This is a super long post, I know, but it’s a short story or fable or whatever you want to call it that I think really turned out well. I wrote it with a very specific message in my mind but I would love to know how it comes across to other people. Hope you like it.
“The People With Smiles Painted On Their Faces”
There once was a beautiful city filled with prosperous people. The city was built near a large gold mine so nearly everything in the city was covered in gold. All of the inhabitants worked hard at what they loved and were happy.
One day a proclamation was made that the King was going to come visit the city. The people wanted to present him with gifts so they hurried to find the something suitable for a King. As the city bustled with activity, a vagrant walked into the town center. Normally a vagrant in the city would have been something strange to see but the people were too busy to notice him. He listened silently to the conversations of the people until one day he walked into the office of the elders. They were having a passionate debate over how to decorate the city but they became quiet when the vagrant stepped up to the table.
“Before you throw me out,” the vagrant said to the elders, “let me tell you how to please the King.” The elders looked at each other and silently agreed to let him speak.
“You are the richest, most prosperous city in the nation. Your opulence and beauty almost matches the King’s palace,” the vagrant paused as he looked at the pleased faces of the elders. “Do you really think that what the King wants is to see you trying to be as wealthy as him?” The elders’ smiles faded.
“I’ve been to many cities and they all try to be beautiful to please the King. They don’t understand that the King doesn’t just want you to give him the best of what you have, the best of what you love to do. He wants you to sacrifice everything for him. The King has fought wars for you, he has lost sons for you, and you believe that he will be pleased to see his people living in gold houses, playing musical instruments, and singing happily,” the vagrant voice began to rise, “No! He wants, he deserves, more than your extra, than what you can spare, more than seeing you doing what you love, more than seeing your success! The only thing the King wants is to see you give all of that to him!”
The elders shifted in their robes. They looked nervously at each other. “How do we give him that?” asked the head elder.
“If you will allow me, I will show you how to give a gift worthy of the King,” the vagrant said with a small smile.
The elders gathered up the people in the town square and allowed the vagrant to speak. His words reached into the hearts of the people who loved the King and convinced them that this was the only way to truly please him. Over the next few weeks, the vagrant went from home to home teaching the people how to sacrifice enough for the King. The first home he went to was owned by the town’s librarian.
“What do you love?” asked the vagrant.
“Besides my family,” responded the librarian, “it would be taking care of the books for the city.”
“Then the only thing that will make the King happy will be to see you sacrifice your books for him,” said the vagrant.
“How do I do that? He can’t carry them all away, it would take hundreds of carts to move them.”
“You don’t have to give them to him. You just have to sacrifice them.”
The vagrant spent all day with the librarian, explaining to him over and over what it meant to sacrifice and how it was the only way to please the King. At the end of the day, the vagrant and the librarian set fire to every book. The librarian tried to smile at the fire, telling himself that this is the greatest gift he could give the King. The vagrant just stared emptily at the flames.
The next house the vagrant went to was the baker’s.
“What do you love?” the vagrant asked.
“Well, I love to bake delicious foods,” responded the baker with a smile. He pulled out a large menu, proudly showing the vagrant his specialties.
By the end of the day, the baker had ripped his menu in half and decided to only bake bread which he would give away for free. This, he told himself, was the greatest sacrifice he could make for the King.
Day after day, the vagrant visited the people in the city. Each place he asked them what they loved and then persuaded them to sacrifice it for the King. A musician broke all of his instruments. A writer burned his paper. An athlete stopped running. Not everyone followed the vagrant’s suggestions. Some decided to keep what they loved, to give what they created to the King instead of sacrificing it. Those who did this either moved away or eventually gave in to the vagrant’s ideas because their neighbors shunned them. They were labeled as selfish, as those who loved themselves more than their King, and that they would give the city a bad name when the King visited. No matter what the dissenters said, the people refused to listen to them.
Eventually the entire city had sacrificed their greatest love for the King. Everyone’s shoulders sagged under their enormous gift. People smiled less and less but they were encouraged by each other’s mutual pain.
No one remembers when the vagrant stopped telling the people what to do. He just slowly faded away as the people started to make more sacrifices on their own. The gold covered buildings were painted a dirty brown to match the streets. This was the metal workers’ idea. Then the opera house was turned into a museum for the King which no one was allowed to go into but the King himself. This was the pharmacist’s idea. After each sacrifice, the people would look out their windows, longing for a glimpse of the King but each night they went to bed disheartened. Years went by without a word from the King. The people stopped smiling altogether. Someone, no one remembers who, started painting a smile on his face so the King would see how happy he was when he finally came. Soon the whole city had painted smiles.
Visitors would stumble upon the village from time to time, hoping to buy or trade with the inhabitants. The people in the city never bought or sold anything but tried to convince the visitors that they needed to sacrifice as they did. More often than not the visitors were beaten and thrown out on the streets. The painted smiles were warped by the frowns of the people as they screamed obscenities at anyone who disagreed with them. As the word spread, people stopped coming to the city at all.
Many years later the King went to the city. When he arrived the people were living in straw huts, wearing almost nothing but the painted smiles on their faces. The fake smiles followed him as he walked through the ruins of the beautiful city. They followed him as he visited the abandoned gold mine, the park overgrown with weeds, the crumbled walls of the opera house. They followed him to every major site in the city that they had destroyed purposely or through neglect. The King finally stopped and turned to the people. He looked at them with their hands out. He thought they were asking for something until he looked in their eyes. They were bright, shining, as if they couldn’t wait for him to see what they were about to give him.
“What happened to all of you?” the King asked.
“We have sacrificed everything for you, King,” said one of them, “we have given everything up that we loved to please you.” The people stared, silently, obediently, like a dog waiting for a treat.
“Why would this please me?” said the King sadly. “I have worked hard, fought wars, and lost sons so that each of you would be free to live, to love, to work and to be proud of all you have. I came here because I wanted to see the fruit of my labor but as I look around me, all I see is rot, decay, and death. You expect me to be pleased with your offering of nothing? If you want to please me, get up out of the dirt and live. I do not want to be the king of a country where my people sleep naked and are unable to smile. Live as though you are free, not as if you are slaves. Live, not because I command it but because I have fought to give you life. Live, not just to please me but because you too are pleased by it. Live, not to wake up dead but rather born anew each morning. Live, not to destroy but to create. If there is any life left in you, get up and live.”
The people with smiles painted on their faces lowered their hands. They looked at each other, not disappointed, not shocked, but with acceptance. As if they knew all along that any appreciation would have ruined their gift.
“He is not our king,” said one of the people. “We’ve made a mistake.” The fake smiles turned around and walked back towards their huts. Not a single fake smile looked up as the King walked through the town. Eventually the King left, no one remembers exactly when.
Last week, well I think it was last week, anyway, I saw St. Vincent perform. This was her second tour for her latest album, Actor, and needless to say it was incredible.
