The Parable

an excerpt from the unfinished novel Apolutrosis 2002

In the house, the whole party had arrived and the widow rushed from kitchen to den making sure that all were tended to. The noise from the parlor grew as the celebration for the lost coin was now well underway. The commoners from the town gathered in large groups to enjoy the camaraderie of people that more than not are passed by in the streets without even as much as a word. Busy lives. But for the evening, the stresses of the day could be forgotten and they began to settle into the home and tell the anecdotes of an honest day’s earnings. Each began to share his greatest tale or most humorous joke. Some blushed and others roared in laughter, but no one left the fold. For tonight, all were family and each one was truly grateful that the widow had found her lost coin, for had she not, such a celebration, a break from the formalities of life, could not have been enjoyed. They continued to weave their folklore throughout the night, but no one could tell a story quite like the old man they called Quo. He captivated the commoners as he spoke. Some amazed at his simplicity and other in awe of his greatness, but all were engaged by his words. A great storyteller is hard to come by, but a masterful one is the gift of the ages. Even the widow stopped running to and fro, for she too was enamored with the voice of Quo. His stories awoke the dreams she had had as a child and made her feel as warm as when she had been held in her father’s arms.

Quo had placed himself on the hearth and gathered the crowd around him to begin the telling of his story.

“A certain man planted a vineyard far north in the hill country where the farmland is richer than any known in all the land. Gentle breezes passed over the hills and pure streams cut through the valleys to produce the most glorious land of all. This vineyard was the grandest of all vineyards that anyone has ever had the pleasure of seeing. In it grew the finest grapes of a thousand vineyards in all of North Apolutrosis. Not just the small grapes that one would find in his own vineyard, but these luscious grapes were the size of grapefruits and yielded the sweetest wine to ever pass over a man’s lips. The man was pleased with his work, and being the shrewd businessman that the vineyard owner was, he leased it to the vinedressers, or tenant farmers who worked the vineyard on his land. These farmers were to work the land and provide grapes for the vineyard owner and make him a profit while he was to tend to other business in the land. He placed his trust in these vinedressers and gave them simple responsibilities that would bring honor to his lordship.

“At the right season, the vineyard owner sent his servant to the vinedressers, that they might give him some of the fruit of the vineyard. The servant approached in great anticipation for what he would find in the vineyard, but the farmers did not receive him well. They thought him a nuisance to their great work and rather than give him what the master had sent him for, they devised a plan to show all who ventured there what they thought of such intruders. The first farmer scorned him while a second gave play to his requests, but once he came behind the storehouse, with one felled motion, he thrashed the servant‘s face hard into the side of the stone silo knocking him unconscious. The farmers moved with urgency as if they were going to get caught for committing a heinous crime. They hoisted the listless body of the servant into a nearby cart and began to wheel him down the road leading from the vineyard. As they came closer to the city limits of the province nearest the vineyard, they discarded the beaten servant in the dust near the beggars that lined the roads of that fair city. The servant awoke some days later in the streets and returned to the master empty-handed.

“The master of the vineyard entreated the vinedressers a second time and sent another servant. The farmers again saw him coming from afar off and chose to treat him more harshly than they had treated the first servant. Their first intention was to only whip the servant and scare some sense into him, but as their anger at his requests grew, their thoughts turned frightful. They bound him and intended to take him to what they thought was the scariest place in the nearest wood. The spot was located close to where a lake bends under a bluff with a sixty-foot drop, but which looked much further in the dark. They gained much pleasure as they whipped him on the bluff and dangled him over the fall as if they were going to drop him. At the end of the terrifying night, they sent the servant away empty-handed and greatly ashamed.

“And so the master, whose anger was growing, sent a third. And, too, they wounded him and cast him out. Then, the owner of the vineyard said to his servants, ‘What shall I do?’ Three of his best servants had been treated with contempt and were not received by the farmers. They had beaten each one, shamed them, and cast them out empty-handed. In distress, the master, who was wiser than all the merchants in the land began to devise a plan. This time, he was sure, that the vinedressers would treat him with kindness. He said, ‘I will send my beloved son. Probably they will respect him when they see him.’

“And so the master sent his son to the vineyard, for surely they would listen to the master’s son. The day was hot and the work had been long as the master’s son gave up his place in the household to go to the vineyard and bring back the fruit requested of his father. He walked for many miles and through many small towns until he reached the hills where the gentle breezes passed over and pure streams cut through the valleys. He walked along the road that led to his father’s vineyard.

“From afar off, the vinedressers saw the boy approaching. When they saw him, they reasoned among themselves, saying, ‘This is the heir.’ ‘What shall we do?’ another asked. ‘I say we give him what he asks for,’ a third suggested. But, a wise vinedresser rose among the crowd and spoke to his brothers, ‘Brothers, I have worked in the vineyard for many years and I have seen the servants that the master sends. We are what make the vineyard work. We are the sweat and toil in these grapes. Many come from all lands to feast off the fruit of our hands and be drunk with the sweat of our brow. It is the vinedresser who is the vineyard and not the master of this field. You look and say, this is the heir. I say come, let us kill him, that the inheritance be ours.’

“The vinedressers erupted with cheers and moved to greet the heir on the road. He smiled as he saw them approaching thinking that they would obey his requests, but he did not know the wickedness in their hearts. The first farmer held out his club and delivered a blow on the son’s head that knocked him unconscious, much like they had to the first servant while another bound him as they had done to the second. Carrying him on their shoulders, they methodically walked toward the old abandoned tool house. The room was about twelve feet square, and the door was slightly off its hinges. The first farmer opened the door to let the light of the morning invade the room for the first time in presumably several years. The others followed close behind with the heir upon their backs. They quickly looked around the room for a suitable place and dropped the son on a broken table in the corner. The thud of the table and the dust cloud that followed woke the son from his slumber, but his conscious level was well below awareness. He struggled to get his bearings. The surroundings were unfamiliar. Voices came out of the darkness that he thought were vaguely familiar. Rage was in the voices, and the son was overcome with fear. He cryptically began to piece together the details of the recent events. A sickness rose in the farmers that had never entered their members. And with the club he held tightly in his hand, the first farmer struck the son across the face cracking his jaw and loosening six of the son’s teeth. The taste of blood filled the heir’s mouth as he tried to spit the teeth onto the floor, swallowing blood with every effort. Again the club came cracking down into his cheek. He tried to reposition himself, but his left eye began to swell shut from where the club collided with his face a second time. Shocked by the blows, the son instinctively raised his hands to guard his face. The adrenaline began to flow through the vinedressers as they took turns hitting him, sometimes with clubs and other times with their hands. The mob unmercifully attacked their own, draining the life from their proverbial brother. The hoots and hollers of the vinedressers rang through the countryside, and still no one heard their song. It became sport with no remorse and a blood-taste for victory.

“The son felt the punches in his stomach, face, and eyes. He began to accept a fate that he would never make it home again. Had the blood around his eyes not readily flowed, the tears on his cheeks would have become evident. Why he conceded to death is no mystery, but the torment continued, as he lay there not able to die. Then, it stopped. The echoes of their laughter became noticeable when the hitting stopped. The pounding in his temples grew louder as he began to wonder why he had lived and why he couldn’t die. He tried hopelessly to remember the faces of his life, but he could not recall what his father looked like. He felt a hand on his arm as a farmer pulled him to his feet.

“’Take off your clothes,’ one said with complete humiliation in mind. The blood had dried in a crust upon his split lip and the son could not etch out a word, but inside he screamed of confusion.

“The farmers decided what to do and went in search for a weight, such as an anvil. They remembered seeing some men discard a circular millstone near the shed a week before. One farmer went outside and called for the others to help him move it. They instructed the son to carry the stone down toward the river, and they quickly went to task. Standing upon the banks of the river, the farmers again struck the heir in the back of the head and began tying the millstone around the boy’s neck with new rope and rolled his weighted down body into some twenty feet of water. The boy sank to the bottom of the river where he drowned quickly. Covering their atrocity, the vinedressers spent three hours that morning burning the remainder of the son’s belonging.

“Therefore, my dear friends, when he hears of the great atrocities that those in which he entrusted his vineyard, what will the owner of the vineyard do to them?”
The crowd hushed as the striking story sank into their hearts. Eyes sank to the floor and many of the wiser guests understood. The silence continued for what seemed like hours until Quo, who loved to bring his audience to great moral dilemmas with his parables, quietly whispered, “He will come and destroy those vinedressers and give the vineyard to another. Can you, my friends be trusted with the vineyard?”

The night had waned on, and with the completion of his story, Quo rose from his place on the hearth and kissed his host, thanked his listeners and began gathering his things to depart. Many in the crowd, in response to the story, thought, “Certainly these things cannot be.”