A Single Shard

Tree-ear had been trotting along the road on his early morning perusal of the village rubbish heaps. Ahead of him a man carried a heavy load on a jiggeh, an open framed backpack made of branches. On the jiggeh was a large woven-straw container, the kind commonly used to carry rice.
Tree-ear knew that the rice must be from last year’s crop; in the fields surrounding the village this season’s rice had only just begun to grow. It would be many months before the rice was harvested and the poor allowed to glean the fallen grain from the bare fields. Only then would they taste the pure flavor of rice and feel its solid goodness in their bellies. Just looking at the straw box made water rush into Tree-ear’s mouth.
The man had paused in the road and hoisted the wooden jiggeh higher on his back, shifting the cumber some weight. As Tree-ear stared, rice began to trickle out of a hole in the straw box. The trickle thickened and became a stream. Oblivious, the man continued on his way.
For a few short moments Tree-ear’s thoughts wrestled with one another. Tell him quickly! Before he loses too much rice!
No! Don’t say anything you will be able to pick up the fallen rice after he rounds the bend…
Tree-ear made his decision. He waited until the man had reached the bend in the road, then ran to catch him.
“Honorable sir,” Tree-ear said, panting and bowing. “As I walked behind you, I noticed that you are marking your path with rice!”
The farmer turned and saw the trail of rice. A well-built man with a broad suntanned face, he pushed his straw hat back, scratched his head, and laughed ruefully.
“Impatience,” said the farmer. “I should have had this container woven with a double wall. But it would have taken more time. Now I pay for not waiting a bit longer.” He struggled out of the jiggeh’s straps and inspected the container. He prodded the straw to close the gap but to no avail, so he threw his arms up in mock despair. Tree-ear grinned. He liked the farmer’s easygoing nature.
“Fetch me a few leaves, boy,” said the farmer. Tree-ear complied, and the man stuffed them into the container as a temporary patch.
The farmer squatted to don the jiggeh. As he started walking, he called over his shoulder. “Good deserves good, urchin. The rice on the ground is yours if you can be troubled to gather it.”
“Many thanks, kind sir!” Tree-ear bowed, very pleased with himself. He had made a lucky guess, and his waist pouch would soon be filled with rice..
Tree-ear had learned from Crane-man’s example. For aging in the woods and rubbish heaps, gathering fallen grain-heads in the autumn-these were honorable ways to garner a meal, requiring time and work. But stealing and begging, Crane-man said, made a man no better than a dog.
“Work gives a man dignity, stealing takes it away,” he often said.
Following Crane-man’s advice was not always easy for Tree-ear. Today, for example. Was it stealing, to wait as Tree-ear had for more rice to fall before alerting the man that his rice bag was leaking? Did a good deed balance a bad one? Tree-ear often pondered these kinds of questions, alone or in discussion with Crane-man.
“Such questions serve in two ways,” Crane-man had explained. “They keep a man’s mind sharp and his thoughts off his empty stomach.”
Now, as always, he seemed to know Tree-ear’s thoughts without hearing them spoken. “Tell me about this farmer,” he said. “What kind of man was he?”
Tree-ear considered the question for several moments, stirring his memory. At last, he answered, “One who lacks patience – he said it himself. He had not wanted to wait for a sturdier container to be built. And he could not be bothered to pick up the fallen rice.” Tree-ear paused. “But he laughed easily, even at himself.”
“If he were here now, and heard you tell of waiting a little longer before speaking, what do you think he would say or do?”
“He would laugh,” Tree-ear said, surprising himself with the speed of his response. Then, more slowly, “I think… he would not have minded.”
Crane-man nodded, satisfied. And Tree-ear thought of something his friend often said: Scholars read the great words of the world. But you and I must learn to read the world itself.