Danto and the Spirits
Danto would always finish the fight. He’d often start it too. There didn’t need to be trouble, but Danto was trouble. If two people were arguing, then Danto would make it three. On this day Danto had finished working in the fields near his home in Drakmere. He walked into town towards the tavern. Three large tankards of ale went down. He stepped back out into the warming sunshine. Feeling happy after a hard day and some ale; he walked back home. A simple hayloft of the farm his home, to get comfortable and sleep his final task of a long day.
Danto had a mile or two to go and crossed the tidy fields and a boggy area with a little stream. A simple wooden bridge crossed the water. The narrow wooden structure could only allow one person to cross at a time. Danto stepped onto the bridge and started to walk. He hadn’t noticed an old man was already well on his way across.
Now Danto considered the figure walking toward him. He was an old man his clothes tatty and dirty. He used a stick to aid his crossing. The heavy pack on his back made him lean forward. He lumbered forward one slow step at a time.
Danto shouted, “Turn around old man and go back. I’ll be here all day waiting for you!”.
The old man looked up and squinted at the bright sun. “I am further across than you, can’t you just wait for me?” He waved his stick.
“If I have to wait for you, I’ll be here all ***** day!” Danto returned. "Now turn about!"
The old man shuffled forward making slow progress. Danto shook with rage, “If you don’t turn back old man, I'll shove you off the bridge and be on my way. It’s your choice.”
The old man looked up, looked down again and took another stumbling step forward in defiance.
Incensed, Danto stormed down the narrow bridge, his feet pounding on the wooden boards. Danto had every intention of pushing the frail old man into the smelly bog.
As he approached, time slowed and ground to a halt. Danto found he was unable to move; caught mid-step. He hung like this for a minute or so, then he heard a voice. A quiet voice asked a simple question, “By what right?”
Danto didn’t understand the question, “What d’you mean?” he shouted, still raging. He looked around wildly for the source of the voice, still unable to move.661
The voice took on an insistent edge, “By what right!”
Not a stupid fellow, Danto realised that a river spirit was challenging him and demanding to know about his planned actions against the old man. “I need to get home and sleep. I’ve been working all day and had my beer. Now I need my sleep, so I can do it all again tomorrow.”
“And that gives you the right?”
“My right, his right. I’m stronger and faster and in a hurry.”
“You like to fight, yes?” The river spirit asked.
“Yes, I love to fight. My fight, your fight, any fight!” Danto roared.
“And do you care? Do you know what pain you cause?”
“Nope. I don’t care. Twenty-three winters I’ve had and never lost a fight yet. And one old man on a bridge is not a fight. It's a thing in my way.” The spirits released Danto so he could move about again. The old man had disappeared.
“Do you like who you are? Do you like what people say of you? Do you like what people think when they see you?”
“What in all the world do I care about other people? I love me. And I’m sure no one thinks ill of me. Because if they did, I’d beat them until they didn’t.” Danto stood tall and proud.
“You have a choice from this point on. I’m going to show you a possible future. Your future if you push the old man into the bog. A man who has done you no wrong and walking home the same as you. I’ll show you another future where you don’t. Where you turn back and allow the man on his way, unmolested. Then you have a choice to make.”
“No choice needed. The old man gets wet, and I go home. Bring him back so I can be on my way.” laughed Danto.
The world blinked and disappeared for a second, when it returned, Danto was sitting on the edge of a road in a strange town. His fine clothes were in rags, and he smelt awful. A wooden bowl in front of him had a few copper coins in it. People walked past but didn’t look at him. Some looked and spat toward him. Everyone knew Danto the fighter, an unmovable obstacle. They all knew his story; how he had thrown an old man into the bog against the wishes of the river spirits. And how the river dried up and stopped irrigating the land. And how the land was dry, and the crops failed. So, the farmers found Danto the fighter—the man who never backed down and was always ready to fight.
But this time Danto had to fight for his life. And fight he did, with all he had. But twenty burley men armed with rakes, hoes, and thick boots and callused fists challenged him. And so, the farmers beat Danto until he lay still in a growing puddle of blood. They dragged his barely breathing body to the bridge. And as an offering to the river spirits, threw him in. All begging for forgiveness and for a return of the river and life-giving water. All twenty men on their knees begging for a return to better times, to healthy crops and hard work and an abundant harvest. And they cried and threw what little they had as offerings to the river spirits.
The river spirits were happy with the farmers and soon the river began to flow again. The water irrigated the fields. The harvest that year was the best in living memory. And people praised the river spirits and spoke of ‘Danto the arrogant fool’ who had challenged them. The farmers and people of Drakmere banished Danto. They sent him away to beg for the rest of his life. Danto the cripple who couldn't even walk anymore, let alone fight.
The vision had stunned Danto into silence. He tried to understand what he had just seen.
Reality blinked again.
This time Danto was outside a tavern in a far-off and exotic land. His clothes were of the finest materials. People gathered around him and smiled and wanted to be near him. He told tales of daring and mischief that always had a happy ending. He had two large steel swords on his back, and people called for Danto the fighter. People would pay handsomely for Danto to ride with them and protect them. And Danto was happy to do it. He’d whistle and sing and realise that life was a fight all along. He knew that fighting didn’t accomplish much and that talk was the better option. He had a choice, to fight or not to fight. And now Danto let trouble pass him by, unless he had no choice.
Reality flashed again.
The river spirits spoke to him one last time. “Choose.”
Danto the fighter backed off the bridge and sat in silence for the old man to cross. Danto contemplated his choice. And as the old man neared, Danto rose from the ground and helped the old man the last few steps. Then he took his heavy pack from the old man’s shoulders. He took the old man’s arm and walked him, in silence, to the city. Once the old man had indicated he’d reached his destination, Danto the fight returned his pack, turned and walked home.
Then Danto the fighter trained in weapons and hand-to-hand fighting and vowed only to help those in need and to not hurt anyone unless he had to. He vowed he would be a joy to the world and not a stain on it. After seeing the misery, he had caused the farmers and their families and the village. He vowed to respect not only the spirits but all he encountered.
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