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Dragon/s Dream. A Postmodern Fable
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Год написания книги
2020
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Nothing was true beyond doubt.
And doubt killed faith.
And without faith there was no truth, for they were one.
The Dragon gave up. He returned to his cave and went back to sleep. In the morning, after singing a greeting to the burning dawn, the Dragon dimly recalled having had the most curious dream.
Restless Winds
In a season of falling leaves it was especially tranquil at the foot of the mountains. Northern winds had been rising steadily, getting more robust with each passing day, bringing with them damp coolness and sweet fragrance of decay. Bare branches stood out crisply off the sky, seen from below as an intricate labyrinthine pattern, framed by the flashes of the clinging foliage. Most birds had departed for warmer regions, and most ground-dwellers had been busy tending to their hideouts; the air was still but for the wails of wind and creaking of tree-trunks.
These days the Dragon took a habit of having a walk in the woods, and a secluded pond there was his final destination. He appreciated its placid waters and overgrown shores, its sentinel trees and patches of the blue reflected on the surface – a world within a world, embracing itself before the oncoming cold. He inhaled deeply and held his breath.
«How can wind bend a tree? It is just a wind,» a voice of a duck quacked to his left.
«It bends a tree,» said the Dragon without looking. «Do not forget about that.»
«Is it a riddle of some sort?»
«A riddle arises as soon as one has said it; when one has solved it, it is gone.»
«Sometimes it is not,» complained the duck. «For instance, I cannot enter the same wood twice. After I got out, it has changed and is not the same wood anymore.»
«Too bad for you,» said the Dragon sympathetically.
«It is not so bad,» intermitted another duck’s voice. «I cannot enter the same wood even once, for it is changing while I am entering it.»
«You enter the wood,» said the Dragon. «Is it not what matters?»
«Let me ask you something. When you come to this wood, is it the same wood for you and for us three?»
«It is the same for me, I dare say.»
The Dragon glanced at the ducks, which were circling lazily in the pond, their tiny legs working steadily in the shallows. Only two were present.
«You mentioned there were three of you.»
«There are three of us.»
«Where is the third?»
The duck pointed, and the Dragon could see a ginger shape lying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by a few feathers. It was furry, spread-eagled and in considerable dishevelment. Of all things it came closest to a dead fox.
«It is a dead fox,» said the Dragon.
«The fox ate the duck,» explained the duck.
«Did the fox die after that or before?»
«It was already dead when we all got here.»
«It must be quite alive by now,» said the Dragon.
In the meantime the fox indeed grew tired of being dead. It lifted an arm tentatively, then a leg, wiggled its ears and after a short hesitation bounced energetically. The ducks, scared, took off promptly, crying in alarm. The Dragon looked at the fox, and the fox looked back with some insolence; they both started strolling along the shore.
«How do you like lilies?» said the Dragon. «They are splendid this time of year, especially those that sprout on the water.»
«I see no lilies on the water,» objected the fox. «None.»
They passed several water-lilies, and the Dragon indicated one:
«See? That is what I was talking about.»
«It is not a lily but a water-lily,» remarked the fox irritably.
«I often mean water-lily when I say lily,» said the Dragon. «Any sign is arbitrary before it is applied. Only afterwards it gains meaning that it lacked previously, and that connects it to the thing it represents; they both almost become one.»
«If a sign gets extra meaning, it becomes another sign altogether.»
«Almost, I said.»
The fox prickled its ears at a far-off sound and appeared to listen intently.
«And my sign and your sign might not be the same.»
«I know nothing about any signs,» said the fox with a dreamy expression on its face. «But that duck was exceptionally delicious.»
«To see that, I do not have to look.»
«You are able to see without looking?»
«Do you want to try me?»
«All right. How many eyes have you got?» inquired the fox.
«A pair of them, I suppose,» said the Dragon absent-mindedly.
«Did you count?»
«I told you, dragons do not have to. Our very ability to think and to talk is all about replacing things with ideas, with signs.»
«An idea of a thing is not its perfect image!» protested the fox.
«Just so. It needs to connect, above all, with other ideas and only so much with the thing itself. New ideas are thus determined by old ideas and cannot exist without them.»
«Unlike new things.»
«That is immaterial. When we think we talk about a thing, we really talk about an idea of a thing.»
And doubt killed faith.
And without faith there was no truth, for they were one.
The Dragon gave up. He returned to his cave and went back to sleep. In the morning, after singing a greeting to the burning dawn, the Dragon dimly recalled having had the most curious dream.
Restless Winds
In a season of falling leaves it was especially tranquil at the foot of the mountains. Northern winds had been rising steadily, getting more robust with each passing day, bringing with them damp coolness and sweet fragrance of decay. Bare branches stood out crisply off the sky, seen from below as an intricate labyrinthine pattern, framed by the flashes of the clinging foliage. Most birds had departed for warmer regions, and most ground-dwellers had been busy tending to their hideouts; the air was still but for the wails of wind and creaking of tree-trunks.
These days the Dragon took a habit of having a walk in the woods, and a secluded pond there was his final destination. He appreciated its placid waters and overgrown shores, its sentinel trees and patches of the blue reflected on the surface – a world within a world, embracing itself before the oncoming cold. He inhaled deeply and held his breath.
«How can wind bend a tree? It is just a wind,» a voice of a duck quacked to his left.
«It bends a tree,» said the Dragon without looking. «Do not forget about that.»
«Is it a riddle of some sort?»
«A riddle arises as soon as one has said it; when one has solved it, it is gone.»
«Sometimes it is not,» complained the duck. «For instance, I cannot enter the same wood twice. After I got out, it has changed and is not the same wood anymore.»
«Too bad for you,» said the Dragon sympathetically.
«It is not so bad,» intermitted another duck’s voice. «I cannot enter the same wood even once, for it is changing while I am entering it.»
«You enter the wood,» said the Dragon. «Is it not what matters?»
«Let me ask you something. When you come to this wood, is it the same wood for you and for us three?»
«It is the same for me, I dare say.»
The Dragon glanced at the ducks, which were circling lazily in the pond, their tiny legs working steadily in the shallows. Only two were present.
«You mentioned there were three of you.»
«There are three of us.»
«Where is the third?»
The duck pointed, and the Dragon could see a ginger shape lying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by a few feathers. It was furry, spread-eagled and in considerable dishevelment. Of all things it came closest to a dead fox.
«It is a dead fox,» said the Dragon.
«The fox ate the duck,» explained the duck.
«Did the fox die after that or before?»
«It was already dead when we all got here.»
«It must be quite alive by now,» said the Dragon.
In the meantime the fox indeed grew tired of being dead. It lifted an arm tentatively, then a leg, wiggled its ears and after a short hesitation bounced energetically. The ducks, scared, took off promptly, crying in alarm. The Dragon looked at the fox, and the fox looked back with some insolence; they both started strolling along the shore.
«How do you like lilies?» said the Dragon. «They are splendid this time of year, especially those that sprout on the water.»
«I see no lilies on the water,» objected the fox. «None.»
They passed several water-lilies, and the Dragon indicated one:
«See? That is what I was talking about.»
«It is not a lily but a water-lily,» remarked the fox irritably.
«I often mean water-lily when I say lily,» said the Dragon. «Any sign is arbitrary before it is applied. Only afterwards it gains meaning that it lacked previously, and that connects it to the thing it represents; they both almost become one.»
«If a sign gets extra meaning, it becomes another sign altogether.»
«Almost, I said.»
The fox prickled its ears at a far-off sound and appeared to listen intently.
«And my sign and your sign might not be the same.»
«I know nothing about any signs,» said the fox with a dreamy expression on its face. «But that duck was exceptionally delicious.»
«To see that, I do not have to look.»
«You are able to see without looking?»
«Do you want to try me?»
«All right. How many eyes have you got?» inquired the fox.
«A pair of them, I suppose,» said the Dragon absent-mindedly.
«Did you count?»
«I told you, dragons do not have to. Our very ability to think and to talk is all about replacing things with ideas, with signs.»
«An idea of a thing is not its perfect image!» protested the fox.
«Just so. It needs to connect, above all, with other ideas and only so much with the thing itself. New ideas are thus determined by old ideas and cannot exist without them.»
«Unlike new things.»
«That is immaterial. When we think we talk about a thing, we really talk about an idea of a thing.»
Последний отзыв
Да, первый рассказ из сборника, что я успела прочитать, что надо! И написано хорошо, и содержание необычное, но жизненное. Очень понравилось, хотя там...
Далее