May 17, 2007
Lies (from the Munich Tales)
LIES
By Michael Kroetch
He was a puppet. Itīs what he said to people. But then, he thought everyone was a puppet. Most just didnīt know it. Knowledge was important to him. He thought he knew more than most. Maybe he did, itīs hard to say. But whatīs beyond all doubt is that he knew a lot about his own disease, where his soft spots were. At night they lit up his room. Itīs why he lived alone. He had to. He feared sometimes they would get so bright and so hot they would ignite the room while he slept, catching the bed linen in flames first, then spreading to the curtains and beyond. It was easy for him to imagine the whole apartment complex consumed by flames that were born from his sleeping flesh. He was that kind of puppet with that kind of disease. But as much as he might talk openly and often about his theories on the vicissitudes of puppetness and puppetry, he rarely, if ever, overtly spoke of his disease. He collected data about the disease anywhere he could find it that would not leave a recognizable link back to him. The public library and the internet were taboo. He suspected most doctors also reported directly to the government about the topic as well, even if they swore the opposite and promised on scoutīs honor to throw their own mother off a cliff if it was true. They were puppets just as much as he was, so how could he believe a word they said? He had enough trouble believing his own words. He knew he lied sometimes. He wasnīt sure why. It sometimes happened when he least expected. He would be telling someone about how to get to the nearest butcher shop and suddenly would lie and tell them directions that were completely false. He did not know if this was a result of him simply being a puppet or something related to his disease. He thought about such things for hours sometimes, pushing various possible justifications for either side of the argument. He knew the disease was spreading inside him more quickly than in most of the case studies he had examined. Why this was he wasnīt sure, but he was keeping careful track of his soft spots. They were the most dangerous areas. In such realms it seemed almost anything was possible, given the particular nature of the disease. The bright light that emanated from his body while he slept was among the more innocuous dangers presented by the ailment. He tried not to think about the more devastating repurcussions it could involve. Better to keep his mind occupied with the world of puppetry. As a child he had a whole set of puppets. Nice puppets Circus puppets. He took them with him everywhere he went. His adventures in the world were always shared by the puppets. But then the puppets got jealous when he left them home once. They set fire to his house and his family and everything he knew. It was after the fire that he discovered that he, too, was a puppet. A little boy puppet running in the street with a pack of matches and a smile as big as the North Pole.
Rare (from the Munich Tales)
RARE
By Michael Kroetch
He made the garden slowly. He could see it more or less complete in his head long before he had broken the ground to plant the first seed. He knew growing things took time and patience. He was not worried about the plants not surviving. He had worked with many plants over the course of his life and knew which ones would flourish in the environment he had at hand. He enjoyed helping the plants reach their potential and bloom into full beauty. He talked to them a lot, telling them how nicely they were doing and that they had nothing to worry about. That he would bring them fresh water every day and make sure they had enough nutrients in their soil. For them he would journey with his old frail body on his bicycle several miles to a coffee shop where his good friend Charlie was a janitor and get from Charlie the ground remnants from the previous dayīs brewing of coffee beans. He would sprinkle these coffee grounds among his little friends when they were sleeping at night. He knew these coffee remnants contained just the right kind of nitrogen for his plants and that when they woke up in the morning, their roots would feed on what he had given them and this would make them strong and vital and able to reach u toward the sun. Seeing them succeed and grow lush made him smile inside. He was a simple man. He did not need much in life to feel satisfied, but he needed his garden. It was a place for him to put his love now that his children were grown and gone to other places far away. He enjoyed seeing his family when they returned on holidays with the grandchildren, of course he did. But spoiling the grandchildren with all his affections and presents and hugs on those few days out of the year was not enough for him. Every day he was able to spoil his plants and tell them how lovely and beautiful they were, even as seedlings when all anyone else could see was a stub of green. To him this stub of green was a small miracle. He knew how brief life was and had not only lost his wife but so many of his dearest friends over the span of his years. He knew these stubs of green were a way the world had of trying again. He liked life but knew he would not have so many years to enjoy his garden. That is why he was so very careful with each living thing he encountered and smiled at them all. He felt as if they all held some of him within them somehow, especially his own plants and flowers. When he saw them healthy and happy and green with their colorful flowers, he knew he could face his own death. He could feel his body growing weaker with the passage of days and years and knew that before long some of the plants he had helped bring into the fullness of their life would go on without him. This could have made him sad, but it did not. He was a kind man and kind also to himself. He was happy for all that he had experienced and certainly wanted more time with his plants and grandchildren, but also he knew there were limits. In time he would become coffee grinds. He and his plants would give way to the next generation and their kind. He tried to tell his plants this to give them some peace when he saw them reaching the end of their life cycle. He would kiss them after he said it and tell them once more how very beautiful they were. And rare.
