- By times, my friend, Don Quixote, drops by to have a
word with me, and in my books, no nobler a gent ever lived.
-
- I felt the bed depress; I awoke. "Who's there?"
I ask, a frightened tone in my voice. "It's Don." He says, his
voice weak as he exhales his sighing answer. I turn on the light.
-
- His frail figure slumps at the edge of my bed. Tattered
cuffs circle callused, boney hands firmly gripping a three-quarter lance
broken in battle. His rumpled shirt pokes from a bedraggled breastplate
hacked and slashed in conflict, its puffy sleeves are torn and soiled.
He looks wizened and tired. I ask incredulously, "Don, what have you
been into?"
-
- "Dragons . . . mostly." He replies in a reflective
tone. His head bows. "But I do grow weary of this battle." His
low, gravelly voice crackles with fatigue. "Then why do you carry
on so, my friend?" Don pauses a moment to consider the question.
-
- Slowly, his head lifts, eyes filling with fire. His lips
peel back to reveal chipped, uneven teeth, "Dulcinea del Toboso! Of
course!" Renewed by his revelation, his psyche recharges as he springs
to his feet. "Whoa, Don, take it easy. She's just a normal woman,
some say, basic even." I search for words that will gently break the
news to him. "Her name is Aldonza, um . . . something-or-other, they
say she's but a doxy."
-
- Quixote tosses his lance into the air catching at the
ready, he wheels to face me. Ablaze in bloodlust, his eyes look as though
they will set afire the bushy, grey brows above them, he points a crooked
finger. "BEWARE thee," he thunders, "the half truth! For
thee, as a fool, hast seized the wrong half!" "Don!" I scream,
fearing he'll run me through. "It's what others have said, not I!"
Don's grip relaxes, his eyes cool. "Guard thy tongue," he croaks
advisedly, "lest it again tempts my lance." I put down the pillow
I'd held as a shield.
-
- As Quixote settles down, I consider my next words carefully.
"Don, why do you pursue Dulcinea at all? And those dragons, why fight
them?" Don sighs, a faint smile forms. "I do not endeavor to
pursue the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, to do so would be to sully something
so beautiful and chased. No, you do not yet understand, and it remains
so for many who hold and tenaciously defend the wrong half of a truth perceived."
I listen on, despite feeling the cheese is sliding from my old friend's
cracker.
-
- He continues: "To have suffered the slings and arrows
out outrageous fortune by cleaving to perception does not the truth make,
be it right or wrong." Searching for words, Don pauses. "Such
an endeavor is but the frame around a window. I am the fare beyond the
window, that which lies on the merchant's shelf, the spirit in man's heart,
the ideal. Perhaps, you will know this in time." Don extends a hand,
his eyes lighting up. "Would Thou ride with me this night?"
-
- I consider Quixote's offer briefly then decline saying,
"Not tonight, Don, I've a column to write for Jeff Rense." Quixote's
voice explodes exclaiming, "BEHOLD! He does understand! Fare thee
well young-scribe . . . off to battle!"
-
- And with that, my old friend disappeared.
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