contains the first part, and the second will come in the next one. Welcome to Fairy Tale World!

Olga and the Fairy Tale Team 😊

JESTER

Jester lived in the World, who had never seen strawberries grow. . . .
“What are they?”, he repeatedly asked the King, but for him this question was uninteresting and, in general, King believed that everything he ate grew on plates. In the morning, on a gilded plate with a blue stripe which was always brought to him almost to his bed. At lunch, everything grew on large and small plates that stood in innumerable numbers on the oak table in the White Hall. In the evening – on silver plates.

So, Jester’s question was at first taken as another joke, but over time it grew tiring, and when today King heard it again, he grimaced as if something very sour had entered his mouth, and said, “If you are so interested, find the answer yourself.” Jester was confused: he had never, since childhood, left the gates of the palace.

Everything he needed was also brought on a plate, only, of course, a much smaller one. He had to eat ridiculously, shoving food into his mouth with both hands, even if he didn’t want to eat at all. In fact, it was funny only to King and his retinue, while at the same time, tears came to Jester’s throat. His tears were not of interest and unnecessary for them. The spectators had their own, so when they occasionally dug into Jester’s plate, no one noticed.

Jester could not understand where this question came from, just that for several nights in a row he saw strawberries in his dream. They, like red beads, shone among the green lace of leaves, enticing with their beauty. The Sun gently caressed and cherished each berry with its rays. And the scent! Incomparable with anything, its fragrance was felt even in his dream. Jester could not explain why such a dream appeared. . . . Did his grandma’s memory convey that memory to him?

As far as he could himself remember, he had spent his whole life in the palace. His mother had given him to the palace. . . . Exhausted by hard work and daily worries, she did not know what to do with the frail child, whom Beauty forgot to look at, sparing him her treasures.

In the palace, the little Jester gradually became accustomed to ridicule, learning to hide from it behind his own jokes. Along the way, his mind was not offended by life, and so when he accidentally caught the eye of the King, King noticed him. King liked Jester. Also, being small, crooked, and with a large snub nose, he favorably emphasized the gilded beauty of the King and his palace.

But again, about the dream. . . . Unusual, like a sign, it awakened in his heart a mysterious feeling that attracted him to somewhere unknown, but Jester felt he definitely needed to know how to grow strawberries. So, confused at first by King’s unexpected offer, he resolutely packed his things and, throwing a small bag on his shoulder, went to look for what had been lately calling to him so much. He went to where strawberries grow. . . .

The Sun, from the height of the Sky, watched with interest as the little stooped man goes along the dusty road. The birds, tired of the day’s heat, rested . . . only the hum of bees in the meadow, that stretched on both sides, was heard. Soon the road meandered into the green coolness of a forest. The Sun shone so beautifully through the leaves that Jester stopped in delight. . . .

He had never seen such a thing! There were gray stones, gilding, and foreign plants in all the rooms of the palace. But here . . . entirely different. Thin, seemingly inconspicuous petals of forest flowers. Green was his favorite color, in countless shades, which are probably difficult for even an artist to imagine. The trunks of trees, light and dark, smooth and rough, as if the faces of people—young and old, where every wrinkle is a path of life. Silence, and a barely audible whisper of the wind about something. . . .

Feet shod for laughter in too narrow and long shoes, with big heavy buckles, ached. Jester squatted down and, taking them out of the angry vices with great pleasure, stretched his legs out onto a soft blanket of grass. He closed his eyes, turned his face to the warmth of the sunrays. . . .

It is unknown how much time has passed. Did it matter? Like a breath, slowly came to him a sense of oneness with all that existed around. It seems that the heart itself began to beat differently than before. Gradually it was filled with peace and joy. Its strong and even thrusts spread in his frail body with some hitherto unknown to him, sense of his own strength. . . .

Jester listened to himself, marveling at the unexpected changes, touched the stalks of grass with his childish little fingers, red from the unusual journey, and smiled. . . . Like beautiful children smiling, enchanting adults with their joy of life. Just because it, life, exists.
Jester fell asleep. Unobtrusively the Sun hid behind the Sky, stringing another day on its thread. A breeze blew and brought the scent of evening flowers that awakened the moths. The forest took on mysterious shades, the trunks of the trees darkened completely, and their leaves hid the Sun’s rays, allowing them to make their way down with a faint farewell note. The night was coming.

A sharp cry woke Jester. He opened his eyes and saw a rather large bird above him. She flew to another tree and cried out again, showing with all her might that she was the mistress in this place. Jester looked around. It was unusual to wake up here after the royal palace. . . .

For many years he had seen every morning a familiar pantry lined with multicolored pieces of cloth. He did not want his home to be like that, but who asked him? You have to be funny and everything, even your house needs to be funny, which from time to time could be shown to others for fun. It was hard at first, but then Jester stopped paying attention to it.
But in his pantry, there was a window from which the Sky was visible. Sometimes piercingly sublime—the big blue ocean where airships of clouds occasionally float, sometimes gray, heavy, with a gloomy light drizzle.

The Sky was especially beautiful in the evening, when the Sun disappeared behind a dark strip of forest, leaving a canvas painted with the last rays of farewell. What can compare to this? When the stars appeared in the Sky, Jester loved to talk to them. . . . He was a true philosopher: in the events that took place around him, he noticed what others did not see. It didn’t matter that the stars were silent, but they knew how to listen, and probably they were the only ones in the palace that did not need his jokes. Such that the ones who laughed felt superior to others. The stars do not need it—the stars already are high above.

It was getting dark in the forest. Light clothing did not retain heat. Jester wanted to take a slice of bread from his bag, but the bird that woke him up shouted again and sat down impudently in front of him. “Don’t worry, I’ll go now”, Jester reassured her taking his shoes in his hands, then looked at them, and placed them on a big boulder. “Maybe you can use them for something.”

He smiled at the bird and went on the barely visible road in the dark. Bare feet seemed to feel every pebble and twig on the road. From time to time, Jester stumbled, fell. It did not anger him at all—his steps became supple and light as if he had always gone like this. He did not know where this road would lead and what lay ahead. Jester was going, and for some reason was not worried at all.

It became even darker, the trees were close to each other, their leaves covered the Sky so tightly, that it seemed that it was not a forest, but a mysterious large room in which you cannot see windows, doors, walls. . . .

You understand they exist, but you cannot touch them. Jester did not feel the weight of the darkness—he just was going because he needed to. How much time has passed? Who knows? There was almost no fatigue in his body, only the pebbles gradually began to seem sharper.

Something flashed ahead, once, twice . . . and soon the road led Jester to a small clearing. The trees parted, allowing the Sky to peek at the ground. Almost black, boundless, it shone with countless stars. In the middle of the glade, a fire was burning, near which sat Old Man. Jester greeted and perched beside him without even asking permission. It did not seem bad to him: it was very good to watch the fire with Old Man.

Old Man was light: everything about him was light: linen clothes, long silver hair, beard, mustache . . . But most importantly—his face was light. Old Man was not surprised by the night guest. With big green eyes, he looked intently at Jester and asked, “Tired of going?”
“No,” replied Jester, and only then did he feel the pain in his legs. . .

From the book “Happy Home Fairy Tales for children and adults” https://olgaverasen.com/library/

P.S.

“My Hero changed 5 schools and never stayed anywhere for long! Now he will be your hero. Try it!” I heard instead of a greeting. These words, and especially the commanding tone, did not go at all with the small, fragile woman in an elegant delicate pink color suit with small orange freckles on her face. “She must have a wonderful smile,” I thought. There was no smile . . . but there were clear instructions “what is important and necessary for her Hero” with additions about her own big personal contribution to supporting the educational process.

Yes . . . it was a case. Hero was 12 years old. The ability to lie at every turn, to pit people who used to get along well against each other, to stop anyone who speaks, regardless of age and situation, etc. However, making a list of “bad” would be boring, difficult and unfair, because on the other side of the seesaw “bad” is always “good”. I told this to the author of these events and added: “Let’s talk about “good”, okay?”

“Well, come on!” Hero grinned. “Why did your mother call you “hero”?” I asked. “Because I really am a hero!” Hero answered proudly. “Where?” I clarified. Hero did not answer, grinned and left, loudly slamming the door. A moment later the door opened again, an orange head with freckles on its face appeared. And . . . a huge shining smile shone in all its width!

“I am a hero on stage!” Hero proudly proclaimed and then disappeared. This amazing story happened many years ago. I carefully keep it in my heart like many others, because they are all about what a wonderful world of the heart each of us has. . . . Step by step, together with Hero, we cognized the most important play – Life.

Why did I remember this story in this letter? Well, Hero’s lovely role on the theater stage was Jester. . . .

Late evening. The office manager opened the door. A huge office, at the head of the same huge table sat a small fragile woman with freckles on her face. . . “Sorry it’s so late!” she said and with a habitual gesture pointed to a chair at the table, “Sit down!”

I did not answer right away. Behind the woman on the wall hung a picture. In the picture was a Jester. Huge eyes, a bright cap, clothes made of multi-colored rags. The owner of the office noticed my gaze. “My favorite picture! It’s about me!” she exclaimed and . . . a huge sunny smile played on her face!

We sat in armchairs at a small table to the right of the huge table-stage and drank tea. “Thank you very much for coming . . . and probably too late, huh?” the woman asked. The Jester in the painting with big eyes was looking at us and smiling. It’s never too late to find the way to yourself and to each other . . . .

More resources for you https://olgaverasen.com/articles-and-practices/