The Beggar's Plea

The Beggar’s Plea
Please! A moment of your time! I know full well that I am unwelcome -I apologize for my rude ingression- but I ask that you hear me out, and also, if it be within the limits of your generosity -for I know that I am in a precarious position, the perquisites of which do not include favors (as any and all would be rightly considered undue) - that you unhand me. If my expostulation proves to be less than efficacious, or my proposal less than reasonable, then I will immediately depart by my own volition. My sincere thanks; I will now explain my purpose.

The past several days have been a period of intense cogitation on my part. I have been considering a means by which I can rise out of the pitiable squalor of my current, burdensome position in life and become a contributing member of society. Certainly these things have occurred to me previously, but until my last visit, in which your graciousness towards me expired rather heatedly, I had always dismissed such melancholy thoughts with as rapid a turn of mind and as cheap a brand of wine as was possible. But upon the conclusion of our last encounter, I was finally overcome with chagrin (though sobriety and hunger may have given aid) and thereby forced into a pensive, rather unpleasant, disposition.

It is strange, how far I have fallen! I was not always as you all now know me. Once, long ago in my youth, I was more comfortable, quite affluent actually, notwithstanding my father, who owned an appreciable amount of real estate and from which he derived no small income. I attended college, though I will withhold the name (it is not my desire to disgrace the institution by associating it with such a pathetic non-graduate as myself), majored in English. (You may have wondered –may still be wondering- at how well spoken I am, and can be, when sober, indeed I am myself astonished at times that I retain the capacity.)

All of that was gone in an instant –like waking from a dream- when my father died. This could not have been a more unexpected event at the time, although, in hindsight, I was a bit naïve -blinded by youth and frivolity perhaps. My father had been diagnosed with a rare condition of the heart in which one of the two nerve branches which regulate the heart was nonfunctional. This seemed to be completely inconsequential, however, for he operated day-to-day with no perceptible difficulty whatsoever and appeared in an outstandingly salubrious state.

Like the abrupt arrival of night which follows a lazy sunset, so my dreamlike existence gave way to a startlingly dark, harsh reality. I imagine (or try to, albeit half-heartedly) the experience could well have been worse still, as I was spared the agony of watching my father suffer through a protracted bout with illness, but there was plenty of misery effected nonetheless. I loved my father dearly, never have I spoken with more candor than when I say it; the shock produced upon my psyche by his parting was severe beyond my ability to express, and yet further compounded by the amount of time I then had to dwell on the fact, for I was forced, due to the resulting financial jeopardy into which I was thrust, to abandon most engagements I had held theretofore, including college. So sudden and unexpected was his passing that he had prepared no will, and the consequent quarrel among my relatives over his assets was absolutely repugnant.

Vultures or ravenous carrion birds do not provide nearly an adequate analogy with which to depict these legal relatives of mine. Such unfeeling, greedy grasping, rapacious behavior can hardly be pictured. No sooner had my father’s heart sounded its last beat then they were reaching for his wallet. Chief among these, and most cold in her participation, was my father’s wife. My true mother I never knew but in very dim recollections from my early child-hood; my father never spoke of her, and had remarried by the time I was about thirteen. I knew this new woman to be a gold-digger from the start, and she harbored a thinly veiled hatred for me. Yet it was to her, and her child, that my father’s estate passed –I was deemed financially independent and received very little, something about which I was at the time too grieved to feel bitter but have since grown acerbic. Naturally there was no place for me once my father expired and, like a pill held in a dog’s mouth until its owner turns his head, I was spat out.

Thus, due to the mental strain of the ordeal and certain vicissitudes, not all of which I have named, I was reduced to the wretched state, economical and otherwise, in which I presently still remain. Although not quite all of that which has heretofore transpired has been wholly bad; there is one boon that I have gained. So anonymous have I become that, not long ago, I discovered my “family” have presumed me dead, a notion which I have done nothing to refute and, conversely, have heartily embraced.

What? Oh yes, I apologize for rambling, I did not intend to try your patience; the enumeration of past misfortune -of which we all have more than enough already- or the evocation of sympathy thereby –which I myself find a detestable pursuit- was not the object of my coming here, nor did I come to give rationalization for my laxity. Rather, I mean to propose a method by which I can make restitution, at least in part, to the community for my many years as a mendicant. But, you may ask, and justly, what can I offer, one who possesses little in the category of skills or items of worth and who is an alien to all professions? Just this: I believe I can provide entertainment. I say it is perfectly suitable, is it not? For did not my brethren perform in a similar capacity long ago: the jesters of the middle-ages?

Yes! Dance for us then, you may say, sing us a song! And perhaps I will, in good time, resort to these, but first allow me to try my hand at another slightly less humiliating form of amusement. I may not have money enough to afford pride, but the possibility still exists, slight though it may be, for me to retain some minute vestige of dignity, that is, I mean to say I will first attempt to entertain by way of story.

Storytelling! You may say, Humph! Half-formed flights of fancies comprising the pastimes of wide-eyed children, you may say, before reluctantly permitting me to continue while paying little heed. This is not at all a valid appraisal; true enough there are nonsensical stories of little meaning or worth, but such is not always the case.

Consider, if you will, the history of our dear earth; the various events that have transpired upon its face, and the total known activities of mankind. Is not all of this, story? And how much, I ask you, has been recorded? Less than a few thousand years in detail, and even these accounts are, on the whole, extraordinarily narrow in scope, confined in focus to a very small people group or group of nations. How little we know! Despite this, it has still been said that there is nothing new to be done or had. What then, is not conceivable when viewed within the full framework of history, known and unknown? What deed has not been done, what dream dreamt, statement made, or battle won?Therefore, do not discount a well crafted story simply because it is a story, for in all likelihood the characters and events represented therein may have walked and occurred upon this very earth, albeit under different names or titles.

And what of such aforementioned mythical or whimsical impossibilities as fey or dwarrows? Certainly they have no place in a “serious” story, as they can not, being purely fabricated products of imagination, have had any such past analogues, correct? Quite so! Perhaps these creatures of fancy are mere invention, never having truly existed as breathing animal with beating heart (although, again, taking a macroscopic view of things, even these may not be as certainly fabricated as they seem), yet they too can serve a justifiable purpose. Such creatures may not have peopled the earth in a real, physical form, but undoubtedly they have been manifest in abstract forms. More clearly, the chimerical has use in the symbolism that can be portrayed.

Dystopia, Fear, Rage: all are qualities which can be well illustrated thusly; furthermore, characters themselves can be depicted in a manner that better conveys their personality by incarnating them in a form that matches their temperament and mannerisms. Moreover still, the inclusion of mythical elements can permit equivocal concepts to be embodied more properly as well as affording the further option of inserting such ideas or commentary in such a carefully obfuscated way that the uninterested mind need not ponder them. And so, again, please avoid flippantly discrediting a well conceived story simply because there are “unreal” elements. Whether or not it is within my capabilities to regale you with a well-crafted story remains to be seen, and so, with all these things in mind, listen closely, and let it not be said that dead men tell no tales.