Orbits: A Jester's Tale by Jaq Greenspon

For Aren - the man who taught me to juggle.

 

"The city has always been here. No one can remember it coming into existence and no one can foresee it eroding away."

 

I walk down the street and the children beseech me to tell them a story. It is all I am good for these days, to tell the avenue's brood about the exploits of my past. True, I am still the Jester to the king but there have been so many kings my job no longer holds the same thrill it did so long ago. What little pleasure I derive from living such a long, rich life comes from these momentary diversions - my tales if you will - to those whose grandparents could not remember my post ever occupied by any other fool.

 

"Please," the little ones cry. "Tell us all of a legend of the past, from when you were our age."

 

I smile and sit on the stoop which has been cleared for me. When I was their age the world was a much younger place, but I sit and let my mind wander back to that age. The age I was when I first put on the outfit which was the uniform of my foolish career. The age I still retain in appearance but not in wisdom. I decide upon any of several tales, any of which would be entertaining and fulfill the obligations I have accepted by sitting. I open my eyes and look into the faces of my waiting audience, slowly deciding which web to weave, when I see the boy across the street. And the solitary game he is playing.

 

The boy is throwing balls high into the sky above him, three balls, and catching them again. His arms creating the most wonderful circular patterns in the air. He is juggling. An art I have not practiced in many, many years, yet I am sure the skills would come back to me quickly. As I recall, I learned the art quickly also. And then I know which tale to tell, and it is none of those I had previously thought.

I again close my eyes and start my story. It starts with an accident...

 

I covered my head with my arms as the glass from the window I broke rained down around me. I knew my teacher would not be pleased with me when he discovered the shattered pane. I was hoping it would go unnoticed for a time. It was not to be. Even before the last shards had settled on the cobblestone floor, I could hear my teacher's heavy footsteps walking slowly down the stone steps. I still had hope he would not notice.                           .

 

"Boy." He said plainly and I was sure he was angry with me.

 

I knew he expected no response but I was young and proud, I answered him anyway. "Yes?"

 

He waited until he had completed the staircase before continuing to question me.  "How many balls?"  "Five."

 

"And how many had you mastered?" "Three. "

 

"So the others were flying around your head without direction? It is now easy to see what happened. This was not your doing." He pointed towards the cracked open portal to the outside world. "How can you be held responsible for what your juggling balls did while they had no master."

 

He smiled at me. I was still in trouble, at least with him, but I knew he wouldn't tell the king. I sheepishly smiled back. "I suppose you should clean the mess before someone sees and makes the wrong assumption about the guilty party." I nodded my agreement and fetched the broom.

 

When I returned my master was gone. I knew he would leave me to clean my mess and would be gone until nightfall when he came to retrieve me for the night's pageant at which I would be one of the entertainers. I put the broom in the comer near my resting stool and picked up the three most colorful of my five sawdust-filled bags. The glass crunched under my feet as I tossed three in the air.

I would get to the glass later, now I wanted to practice. She would be at the pageant and I wanted her to notice me. True, she and I had already met, I had even saved her life once but she still hadn't seen me. I was a Fool in love with her and, even though she was the second daughter of the King, I wished her to be mine. I knew, deep down in my soul, if I could impress her enough with my wit and talent and skill she would take me to her father and pronounce her foolish love in front of him and all the court.

 

The three balls in my hands flowed gracefully through the air, creating a fountain of vivid movement. A fourth lay in the glass splinters at my feet. I balanced on one leg and kicked the fourth ball high into the air. As it played out its arc down into my hands, I tossed another ball high and let the new one take its place in the pattern. I kept this up, one in the air while the other three jumped from hand to hand, for a decent time. This is where I was when I added the fifth ball and created the mess I was now standing in. I decide to try it again.

 

"Boy."

 

I hadn't heard my master come back in, but no one else called me that. I let the three balls in my hands drop together and the fourth a moment later when I wasn't there to catch it. I turned to accept my punishment but it wasn't my master standing there.

 

"Boy, you didn't have to stop the pretties on my account."

 

The man was dressed as I was, in a fools outfit, but as mine was as colorful as my balls, his was red. All red. From collar to ankle, crimson to scarlet. He smiled at me. I smiled back. He had a juggling sack tied to his belt, like the one my master wore. It bulged with substance. He noticed the unused broom, took a seat next to it and untied his pouch. When he opened his mouth to speak, I saw teeth whiter and straighter than any I had seen.

 

"My boy, my foolish boy. You didn't clean your clutter. A good sign of one who wants to fritter away his time studying an art for which he has no talent." He reached into his sack and pulled out three balls. They were all of a uniform color, a different one for each. One was a dull gray, full of pock marks. One was a brilliant yellow/orange that seemed to glow. The last was vibrantly blue with pocks of green.

 

He started tossing them, effortlessly, in one hand. The other hand he used to gesture. "As you can see," he said, indicating his outfit. "I too am a jester for a King. He sent me here to talk to you, Boy. We fools...we have to stick together. You never know the danger that can befall clowns of our great stature." He yawned. The circular pattern of the balls was never anything less than perfect.

 

I didn't know of any Kingdoms where the royal colors were all the shades of crimson. I didn't even know of any other kingdoms. As far as my master was concerned, I was the only jester in the world. "Who are you? Where are you from?" I asked the stranger.

 

"I am just a wandering minstrel from a far away place. This," he indicated the blue ball, "this is where they know me and where they worship my King. Would you like to visit?" Before I could answer, the ball was flying through the air at me. I caught it... then almost dropped it again as I felt its wetness. It was as if the ball were made of cohesive water. It trickled through my hands and droplets landed on the floor.