The Melon Field 

A man was standing under a blossoming plum tree in the middle of a melon field. Another man approached, accused him of trespassing, and demanded to know what he intended to do in the middle of his field. Who are you? the first man asked. I am the bailiff, and this is my field. Why are you here? The first man seemed out of sorts, if not despondent. I was visiting a house on the hill, he said, admiring a beautiful landscape painting of a blossoming plum tree in the middle of a melon field. I had a strong desire to travel into the picture to stand beneath the tree and soak in the glorious light of the spring morning. Then the strangest thing happened. A servant girl opened the rain shutters, and to my great surprise I saw this wonderful tree and this magnificent field. I departed at once without even seeing the person I was calling on. And yet, when I arrived, I felt lost and depressed, for it seems as though I did not really arrive. I have not reached the tree in the picture or the field I saw through the window. That is a difficult thing, said the bailiff. I have always found servant girls difficult to manage. The wind continued to unroll the azure scroll of the sky. The clouds were very far away now. I could arrest you, the bailiff casually suggested after a long silence, but the man would neither speak nor walk away, as if it were impossible to escape being lost wherever he went. The bailiff looked up at the radiant tree and then at his great fields. I could never grow pricklyash, he confessed. It just would not grow. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s