The Weekend Eudemon

Running Man 2005. A week until Christmas. I've done virtually no shopping, the social functions are landing like a flurry of hard jabs, and I have commitments with my children. Should be interesting the next couple of days, seeing if I can live without breathing.

On top of everything else, my hometown movie theater brought in Walk the Line. The theater normally brings in only first-run movies, so I'm surprised at the late arrival, but it probably figured, "Second-run Walk the Line or Brokeback Mountain? Hmmm." My town is rather conservative, to put it mildly, so Brokeback wouldn't be well received here, even though one local wag told me that it's a unique picture: it's the only cowboy movie where the good guys get it in the end.

I typically don't like all the rushing that is American Christmas, but it's hard not to get energized a little. With seven kids in the house, the fever pitch mounts every day. Exhortations to await Jesus with peaceful silence are met with enthusiastic nods, then yells, then sprints through the house. Tess (the baby) is simply bewildered by all the activity and sleeping a lot (it seems to wear her out). Meg (4) is in a constant state of excited anxiety at Santa's coming and her questionable behavior. Michael (7) and Jack (9) constantly talk between themselves about what will happen that day. Abbie (11) and Alex (12) act more demure, unless they're trying to rile up Max (2) by explaining what will be happening in a few days.

It's the looming birth of the Christ Child. Peaceful silence is called for, yes, but excitement is a fitting emotion, too. Especially for His fellow children.

Malcolm's Messages (What's this?)
Chapter 6: Malcolm and the Juggler (cont.)

Then suddenly Mr. Rufus came. No longer haggard, he was fresh. Still worn with years, but with a happy bounce and a quick smile. He was holding the seven white balls.

"I knew what I was looking for, but it took me years to acquire them," said Mr. Rufus. "The money you gave me helped, but it was still difficult. I'm sorry I took so long."

Malcolm smiled at Mr. Rufus. "You did not tarry as long as you think. Look, the juggler is still here. The battle can still be waged."

Then Malcolm stood on the speaking stone and called to the juggler, "You say I offer the assembled nothing tangible. What say you to these?" And he held the white balls up for everyone to see. The crowd looked at Malcolm's white balls. The juggler glanced at them, but quickly returned to his black balls, for he was their slave.

"White balls?" the juggler yelled to Malcolm, not taking his eyes off the black balls that he continued to juggle. "Can they do this?" Then the juggler caused the black balls to bounce off the wall of a Temple, juggling them in quick succession horizontally. The people were awed. The juggler then again started throwing them hundreds of yards into the air.

"No, they cannot do that," said Malcolm, undaunted. "They do not work for the Wicked Gnome, the Berserker, or any other magicians. But the joy they offer far exceeds the excitement of seeing the black balls do meaningless tricks."

"More words, Malcolm," the juggler said. "What can your white balls do?"

"They give peace."

"Big deal," the juggler said, "and I don't believe you anyway. Prove it."

"I cannot prove it to you, Mr. Juggler," Malcolm said, "for you have decided that you know everything there is to know. You have decided that a handful of half-truths taught to you by the black balls are sufficient and you have grown proud, yet are still ignorant. That is a terrible combination."

"More words, Malcolm. Face it, the white balls are weak and boring."

Then Malcolm smiled, for the juggler had spoken the one lie that he could visibly disprove. The white balls were not weak. He handed the white balls to Mr. Rufus, who was strong with zeal for the white balls and who still had a dose of his youthful strength from his university days when he played the diamond game. Mr. Rufus took the balls and stood on the speaking stone. He nodded to Malcolm, understanding.

"Juggler!" Malcolm yelled. "The black balls have the appearance of strength and the white balls look weak. But the reality is quite different."

Then Mr. Rufus threw one of the white balls. It hit a black ball, and the black ball exploded with a powerful bang. The people cowed to the ground.

The juggler tried to bring the black balls down and put them into the cloak that hides them from exposure, but they were still hundreds of yards in the air, and Mr. Rufus had dispatched the other six white balls in quick succession. The air rang with explosions as the balls met. The black balls dissipated in the air and the wind blew them away. All the white balls, except one, immediately rolled to Malcolm, unscathed. The other white ball tore through its enemy, hitting the wall of one of the Temples, causing the great structure to rattle and parts of it to break off. It then bounced back to Malcolm–also unscathed.

The juggler writhed on the ground, like a man in agony, moaning, "My balls, my balls; you hit my balls."

But the assembled had stood up and marveled at the black balls. For though their shells had blown away in the wind, their insides had landed on the ground and beautiful things had sprung from them: a beautiful gem that shined like it contained a miniature sun; a basket, small at first, that grew in their sight and was filled with splendid food; a plush pillow; a beautiful cat; a looking glass trimmed with fine gold; a shockingly pretty woman with a kind look in her eyes; five small boys, who, holding hands, ran to the woman, calling her "mother."

Malcolm stood next to the speaking stone with Mr. Rufus at his side. They were pleased, for the people could now see the goodness that the black balls imprisoned, and the lure of the juggler would no longer appeal to them.