Last thoughts on the Noble Laborer

            “And what of your noble laborer?”

            My breath stopped.  I had not thought of P’att for several days.  But to my surprise, I felt no anger at him.  My lasting vision of him—or, that is, the one that came to mind first—was not of P’att standing over Ma’t’s battered body, but the sad man, crippled in the street, begging my forgiveness.  I did not like his crime; I could never excuse it.  But the battle was over.  When the dust settled, how many Ilepyans would find blood on their hands?  I would have to forgive them as well to go on living in this city, because they were my brothers.  In fact, I began to feel as though I already had.  Making amends with a former criminal did not excuse their crimes any more than making friends with a former enemy justified their hatred.  Perhaps P’att had not been the man I thought he was, but that was no more his doing than mine.  I had ascribed characteristics to him, equated him with a fable, and refused to see him as a human being, capable of flaws.

            “While P’att was not the noble laborer, but he was a special man whom I loved and took into my home.  He is alienated from me now, but were our paths to cross again, I would treat him to a new shirt and give him a meal, just as I would any other Ilepyan in need.”

Ma't on personal liberty

            To my luck, Ma’t was not occupied at the moment, but welcomed me into his chamber with a “Fe’n, my boy!  Let you come and be seated!”  I positioned myself on the stool as usual.  “What has brought you to me this fine afternoon?”  The old man asked.

            “I have quarreled with my brothers once again, although I suppose that is nothing new.”

            “No, of course not!  It means to me that all is right with the world.  Let you always seek to be in conflict with those two!”

            “Yes, well this afternoon a letter has come from Sirlay, and they read it aloud to me.  I care very little for what he has to say, but they continue to insist that I am ignorant merely for disagreeing with them.”

            “Ah, but that is always the way, my boy,” the priest rasped.  “Those who have spent their lives in pursuit of vain knowledge think themselves superior to all others.  It is the way they must be; if they do not diminish you for being like them, their pursuits will have become purposeless.”

            “I suppose that is so, for I hate the disdain with which they describe the Hihaythean people.  I know that we Hihaytheans are good, noble people who follow the Iqharepur in all things.  Yet to Yhako and Ansidrion, the Hihaytheans are foolish things, poor, directionless souls.”

            Ma’t frowned.  “Tell me, my boy.  What is it that they have said?”

            So I recounted to Ma’t the conversation I had overheard between my brothers about the need for a Hihaythean awakening.  “How can they wish for a content people to realize their anger?  If we are happy, why would they trouble this?”

            “Your brothers are, indeed, quite foolish.  The people do not need to be awoken from this slumber.”

            “That is exactly as I felt.  We are merely content.  Why must they insist that we must be asleep merely because we disagree with them?”

            “The people do not need to be awoken to any such disagreement!  They do not need to learn from your brothers; it is the role of the people to be humbly led.”

            “Led?”  I asked.

            “Yes, led.  It is my task, as given from God, to direct the people away from wrong.  Men like your brothers have interfered with this task, by complicating the public mind and sowing dissent.  When uppity men like them offer so many choices, it is only natural that the people will drift down the wrong path.”

            “But why can the people not be given choices?  If our way is the correct way—and I believe that it is—should most people not choose it if let to their own devices?”

            “Perhaps they should, Fe’n, but they will not.  There are too many corrupt forces; too many men who are eager to deceive the people away from our faith.”

            “Then we should educate them.  If the people can be so easily deceived, we should fill their minds with truth, so that there will be no space for lies.”

            “Fe’n, you are a bright young man, and adhere to many pleasant ideals.  But unfortunately, these ideals are not the way of the world.  The only way we can protect people is to shield them from these sinful alternative ideals.  Education is not the solution.  Think of your mother, Fe’n.  When she was perhaps the most educated woman in all of Ilepya, she was at her most sinful.  It was only when she abandoned her worldly learning that she opened her mind to the proper way.”

            “Hum.  I suppose you are correct on this matter.”  He had his facts correct, at least.  And yet it felt wrong to me.  How could the pursuit of learning lead a person to foolishness?  If knowledge were bad, why should I come to Ma’t with questions?  But, as usual, I said nothing of this, nor did I act upon it.  I continued to see Ma’t just as much as I always did, because he was the only person who gave me the answers that I sought.

Ansidrion on Yhako

            The next morning, Yhako required to meet with merchants for the as’shelik business, so he was out of the house as soon as the sun had risen.  It was rare, in those days, for me to have a moment alone with Ansidrion, as Yhako was in the home at nearly all times.  We took breakfast together, and I started right in on satisfying my curiosity.  “What does your Brotherhood plan?”  I asked.  “When you give them your night, what comes of it?”

            Ansidrion seemed to glowed at the mere mention of the Brotherhood.  “Well, dofit, just this night previous we found ourselves planning the evatarr.”  He paused, waiting for me to ask what this term meant.  I merely shrugged, so he continued.  “The evatarr comes from the Gringellic ewitterada, which, along with the tarbhasht, was perhaps the most important weapon of their revolution.  It is a commercial action, in which a person avoids giving his business to those who oppose him.”

            “Oppose him?”  I asked.  “Oppose him how?”

            “By holding opposing political views, of course.  The supporters of the Yiffen revolution avoided buying products from known supporters of the existing tyrannical government.”

            “I suppose this provides more resources for revolutionaries, while preventing them from falling into the hands of the oppressors?”

            “Precisely that,” Ansidrion said, nodding.  “And when the guilds of Rakka held all of the governing power in their hands, at the height of the revolution, the financial incentives of siding with the revolutionaries proved decisive.  The larger guilds supported the revolution, while those that did not faced an ewitterada so harsh that they failed, and were eventually overran by pro-revolutionary guild members.”

            “But our guilds are nowhere near as strong.  Most businesses in Ilepya are not even organized into guilds; how can an evatarr accomplish anything here?”

            “We do not need guilds, Federan.  We will merely compile a list of the families who have acted against us, and instruct our allies to avoid their businesses.  This list will even reach our allies abroad, and the people of Hillea and Rakka will not trade with them either.”

            “It does sound like quite a burden for our opponents.  Perhaps some of their businesses might be ruined, while others might be convinced to withdraw their support for the government.”  We were silent for a moment, as Ansidrion nodded with pride.  “But what if we can find no alternative to our opponents?”

            Ansidrion frowned at me.  “What is this?  What do you mean?”

            “What is every known family in a certain business opposes us?  The Doliths are an example—they produce all of the red beans in this part of the country.  Shall we no longer eat them?”

            “Of course we shall not!”

            “And what if we were to discover that every tailor from here to Pondital supported the government against us?”

            “Then we would learn to sew our own clothes.”

            I shook my head.  “I am not sure if you will convince many people to abandon their accustomed trades.”

            “It is not unreasonable to ask that people temporarily surrender a few luxuries for a cause as important as this,” Ansidrion scoffed.  “It is but a small sacrifice.  Perhaps you shall buy your bread from the enemy, but I know not where you will find your cash, as not a dorvdiyar from Father’s business will fall into their hands.”

            “Ansidrion, this is not what I intend.  Of course I will comply with it.  It is merely that—”

            “That you do not believe in it.”

            “But if you say it has worked before, so I shall trust you that it will work again, and I wish you the best of luck in it,” I said, attempting to recover his good will.”

            “Good,” he said brusquely, ripping a loaf of bread in two.

            The morning had only just begun and I had already alienated Ansidrion.  We had another hour or two alone, and I wanted to make the best of them.  We had not been particularly close since I first moved Ilepya, but I wanted to rectify that, and I had seen this morning as the perfect opportunity.  “I had not meant to challenge you, I merely wanted to understand.  There are many things that you understand better than I, after all.”  Flattery did not seem to have its desired effect; he gnawed on his bread, but his forehead remained furrowed.  “Yhako, for one, is a subject I should leave up to you to explain.  Do you believe he is content with his studies alone?”

            Ansidrion continued chewing.  Then, after a moment, he swallowed and raised his eyebrows.  “You mean to say his studies and his business?”

            “Yes, I suppose I do.  Is he content with this, what he has, forever?  I know that I desire to do greater things in my life, and you have already begun to undertake them by way of the Brotherhood.  Shall Yhako accomplish nothing more than reading and writing?”

            Ansidrion sighed.  “I believe he wants nothing more.  Yhako has always seen himself as a prophet.”  At this I smiled, recalling Yhako’s words about Ansidrion’s desired prophecy just the week before.  “He believes that he will achieve his most important accomplishments through his letters.  He is full of wisdom, as you know, and he believes that all he must do to change the world is to find the proper way of letting it out.  Let actions for others, he feels, for everyone is capable of action, but only few are capable of word.”

            “Do you believe as much?  Will he be satisfied in the end?  Will he accomplish anything?”

            “Federan, I wish you could have known Sirlay.”  Was I dreaming?  This seemed to be the exact conversation I had had the previous week, merely with my brothers switched.  “Yes, you know him through his letters, but he was much more than that.  He was a brilliant man; a man who could form an argument faster than you could pose your question.  Yhako and I were in awe of him in our youth, and now look at the shadow he casts over us.  He is a hero in a foreign land, and will probably soon be thought of as a hero here.  He has already accomplished all he ever can in life, and yet he has done more than I think I might ever do.”

            “Should that not inspire Yhako to do more with himself?  If Sirlay is his hero, should he not attempt to accomplish all Sirlay has?”

            “But firstly, Sirlay was always a student.  Sirlay loved reading, and as you have seen, he was quite a prolific writer.  Sirlay’s singular quest in life was the search of knowledge, and so Yhako has decided to pursue the same.”

Who is responsible?

            Yhako and I decided to spend the afternoon walking along Maidia Street, as we had many years before, with Ansidrion.  We invited Qhema along, but she declined, perhaps astutely recognizing that we needed this moment to ourselves.

            We merely exchanged our fare further, and I told him a few words more about my experience while he had been away.  I mentioned that I had reconnected with P’att and that he had stayed at our home for a time, but that a dispute had caused him to leave, offering no details as to this dispute.  There would be time for those stories later.  Instead, I mostly spoke of protests, and pointed out spots to him along Maidia Street where certain momentous occasions had happened.

            When we approached the Apgha, however, we fell silent.  Yhako studied the fallen gate, the broken windows, the tattered standards.  He said nothing, but merely sighed at the magnitude of it.

            “Life certainly has changed in the months since you left,” I said at length.

            “It has,” he whispered.  Then I saw a satisfied smile cross his face.  “And you have done this, Federan.”

            “No,” I argued back quickly.  “I have not done this at all.  When brave Ilepyans took to the streets, I was in my bed.  I failed to sacrifice as Ansidrion had.”

            “If we all gave Ansidrion’s sacrifice there would be no one left to enjoy the fruits thereof.  But you have worked for this.  You spent many nights in the street, and each one of those nights was a risk on your life.  Federan, you are as much a revolutionary as any one of the others.”

            I thought about my first protest, and the nights with P’att in the streets.  I had passed many nights in my bed, yes, cowardly hoping others would carry out the revolution on my behalf.  But I had also protested, I had also taken part in the Parebhur, I had shouted my guilty name at the Apgha, and I had helped tear down those awful gates.  I was not the single hero, a leading revolutionary, as I had fancied myself, but I was one of many who had done his part to bring about profound change.  I smiled.  “Yes, Yhako, I suppose you are correct.  I have done this.  And so have you.”

            “No, I am but a stuffy old academic, kept in his study when the revolution began, fled abroad as it ended.”

            “Yhako, do not decline this praise again, for you have done many things in your own way.  You have risked your life and livelihood to seek help in Grontinion, you have trained and supported your brothers in their activity.  You must take your own credit for it.”

            But Yhako merely shrugged, unconvinced.

            “No single man brings about a revolution, Yhako,” I continued.  “No one deed wins a war.  It takes many individual and collective actions by thousands of people.  I have been one of those, Ansidrion has been one of those, and you have been one of those.  We are no greater than the grocer who simply complies with the Parebhur and the Evatarr, but otherwise goes about his daily life.  But we are no lesser than the martyrs who have given everything.  Everyone has his part to play, and we all must take pride therein.”

            Again, Yhako said nothing, but where before he had appeared full of doubts, now he seemed lost in thought.  There was no way for me to know what he was thinking just then—pressing Yhako never yielded much result—but for now I contented myself that he was at least considering my argument.

            After a few minutes’ silence, Yhako placed his hand on my shoulder to indicate he was ready to continue walking, so we ambled forward, away from that terrible form, that symbol of crushing oppression that had, itself, been crushed.