There was once a town full of happy villagers who were overseen by a gracious and kind council of nobles. At the time of this story, all but one council member were newly appointed, and these new members were joyously anointed with the power to ensure the happiness of the people in their land – young and old, big and small. Each member, that is, except the established member who always sat in silence amongst their fellow council members. Because of the powers held by the councillors, the people of this land lived comfortable lives, knowing no long lasting hardship, nor ever having to work a tough day in their lives. If something were amiss in a villager’s life, they would arrange a time to visit the council. This villager would tell their story of bad luck, poor health, or inconvenience, ranging anywhere from a stale relationship to a stubborn cough that they cannot seem to shake. As if by some magic, all councillors but the quiet one were passionate to mend all ailments that were presented to them, thus the villagers were able to live on in their simple, happy lives.
One day, after a long queue of petitioners, a final villager made their way into the council room to present their misgivings. This villager was small in stature, and appeared impossibly old. They looked yellowed with sickness, had arms of sinew and a posture hunched; they looked as if they had lived a long life filled with hard work and no rest. When this villager spoke their voice was so weak that the councillors could scarcely hear them from their high thrones, and the council needed to stoop down to position their ears closer to the sickly speaker’s mouth. When the council could properly hear the villager, this is what they heard: “Dignified nobles, my family has been slowly wearing away for seemingly no reason at all. We are always ill and in pain, our limbs are lame, sleepless in the evening, and our minds betray us. Our crops fail, and whenever we do consume any morsel of nutrients, it does not sustain us, and our mouths are dry even after drinking the purest of water. Around us, our friends and neighbours have their maladies mended while ours grow worse and worse each time someone else’s improves. I ask of you today to rid us of this concerning coincidence and allow us to live as blissful as every other citizen in our land.”
Although taken aback by the severity of the villager’s family’s situation, like every other villager’s call for aid each noble but one reacted sympathetically, and to the villager’s relief were enthusiastic to help. But just before aid was casted, in an unexpected turn the quiet council member at the end of thrones spoke up, looked at the villager and said this: “I am sorry villager, but what you describe is the result of a curse upon your family. This curse grants us the power to wash away the aches of any other villager in this town; your family is damned to suffer so everyone else can thrive. This is how the balance is maintained, and the removal of the curse or your family will destroy the way of this town as we know it.”
The other councillors looked shocked and concerned at hearing this revelation, apparently having never understood how the magic they use had worked. With a furrowed brow the councillor to the immediate right of the quiet one exclaimed: “Is a different way of living so bad compared to the suffering of this family?”
The quiet councillor spoke in response: “This is the only way that happiness can exist in our land. The anguish of few allows for the bliss the many.”
The second councillor to speak turned away, looking distressed.
After a few moments of silence, the quiet councillor spoke again to the cursed villager: “Go now. Your suffering brings joy to so many. Live the rest of your life in peace at the knowledge of this.” And with a heavy heart the decrepit villager took their leave.
From that moment onwards, the rest of the councillors were no longer enthusiastic to grant the wishes of the villagers now knowing the fate of the villager and their family, now knowing how the family will suffer more and more for each ounce of happiness granted to others. If only the councillors could continue in blissful ignorance could they be happy again, but as soon as they realized the awful truth of their position they could never go back living as they once did, forever cursed with the gift of insight.
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Any form of presentation makes me uncomfortable, so reciting my story started off tricky. It took me a third try to (mostly) tell it correctly when I told it to my partner, but by the time I got to telling it to my mom I had it down. The more comfortable I got with telling the story, the more confident I became in making it more animated and lively; I ended up organically pausing dramatically as well as added physical gestures and different voices. Telling the story out loud ended up being more rewarding and fun than I thought, and both my partner and mother enjoyed the story (which was a bonus).
My retelling of Leslie Silko’s origin of evil as recalled by Thomas King was partially inspired by the short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” by Ursula K. Le Guin, as well as the upsetting truths that permeate just below the surface of our society that are essential to make it function. From child labour that allows us to wear much of our clothing to the poor treatment of animals that are used in the average Canadian’s diet, there is so much exploitation of living organisms in our world that allows us to operate as we do, and I consider this as close to the concept of evil as I understand it.
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Works Cited
Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Random House of Canada Limited, 2004.
Harari, Yuval Noah. “Industrial farming is one of the worst crimes in history.” The Guardian, 25 February 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/sep/25/industrial-farming-one-worst-crimes-history-ethical-question. Accessed 22 January 2020.
Le Guin, Ursula Kroeber. “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” The Wind’s Twelve Quarters, https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d317/ba42f5716881c691d652672f66de87b4d677.pdf. PDF.
Moulds, Josephine. “Child labour in the fashion supply chain: Where, why and what can be done.” The Guardian, https://labs.theguardian.com/unicef-child-labour/. Accessed 22 January 2020.