The Tower

I


It was a moment of thoughtless anger, following close upon a fresh hurt, a tangled web; not of misunderstandings, but of things said that lead to new and frightenlingly unknown emotional territory.

He was hurt, and, knowing full well that what she had done was not intentionally meant to cause him pain, he responded, giving pain in retaliation. He saw the look in her eyes, and knew that his words had hit home with force; he was sickened by what he had done, worse than if he had caused actual physical damage, because he knew that the most terrible thing to do to another is to damage them with words and thoughts. He knew that well.

He wandered off and sat down, thinking. The enemy of peace: thought. Remebering. Playing the scene over and over in his mind, and why? To punish himself?; but that was only known to him- some punishment, he thought. He knew that her grief in unintentionally causing him to be hurt was far worse.

Why do things happen? he wondered, why do we try our best to build a mighty Tower, a Tower of kindness and solace, of reaching out and giving, built stone by stone over so much time and effort, a great and wonderful refuge from the wilderness that surrounds it, only to have it crack, to start to crumble, to lean crazily, to fall thundering to the ground in a tumble of broken stones that once seemed so strong? So permanent? Did the ruins surrounding the Tower ever give pause to the Builders, did they ever ponder what the destiny of their handiwork would be?

But a Builder could no more stop building than an eagle could stop soaring, he thought. Build up higher, place the stones with loving care one by one, and do not look into the distance at the ruins of what others once built. Every Tower was defiance to the wilderness...and yet every Tower is a creation out of the wilderness around it. A miracle.

A miracle, he thought, and far too important for earthly pride to harm.


II


He was sitting in the ruins of a Tower he had came upon. He sat next to an old man who spoke to him:

"Aye, this Tower was a fine thing to behold. I had built it with my life's Love, a finer lass you could not find. Of course, all the Builders say that I realize"- he paused, smiling- "but there are truths that transcend the objective world, personal truths that matter more than what can be measured by a stonemason's rod, or a carpenter's rule. You know that, or ye wouldn't be here in this land."

"Me and her, we spent years working upon this place. I provided the foundations, the raw stonework, which was my talent- the structure. She", he faltered a moment, and paused- "She had the gift of putting all the pieces together into a beautiful whole. Not just the decorations and the furnishings, but in the sanding and the smoothing of the stone blocks themselves, something I had never taken the time to pay attention to."

The old man looked down at his hands in his lap.

"You should have seen it- when it was finished, our friends came from all over the land to the celebration. A finer time there never was; the tapestries fairly alive in the flickering glow of the firelight, the water running through the garden adding a soothing tone, the great feast where the finest food and wine was freely partaken."

The old man's eyes saw off into the distance to a happier time.

He got up, and, after placing a hand upon the old man's shoulder in farewell, he walked out of the ruins. He did not want to hear how it had all ended up as it had. He walked faster, and then, when that wasn't fast enough, he started running.


III


He ran till he was exhausted, and sat down. Looking up ahead of him, he saw a white Tower with pennants fluttering from the top. After resting a while, he got up, and, curious, he walked towards it. As he neared it, he was impressed with what he saw- the fine lines, the fresh whitewash, the solid oaken door bound in bronze.

As he approached the door, it opened, revealing a man in a sable robe with a kindly face, holding a large book. He was invited in, and walked into the main room, a luxuriously furnished library.

"It is good to see another", the man said, providing a modest meal of bread, cheese and a flask of wine. "My chief occupation is reading tomes, stories of the olden days, of the lives and trials of those that have come before. There is much to learn, friend, in this collection"- he gestured at the books on the shelves lining the walls- "and the tales give one much to think upon."

He browsed through some of the large books, reading passages here and there. There were many things that caught his eye. As time wore on, he yawned and stretched, and his host said, "Allow me to show you the guest chamber if you would."

He took his ease in a small room with a comfortable bed. He kept reading a while by candlelight, then, when he dozed, he put the book aside and blew out the candle.

He dreamt that he looked upon a couple, dilligently building a Tower together. Time passed, the Tower grew, and one day it was finished; as the man and the woman prepared to enter the structure, a shadowy figure stood in front of the door. The figure held out a hand, palm forward; he heard a chill voice tell them that for now, they could enter, but the day would come when all would end; the couple nodded to the figure, holding hands.

He tossed and turned in his sleep. In his dream, he tried to warn the couple-as they laughed and chased each other through the Tower, and he followed them, shouting at them: 'Don't you realize what you've agreed to? All will fail! He will come for you, and all will be lost!' But the couple did not hear him, paid no attention to him whatsoever.

Suddenly, the Tower cracked with a splintering crash. He looked up, watching the stone crack and falter; before he could do anything, the Tower was in ruins. He was speechless.

As the dust settled, he saw the man, now old, sitting among the ruins...as he moved closer, the face looked familiar...

He awoke, crying out. He looked around the darkened room wildly.

He got up and left the fancy tower, walking through the night, lost in thought.


IV


He wandered for a long time, thinking.

He finally sat down under a tree along the roadside, a welcome spot of shade in midafternoon. He sat, dozing, when suddenly a loud shout from across the field made him sit upright.

In the distance, he saw a man struggling with an oxen that was yoked to a plough. The man was standing, hands upon his hips, yelling at the animal.

He got up and walked across the field to the man, who was constantly talking to the large animal. "Hallo" he said shortly to the newcomer, and then continued his monologue; "Ye silly beast! the sooner we get the field plowed, the sooner ye will be back in the barn, eatin and drinkin till your heart's content!" He shoved against the animal's hindquarters as he continued. "For the love of Heaven, how can ye get to the end if ye never start?"

He took the reins and coaxed the ox forward, as the farmer, still grumbling away, pushed from behind. After a while, the ox looked back at the farmer, then looked straight ahead and started plodding on.

He jumped back out of the way, and patted the beast's back as it trundled by. "Thank you" he said to the farmer, and smiled as he turned back towards the road.

"Thank you? I should be the one thankin' ye, Sire!" called the farmer after him, but his mind was in another place, as he quickly gained the road and walked with confident strides.


V


He found her once again, and embraced her; they held each other for a long time without words.

In the coming days, they talked of many things; how sorry they both were, what they had thought and done since, and of what they would like to do. There came a a time when, holding hands, they walked across the land, until they found the spot that both knew was the place for them: a pleasant meadow overlooking a riverbank filled with willow trees.

It took them a long time to build; they each found their strengths, and they worked together, building, but at the same time enjoying each day; at the end of some days they were tired but proud of their progress, other days they did little but spent the time roaming along the river or exploring the meadow. Once, she found a caterpillar spinning a cocoon; every day they would pause in their work to check up on it, until one afternoon, they found a newly-born butterfly, with wet wings of emerald and gold, gleaming in the sun. They spent the rest of the day in each others arms, watching the beautiful creature spread its wings, drying them out in the sun. And then, towards evening, they watched it flutter off, its path unsure, but its flight beautiful. They would often spot the butterfly in the meadow for weeks afterwards, moving from flower to flower, becoming more sure of itself.

Their work progressed. Finally, it was done- the Tower that they had built, standing boldly against the sky, complete. It was a fine Tower in every respect- polished stonework, varnished wood, a large fireplace in the main room, elegant furnishings.

They stood outside, looking up at the Tower. A pennant floated in the breeze- she had sewn it herself; cloth of green and gold, with a design of a butterfly in flight.

As they readied to enter the Tower, they faced each other and clasped hands, and said words to each other that they had carefully prepared. They both spoke of how they were two become one, and had built something greater than each one of them alone could do. They embraced, and then walked through the doorway.

He let her walk ahead of him, up the spiral stairs into the bedchamber, as he hung back. For he alone had noticed something that he wished to take care of. Off to the side of the main chamber on the floor, lay the beautiful butterfly, wings spread, dead on the floor. He quickly picked it up with reverence and took it out into the garden and buried it. He hurried back and went to the bedchamber where she was awaiting him. That night when they made love, the dead butterfly was in the back of his mind, like a cloud on the horizon, a bittersweet object that he kept to himself.


VI


It all led up to this, and he had known it would come one day.

After a long time of happiness, he had a dream one night, or perhaps not a dream.

He stood in front of the Tower door in the moonlight, awaiting the approach of a dark figure in flowing robes, clutching a large book in one arm. Finally, the person stood in front of him- the man he had met years ago in the whitewashed tower, with all the books telling the stories of old.

"You", was all he could manage to say at first. The man nodded, and spoke:

"Your tale is in my book. Will I add to it? It is up to you."

He thought.

"Yes", he said.

"And what shall I add?"

In an act that took every ounce of courage he possessed, he said:

"Welcome, my friend. I thank you for the time you have given us. I have learned..."

He trailed off, then, summoning everything that he had, all of his love for her, all of his sincerity, he continued:

"...that without an End, there cannot be a Beginning. Without Loss, there cannot be Gain; without Sadness, there cannot be Happiness."

The man in the sable robes nodded his head, the hint of a smile playing upon his lips. "I have been called Evil, the Devil, the Taker; but do you know who I really am?" He paused, and said: "I am What Must Be." He paused. "And what you have learned does make a Difference." He bowed, then offered his hand.

He nodded, and reached out to clasp the man's hand that was held out to him. As their hands met, a bolt of lightning struck the Tower, and he sat up in bed, startled. All was calm, so he embraced her under the covers and lay there, waiting.

She did not feel like getting up that day; she felt ill, and made light of his concern as he fussed over her. But as day after day passed and she couldn't rise out of bed for anything but the briefest time, they both knew that the end was coming. He spent the day next to her, talking to her, reading from books; or he would go out into the meadow and bring back flowers and tell her in great detail of what he had found: a new rabbit burrow, a songbird calling for a mate from the willow trees, and finally: cocoons upon the plants, soon to hatch.

There came a morning when she spoke to him tenderly of how he had made her life whole, and had been the finest of companions, staying with her through these last difficult months. He told her of how much she had given to him, how before they built the Tower he was unformed and incomplete, but that his life was blessed by having been joined to hers. He held her hand in silence all day as her breathing slowed; and, in the late afternoon, she slipped away, a smile upon her face as she slept.

He sat there all night, her cold hand in his, tears coursing down his face, as he remembered all the happiness they had shared, and the pain too, for as he had told the man who called himself What Must Be: they are two different sides of the same whole, locked forever in an uneasy but necessary co-existence.

The next day he buried her in the meadow, and then a curious thing happened: the air was filled with butterflies, the very sky turned green and gold as the young creatures took to the air, fluttering uncertainly at first, but soon with greater self-confidence as they grew stronger. As he sat next to her grave, several alighted upon the marker he had erected on top of the grave.

As he walked back, through the swirling clouds of wings, he realized with shock: the Tower!

He ran to the dwelling, looking up at it against the sky, grasping the door-handle, looking inside. Everything was solid. Not a crack had appeared in the stones; the Tower stood as straight as ever, unmarred by any decay or disaster.

He spent many a day writing, writing of her, writing about them, writing his own book, putting his thoughts down. The pain of her loss would hit him frequently at first; but as time passed, the pain he noticed was not quite as bad; it would not go away, but it was mixed with the sweetness of Remembering.

One day he awoke and saw that his hair and beard were grey. He heard sounds, and looked out the window to see children running through the meadow, and he invited them in for a drink of cool spring water; they came back in following days, and he would tell them stories of the beautiful Butterfly Lady who had captured his heart. They took to calling him the Butterfly Man, and unknown to them at the time, he taught them many things that later on in their life they realized were true; some were good, some not so good, but he had made the world a little easier to understand.