pearl

His pearl of wisdom clattered on the polished marble floor, turning heads and hardening hearts against him; such a brash clatter such an ungracious intrusion.

They didn’t see it for what it was; beauty formed from years of bitter tears, years of struggle. Who could be expected to recognise such a gem when it was held in the callused hands of a working man? He had no etiquette or breeding. His speech belied his lack of education and his clothes bore testimony to his social standing. And yet, to his credit, he wasn’t ashamed. He was scared but not ashamed.

He picked it up and held it aloft, no one noticed. The next day he returned and did the same. He continued like this for several days. Until, eventually he was approached by one and then another of the Stony Faces, each offering to buy it. More and more approached him, each offering a higher price. They explained how its purity detracted from its true value. They were in a position to use it to great effect; they were somebody whilst he was, and always would be, a nobody. They could carve it, cut into it, transform it. They showed him a showcase full of carved pearls, which they had bought off other people like him. Some had been dyed to make them more colourful, more beautiful. But the man thought the carvings rough and the colours gaudy so he refused to sell.
He returned again a few days later, he was a little wiser now, more sure of his purpose. All day he stood in their presence. He stood stock still holding the pearl up where they could all see him. At first he was ignored. But as the days went by the Stony Faces started getting angry. He could feel the tension building, crackling in the air, until it broke out in open hostility. “Go away” they shouted. “Get out; you have no right being here”. Their Stony Faces roared against him, he shut his eyes against their spitting rage and carried the weight of all the years he had been taught to stand in awe of them. Confusion seemed to be snatching the breath from his lungs. Perhaps I am a nobody he thought, but he knew better than that. That one thought seemed to galvanise his whole body. His eyes snapped open and he looked at them howling and yapping like animals. He held out the pearl to them only to have it smashed out of his hand. It hit the floor, disintegrating into a thousand little pieces. With that the shouting stopped. The Stony Faces realising that they had acted in an undignified manner composed themselves and one by one drifted away. As he stood there he could still feel the pearl in the palm of his hand, he opened his fingers and there it was; still as beautiful as before. He knew that nothing or no one could take it from him.

The next day he went back to them. He strode in confidently, he felt powerful, eternal. No longer a tongue-tied fool looking for words to express a hope. No longer frail or wavering, but invigorated. He carried the substance of life. He felt like a lion walking into a chicken shed. It was obvious that the Stony Faces were waiting for him. They were tired of the fight. Their self-righteousness and confidence had been shaken. He scared them. Head up, he strode between them, right to the foot of the throne and then climbed up on the throne and stood on the seat as they watched him silently. Holding the pearl between thumb and forefinger he turned and faced each one of them in turn.
“Step forward and tell me I’m wrong” he said. “This is truth and you cannot deny it.”