Three Blind Mice
The following story was written around early 1990 whilst I was a sophomore in college. One of my history professors had just described his experience with defending his doctoral thesis in front of a panel and the idea for this story popped into my head. It is from the perspective of an overly earnest 20 year old looking to understand "Truth." :^)
Three Blind Mice
(have you ever seen such a thing in your life?)
The early morning found me wandering through field and forest with a heavy heart and the restless thoughts of youth. I was seeking isolation among the trees in order to think more clearly, away from all the distractions of the world. The solitude of the forest seemed to afford me this but, ironically, its beauty instead proved to be thoroughly distracting, though in a way that was not unwelcome. The sights and sounds of creation pushed my thoughts above and beyond myself. The serenity fed my soul.
Walking along lost in these thoughts I eventually became aware of a change, something subtle, but making me feel uneasy and unsure of myself. A quick survey of the area turned up nothing unusual which only proved to intensify my confusion. Thinking that it was just the effects of weariness I rubbed my eyes. With my eyes closed my ears picked up the incongruity immediately. The routine sounds of the forest had completely ceased, an unnatural stillness, dead quiet.
A headwind caught me unawares and sent shivers up and down my spine. It carried with it noises that were strangely inexplicable. Tinkling sounds, like tiny metallic wind chimes, were accompanied by murmurings and intermittent chortle-snorts. Apprehensive, but also fascinated, I continued moving towards the source, drawn by an irrepressible curiosity. This brought me to within sight of a clearing. Creeping along in a clandestine manner, I found concealment behind a tree near its edge. The grass was a sickly hue beneath me diffusing into a dead greyness inside the circle of trees. The noises were distinct now and sounded very much like an argument in progress. I cautiously peeked around the tree and took in a sight most unforgettably bizarre!
In the center of the clearing there were three immense books, like paper-made pillars, of varying height, but all much taller than I. Upon each sat an old man in grey-black tasseled robes faded with time and the elements. Arcane academic badges hung from their chests and jingled in the wind. They were caught up in some disagreement and apparently were not aware of my presence. This gave me the courage to move forward to observe them in better proximity. From this greater vantage point I could see them much more clearly and was startled to discover that they were all quite blind!
The old scholar in the middle sat perched upon the tallest book and looked to be the eldest of the three. His eyes moved about as he talked but fixed on nothing. The light playing off them produced an unnatural glint betraying their true nature, glass globes in place of eyeballs. To his right sat the frumpled figure of scholar number two, a dowdy character to be sure. His white hair was wild and unkept. Two blackholes-for-eyes were split by a crooked proboscis. A piece of hay hung from one of the holes out of which a little mouse would periodically poke its nose to sniff the air and then quickly retreat. Even more unnerving was to see it scamper over the bridge of his nose from time to time, socket to socket. The third scholar was much more agreeable to me than the other two. A cravat encircled his head covering his eyes. He did not look quite so ancient as his fellows and his demeanor was much less severe.
I listened to their discourse without understanding. The argument seemed to be of a philosophical nature that I failed to grasp. My sympathy was with my cravated friend who apparently was at odds with the other two. The old man of the mousehouse head had been going on for a time and had reached some conclusion to which the elder nodded his head in acquiescence. The youngest, to whom it had been directed, gave a demur reply that sent number two into paroxysms of rage. With a movement that belied his age the enraged man jumped up, secured his robes about his waist, and scrambled down the side of his book, head first. Like a mad squirrel he rifled through several pages, upside-down, finally stopping to read what he had found there. At these frightfully peculiar acrobatics I let slip a giggle that so startled the inverted scholar that he almost lost hold of the book's edge. Finding a secure seat once more on top he and the others "looked" my way.
"Who's there?!" demanded the eldest, his glass eyes trained on a spot somewhere in front and to the right of me. "Well, out with it child. I heard your giggling just now!"
"Be gracious. He's just a boy", said the youngest. I hadn't noticed it before, but the cravat did not cover his right eye completely. Within its folds I could see a clouded orb peering out purposefully. "Where have you come from young one?"
"F-from the meadowlands beyond this forest glade," I stammered.
"What?!" cried Number Two. "What nonsense is he spouting about a forest and glade? What are such things but child's tales? Where is your book, boy? So small it could fit in your back pocket I wouldn't doubt." What he was saying was terribly confusing so I answered what I thought I had been asked. I began to describe the meadows and their flowing grasses like waves in the wind. I talked of the trees like grass grown large and me shrunk small. . .
"Enough, enough," said the eldest with a peremptory wave of his hand. "I tire of your childish prattle." Hearing my brief description seemed to exhaust him somehow.
The youngest smiled at me and spoke meekly, "Yes, I've seen forms of what you describe, but such detail? Your imagination is commendable in this descriptive fiction. As you study and grow older you will see more of the truth." The other two harumphed at this and chided him for his eccentric equivocations.
At this point, frustrated and a little angry, I challenged them to come down from those terrific tomes and confirm, themselves, what I had described. " 'Come down, come down', he says," mocked the dowdy scholar, "can he command the view we have from up here? I think not, the little ground-hugging mole." The other two joined in the game, scolding me, though the youngest was not so harsh. Feeling sad and dejected, especially for my slightly-sighted friend, I left them behind in the clearing as I had found them, arguing.
My agitation lessened as I distanced myself from that circle of dead grass. Once again I found myself in a state of quietude. The breeze that swept around me now brought a sense of peace and a faint whisper, "lest ye be as a child..."
Three Blind Mice
(have you ever seen such a thing in your life?)
The early morning found me wandering through field and forest with a heavy heart and the restless thoughts of youth. I was seeking isolation among the trees in order to think more clearly, away from all the distractions of the world. The solitude of the forest seemed to afford me this but, ironically, its beauty instead proved to be thoroughly distracting, though in a way that was not unwelcome. The sights and sounds of creation pushed my thoughts above and beyond myself. The serenity fed my soul.
Walking along lost in these thoughts I eventually became aware of a change, something subtle, but making me feel uneasy and unsure of myself. A quick survey of the area turned up nothing unusual which only proved to intensify my confusion. Thinking that it was just the effects of weariness I rubbed my eyes. With my eyes closed my ears picked up the incongruity immediately. The routine sounds of the forest had completely ceased, an unnatural stillness, dead quiet.
A headwind caught me unawares and sent shivers up and down my spine. It carried with it noises that were strangely inexplicable. Tinkling sounds, like tiny metallic wind chimes, were accompanied by murmurings and intermittent chortle-snorts. Apprehensive, but also fascinated, I continued moving towards the source, drawn by an irrepressible curiosity. This brought me to within sight of a clearing. Creeping along in a clandestine manner, I found concealment behind a tree near its edge. The grass was a sickly hue beneath me diffusing into a dead greyness inside the circle of trees. The noises were distinct now and sounded very much like an argument in progress. I cautiously peeked around the tree and took in a sight most unforgettably bizarre!
In the center of the clearing there were three immense books, like paper-made pillars, of varying height, but all much taller than I. Upon each sat an old man in grey-black tasseled robes faded with time and the elements. Arcane academic badges hung from their chests and jingled in the wind. They were caught up in some disagreement and apparently were not aware of my presence. This gave me the courage to move forward to observe them in better proximity. From this greater vantage point I could see them much more clearly and was startled to discover that they were all quite blind!
The old scholar in the middle sat perched upon the tallest book and looked to be the eldest of the three. His eyes moved about as he talked but fixed on nothing. The light playing off them produced an unnatural glint betraying their true nature, glass globes in place of eyeballs. To his right sat the frumpled figure of scholar number two, a dowdy character to be sure. His white hair was wild and unkept. Two blackholes-for-eyes were split by a crooked proboscis. A piece of hay hung from one of the holes out of which a little mouse would periodically poke its nose to sniff the air and then quickly retreat. Even more unnerving was to see it scamper over the bridge of his nose from time to time, socket to socket. The third scholar was much more agreeable to me than the other two. A cravat encircled his head covering his eyes. He did not look quite so ancient as his fellows and his demeanor was much less severe.
I listened to their discourse without understanding. The argument seemed to be of a philosophical nature that I failed to grasp. My sympathy was with my cravated friend who apparently was at odds with the other two. The old man of the mousehouse head had been going on for a time and had reached some conclusion to which the elder nodded his head in acquiescence. The youngest, to whom it had been directed, gave a demur reply that sent number two into paroxysms of rage. With a movement that belied his age the enraged man jumped up, secured his robes about his waist, and scrambled down the side of his book, head first. Like a mad squirrel he rifled through several pages, upside-down, finally stopping to read what he had found there. At these frightfully peculiar acrobatics I let slip a giggle that so startled the inverted scholar that he almost lost hold of the book's edge. Finding a secure seat once more on top he and the others "looked" my way.
"Who's there?!" demanded the eldest, his glass eyes trained on a spot somewhere in front and to the right of me. "Well, out with it child. I heard your giggling just now!"
"Be gracious. He's just a boy", said the youngest. I hadn't noticed it before, but the cravat did not cover his right eye completely. Within its folds I could see a clouded orb peering out purposefully. "Where have you come from young one?"
"F-from the meadowlands beyond this forest glade," I stammered.
"What?!" cried Number Two. "What nonsense is he spouting about a forest and glade? What are such things but child's tales? Where is your book, boy? So small it could fit in your back pocket I wouldn't doubt." What he was saying was terribly confusing so I answered what I thought I had been asked. I began to describe the meadows and their flowing grasses like waves in the wind. I talked of the trees like grass grown large and me shrunk small. . .
"Enough, enough," said the eldest with a peremptory wave of his hand. "I tire of your childish prattle." Hearing my brief description seemed to exhaust him somehow.
The youngest smiled at me and spoke meekly, "Yes, I've seen forms of what you describe, but such detail? Your imagination is commendable in this descriptive fiction. As you study and grow older you will see more of the truth." The other two harumphed at this and chided him for his eccentric equivocations.
At this point, frustrated and a little angry, I challenged them to come down from those terrific tomes and confirm, themselves, what I had described. " 'Come down, come down', he says," mocked the dowdy scholar, "can he command the view we have from up here? I think not, the little ground-hugging mole." The other two joined in the game, scolding me, though the youngest was not so harsh. Feeling sad and dejected, especially for my slightly-sighted friend, I left them behind in the clearing as I had found them, arguing.
My agitation lessened as I distanced myself from that circle of dead grass. Once again I found myself in a state of quietude. The breeze that swept around me now brought a sense of peace and a faint whisper, "lest ye be as a child..."
posted by A. Monk at 4:38 PM
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