The King of BIGGER and MORE
by Bob Haverluck
Bob Haverluck is artist-in-residence / coordinator of the Talking Water project at the Mennonite Heritage Centre Gallery, Winnipeg. This is the third year-long project Bob has animated using the arts to help engage issues of ecology (see www.talkingwater.ca). Bob was recently awarded the “McGeachy Senior Scholarship” to write, illustrate, and perform a series of “re-tellings” of biblical narratives that contain ecological firecrackers. The King of Bigger and More is his first tale. His drawings have often appeared in ARTS. He may be contacted at haverluck.bob@gmail.com.
Once in a place not very far from here, there was a powerful king. His name was Nebuchadnezzar. A big name for the king of a big empire.
King Nebuchadnezzar lived in a palace of cedar wood, rosewood, silver and gold. It had a roof garden of rare flowers and trees from Ethiopia to Mongolia. There were peacocks, apes, and a tiger in a cage. From the roof garden, the king would look down over his great city with its tall buildings of business, arenas and cathedral malls. His chest would swell, his lips stretch into a little smile. Then he would look beyond the city, to where once there had been only green forests. But now, there was his forest of factory chimneys, high as heaven, puffing yellow smoke. “That smoke”, said the king “is the color of gold.” “Yes, the color of gold,” repeated the king’s advisors who always stood behind the king.
The land which spread out before him was King Nebuchadnezzar’s pie. And wherever he pointed his finger or stuck in his thumb, he would pull out a plum and say, “Oh what a good king am I.” “Yes, a good king,” echoed the advisors.
Every night, in the palace banquet hall, there were two hundred guests. Always, generals and colonels in uniforms with ribbons and medals. There were men in silk suits, women in satin gowns. None of the poor. No satirical court clown. The king’s thousand wives would serve the guests. The menu included his favourites of hummingbird eggs, scrambled; nose of lamb and dolphin, roasted; butterfly wings coated in icing sugar; bran muffins with walnut shells for roughage. After the meal, everyone would pick their teeth with tooth picks made from the tips of the tallest trees.
Every night as the dinner ended, all would raise their glasses to “His Royal Highness, the Majesty of Management, the Potentate of Parliament,” and all would sing him a lullaby:
Sleep well, O king of everything
King of bigger and more.
You the bell and we
the ring-a-ding-ding.
With the lullaby in his ears, the king would slip into his feather bed and a peaceful sleep. Until—three nights ago. That was when Nebuchadnezzar had his first nightmare. The next night, the same nightmare. And the night after that. Now he was afraid to go to bed.
The words “God is at work when tyrants have bad dreams” kept creeping into his head. “I am no tyrant. I am good news to the nation. Do not my advisors say so?,” protested the king to the night and his trembling hands. “But, ohhh this nightmare needs explaining. Send for the cleverest of the empire.”
In four days’ time, all were gathered in the royal council hall. The brightest and best were there. However, there was also one uninvited stranger. Had he been asked, “Who are you?,” he might have said that he was a grower of cabbages and a kind of poet. Name? Daniel. But nobody asked, as this stranger stood at the back of the great chamber, behind a candle stand with no candle.
“I”, began the king, “shall tell you my nightmare, my alarming dream. And you, the smartest and shiniest spoons in the royal drawer, will tell me what it means.”
“Night after night, I dream of a beautiful green tree. Its great branches reach beyond seeing in every direction: north, south, east, west. High as heaven. Under this tree are humans and creatures of every kind and they are all smiling. There are the sounds of playing, working, singing. Then suddenly, there are no sounds at all. Only an empty and frightening silence. Where there was once a tree, there is only a stump wrapped in an iron band. A prisoner’s shackle. Seeing that, I awake covered in sweat and trembling. Now, tell me, what is the meaning of my dream!?”
The king sat back in this throne and waited. And waited . . . until, angry at the silence, he demanded, “Well?”
Eyeing each other, everyone stood, bowed, and spoke in one voice. “We do not know what your dream means, O Majesty of Management, Mullah of the Markets, O King of More of More. But we do know that it is nothing to be troubled about. For all is perfect in the land and getting better every day.” Then, they all sat down.
After a few minutes of uneasy silence, the uninvited Daniel stepped out from the shadows. The grower of cabbages and a kind of poet slowly walked down the aisle, up past the bodyguards until he stopped in front of the king’s throne. All breathing stopped until everyone gasped as Daniel charged at King Nebuchadnezzar, and threw his arms around the king’s neck, as if the king was a drowning man. Into the king’s ear Daniel whispered, “You are the tree! Your power like branches reaches from one end of the empire to the other. If you show respect and a compassionate justice to the weakest and poorest of the creatures: hummingbirds, dolphins, forests, bees, rivers, sparrows, humans and other animals of every kind and kin, you shall stand tall like a great tree. Under this tree’s boughs, happy lives and well being will abound. But, if you and your little circle continue in your greedy ways, eating up the earth, waters and creatures, taking mountains more than you need, you, Tree, you shall be cut down in shame. . . . So decide your majesty, will you be bad news to the greedy and good news to the needy, or the other way around?”
Daniel let go of the king, gave the king two motherly slaps to the head and turned to the door. Quick as a coyote, Daniel turned back, giving the king’s head one more slap, before walking out of the grand hall. Everyone just stood with mouths open. King Nebuchadnezzar gave himself a shake and shouted “Out. Everyone out! Go, so I may think about what has been said.” And they did and he did.
As the sun was setting, the king finally got up and made his way up the marble staircase. Reaching the roof garden, he took one step out, saying “I shall be a good king, a tall tree standing.” Two steps out, “A good king, a tall tree standing. Three steps out to where he could see the lights of his great city, the heaven high chimneys whose smoke was like gold, the king declared, “Already I am a good king, a king of goods! That is why those around me sing,
Sleep well , O king of everything
O king of bigger and more.
You the bell and we
the ring-a-ding-ding.
So I say, I, King Nebuchadnezzar am the tallest of trees standing.”
At that very moment, as if slipping on a banana peel, his highness lost his balance, stumbled to the left, staggered to the right, and then toppled off the roof. He fell like a tree, chopped down. Down, down, he fell. But, just before he hit the bricks of the palace steps —one hundred ravens, doves, and sparrows set their claws into his britches and bottom and flew up with the terrified king. All through the night, all through the next day, and into the holy dark of the next night flew the hundred birds with their cargo. Finally, they dropped Nebuchadnezzar on to a grassy riverbank in the heart of a forest. “Ooomphhh” was the sound kings made when they hit the ground. Lying there on his back, King Nebuchadnezzar looked up at the stars. He saw the moonshine shine on tree tops, a tree trunk, and a BEAR.
The bear looking down at him said, “Urrrrrhh.” Thinking the bear had said “Sirrrr,” the king murmured with as much bluster as he could, “I am your king, Nebuchadnezzar, King of of Bigger and More.”
“URRRHH,” repeated Bear. “You are the king of bigger and more, bigger and more tears.”
“You,” snarled the surrounding Forest, “are a king of sawblades and sorrows.”
“You,” chirped the Sparrows, “are a beserker among berry bushes.”
“Let’s poke him in the eyes,” hissed a hummingbird.
“Let’s bite him!,” quacked the Ducks, who had seen many rivers the king and his great projects had turned from sweet to sick.
“Let’s whack him and whack him!” said the Fish with big tails. “Let’s lick him!,” croaked the Frogs. “All over!”
“You frogs are disgusting,” said the toads.
“There is nothing to discuss! Lick him!,” frogs replied.
“Wait!” insisted the River Turtle, who was older than Moses. “The situation is urgent. We must go slowly! Let’s leave this arrogant king to sit here alone … in stillness, until he knows that he is not God. Perhaps, his eyes will see. Perhaps, his ears will learn to hear.”
“Perhaps his nose will run and his bum will trot,” growled bear.
“Perhaps,” said Turtle. “But maybe, his hard heart will soften. His heart of stone will, against all odds, become a heart of flesh. Is not the God of the heavens and earth a God who softens and stretches hearts?”
“A cruel stretcher of hearts,” smiled Wolf, as a deer calf rested in the shade of his shoulder.
“Let us leave him awhile,” said Turtle to the agreement of all. Even the grass and trees turned themselves away from the king.
“Stop! Do not leave me!,” pleaded the king as they all left and loneliness arrived.
Confused, Nebuchadnezzar flopped down on to the grass by the river’s edge and began to cry. He cried, as loneliness swept over him.
Then the king wept because he was afraid to be in a world not of his making or his managing . . . nor to his understanding. He sobbed and sobbed, the King of Bigger and More, the Majesty of Management. He only stopped crying long enough to lick the dew off the grass so that he had water enough to make more tears. After weeping all night and all the next day, the king had cried out some of his loneliness . . . some of his fear . . . some of his arrogance. Now, as his tears flowed, his fisted heart began to open a little. And his eyes opened a little.
And his face that leaned just over the river bank, ran with tears which streamed into the water. Suddenly, little fishes swam up those tears, up into his eyes, into his head. And began to swim around in there, joined by some trout, a frog, an otter and . . . . The king began to think, “The flowing brightness of these lovely ones is more beautiful than gold.”
Quick as a minnow’s flash, a song sparrow flew into the king’s ear. Two, three, four singing song sparrows flew into his head and down into his heart. And with them, they brought the morning air and the sky that wraps the earth. “This airy music is much lovelier than a lullaby at bedtime,” declared the king.
Hearing all the music, the king was unable not to dance. He danced up and down the shore of the river. Until he became dizzy, and fell in. Then, he danced under the water as he sank down. As he danced under the water, Nebuchadnezzar reached out to a root of a great tree. It grabbed him. Took hold with its wondrous water-sucking roots, and it sucked the king right into itself. He found himself in a river, which runs under the bark of every tree. Up, up, he was sucked and drawn, until he was pulled into a large branch. Then into a stem. Then into a leaf. Then tossed from the leafy fountain that is every tree’s crown. Tossed was the king into the catching air, until he was caught no longer. Down dropped the king, bouncing from one branch to another and another . . . sliding down the last green hill onto a big bed of green moss with tiny red flowers. “That was bee-utie-full , bee-utie-full,” whispered the king in a kind of prayer.
These attacks of beauty overwhelmed the king’s defenses, and again he began to weep. For two more days and nights, he cried. Cried out from regions of his heart whose geography he had never visited. As quickly as he was given a sense of the beauty and goodness of the singing air and living waters, he was given tears of remorse. Tears for his share in the destruction of the Forests. Tears for his part in the poisoning of Rivers and . . . it was at that moment, he began to hear others crying. He heard sad singing in the air. Sad songs in the water. The sorrowful sounds of the Trees, of the Earth. “Why must I hear these crying tears?”
“Tears . . .,” piped Turtle, who, along with the others, was never very far away. “Tears are for you to swim in for a little while. Some things can only be discovered through tears. The tears of others, no less than our own. Tears have their own wisdom. And tears, like rivers, not only separate but can join together. Have they not joined you to your kin, whom you have forgotten?”
“Yes, . . . tears have joined me to my kin, whom I’ve long denied,” realized the king. Immediately came a mysterious invasion of laughter. King Nebuchadnezzar began to laugh—with a new laugh. It sounded like water, water tumbling over river stones, growing into the sound of a waterfall.
“The king laughed his new laugh for as long as he had cried. For three days and nights, he laughed. He only stopped long enough to drink fresh water from River, so that he could laugh some more. To get River’s water, King Nebuchadnezzar, again and again, knelt on the shore, and held out his cupped hands in the form of a begging bowl.
On the first day of laughter, because laughter like misery loves company, he tried nestling in with Bear. But Bear was not yet ready to trust the king. However, the Crows with growing confidence that the king’s heart was turning in a new direction had already decided on a new name, “Little Neba.”
On the second day of laughter, some of the other creatures grew forgiving. And in that universal gesture of friendship-mending among frogs, toads, humans and others, they warmed their wet cold feet on the king’s belly.
On the third day of laughter, River, Forest, Plants, Insects, Animals had a heated debate: “Be it resolved that the king is now ready to attend a Parliament of the Creatures.” The debate hinged on whether “Neba” had been sufficiently debauched by the divine comedy. “Has he been given the holy laughter that corrupts the purity of arrogance?,” asked the Red Willows on the riverbank. “Has he laughed long enough with the bellylaughter of delight to pervert the course of his ingratitude?,”asked Moose, who has a nose like a bun. The debate ended with Turtle’s question, “Do not most of us believe that the king now has within him the laughter of the bowl that gently holds all, even the laughter of the knife that wisely cuts?” Then all nodded agreement to the River’s motion. “Be it resolved and enacted that the king be invited to be part of the Parliament of the Creatures.”
And so the king joined the others on the shoreline of River where the citizens of Water, Earth, Wood and fiery Air meet. For many days they brooded together over matters great and small. Only on the last day did the king feel ready to speak. “Until these last days, like many others I have been one who hears better with his rear than with his ears. Now may I be a king of big ears. I shall continue to listen and learn from all of you good citizens. No longer shall I seek the applause of the rich and powerful. Let my joy be the mountains and hills bursting into songs, and the trees clapping their hands. For then all the children yet to come shall surely be fat with milk and glad with honey.“
“May it be so,” said the Hummingbirds and everyone else.
“Come, Neba, tomorrow you shall be returned to your palace, and you must rest,” said a tall Spruce Tree.
Tired, the king lay down beneath that tree. As the winds began to tug at the tree top, the tree swayed back and forth, and the tree’s bed of roots moved up and down, up and down, rocking the king to sleep.
When he awoke, all were there. The king, stretching out his arms and legs, yawned. ”I slept like a baby.”
“Do you mean, you peed your bed and burped up your dinner?,” asked Duck.
“No, I mean, I have been given to feel like a new man. A new king.”
“Tell me, Bear,” asked Turtle, “Does not a new king need a new crown?”
“Not a crown that sets him high above others. But a crown to put him in mind of other creatures. Even humans,” replied Bear.
“Not a crown, to sit on him, but in him,” said Mourning Dove.
“Yeah,” said Raven, with the look of good mischief in his eye.
At that moment, the Bees arrived. The Bees were covered with pollen from Dandelions of the Meadows, from Lilies of the Waters, from Forest Blueberries. The Bees swarmed around the king’s head. As quickly as they appeared, they disappeared into the king’s ears, eyes, nose and mouth. In went the Bees, buzzing past his tonsils, buzzing into his heart and buzzing up into his brain. They buzzed round and round in golden circles, making the shape of a crown.
“There,” said Raven. “Perhaps, king Neba is ready to return.”
“Perhaps,” said the Trees, Turtle, and River, as one hundred Sparrows, Doves, and Ravens landed on the king’s britches and bottom and carried him back to the roof of his palace.
Some say that when King Nebuchadnezzar returned, he became a good king for all the creatures and the earth. Before long, the people who wanted more and more sensed that there was something new in the land. Maybe it was because when they met with the king, it was now in his new little house where forests of trees were replacing much of the forest of chimneys. Maybe it was because they now had to fight hard not to stare at the king’s face when a Bee would suddenly appear on the king’s lip or cheek in the middle of a conversation. And then, just as suddenly disappear into his nose, eyes or very big ears.
The storyteller Daniel says that Nebuchadnezzar remained a good king until he died. The poet Isaiah says he didn’t. Some storytellers say that King Nebuchadnezzar is still alive, living in his palace with a roof garden, and hasn’t even fallen off the roof. Yet.
Bob Haverluck is artist-in-residence / coordinator of the Talking Water project at the Mennonite Heritage Centre Gallery, Winnipeg. This is the third year-long project Bob has animated using the arts to help engage issues of ecology (see www.talkingwater.ca). Bob was recently awarded the “McGeachy Senior Scholarship” to write, illustrate, and perform a series of “re-tellings” of biblical narratives that contain ecological firecrackers. The King of Bigger and More is his first tale. His drawings have often appeared in ARTS. He may be contacted at haverluck.bob@gmail.com.
Once in a place not very far from here, there was a powerful king. His name was Nebuchadnezzar. A big name for the king of a big empire.
King Nebuchadnezzar lived in a palace of cedar wood, rosewood, silver and gold. It had a roof garden of rare flowers and trees from Ethiopia to Mongolia. There were peacocks, apes, and a tiger in a cage. From the roof garden, the king would look down over his great city with its tall buildings of business, arenas and cathedral malls. His chest would swell, his lips stretch into a little smile. Then he would look beyond the city, to where once there had been only green forests. But now, there was his forest of factory chimneys, high as heaven, puffing yellow smoke. “That smoke”, said the king “is the color of gold.” “Yes, the color of gold,” repeated the king’s advisors who always stood behind the king.
The land which spread out before him was King Nebuchadnezzar’s pie. And wherever he pointed his finger or stuck in his thumb, he would pull out a plum and say, “Oh what a good king am I.” “Yes, a good king,” echoed the advisors.
Every night, in the palace banquet hall, there were two hundred guests. Always, generals and colonels in uniforms with ribbons and medals. There were men in silk suits, women in satin gowns. None of the poor. No satirical court clown. The king’s thousand wives would serve the guests. The menu included his favourites of hummingbird eggs, scrambled; nose of lamb and dolphin, roasted; butterfly wings coated in icing sugar; bran muffins with walnut shells for roughage. After the meal, everyone would pick their teeth with tooth picks made from the tips of the tallest trees.
Every night as the dinner ended, all would raise their glasses to “His Royal Highness, the Majesty of Management, the Potentate of Parliament,” and all would sing him a lullaby:
Sleep well, O king of everything
King of bigger and more.
You the bell and we
the ring-a-ding-ding.
With the lullaby in his ears, the king would slip into his feather bed and a peaceful sleep. Until—three nights ago. That was when Nebuchadnezzar had his first nightmare. The next night, the same nightmare. And the night after that. Now he was afraid to go to bed.
The words “God is at work when tyrants have bad dreams” kept creeping into his head. “I am no tyrant. I am good news to the nation. Do not my advisors say so?,” protested the king to the night and his trembling hands. “But, ohhh this nightmare needs explaining. Send for the cleverest of the empire.”
In four days’ time, all were gathered in the royal council hall. The brightest and best were there. However, there was also one uninvited stranger. Had he been asked, “Who are you?,” he might have said that he was a grower of cabbages and a kind of poet. Name? Daniel. But nobody asked, as this stranger stood at the back of the great chamber, behind a candle stand with no candle.
“I”, began the king, “shall tell you my nightmare, my alarming dream. And you, the smartest and shiniest spoons in the royal drawer, will tell me what it means.”
“Night after night, I dream of a beautiful green tree. Its great branches reach beyond seeing in every direction: north, south, east, west. High as heaven. Under this tree are humans and creatures of every kind and they are all smiling. There are the sounds of playing, working, singing. Then suddenly, there are no sounds at all. Only an empty and frightening silence. Where there was once a tree, there is only a stump wrapped in an iron band. A prisoner’s shackle. Seeing that, I awake covered in sweat and trembling. Now, tell me, what is the meaning of my dream!?”
The king sat back in this throne and waited. And waited . . . until, angry at the silence, he demanded, “Well?”
Eyeing each other, everyone stood, bowed, and spoke in one voice. “We do not know what your dream means, O Majesty of Management, Mullah of the Markets, O King of More of More. But we do know that it is nothing to be troubled about. For all is perfect in the land and getting better every day.” Then, they all sat down.
After a few minutes of uneasy silence, the uninvited Daniel stepped out from the shadows. The grower of cabbages and a kind of poet slowly walked down the aisle, up past the bodyguards until he stopped in front of the king’s throne. All breathing stopped until everyone gasped as Daniel charged at King Nebuchadnezzar, and threw his arms around the king’s neck, as if the king was a drowning man. Into the king’s ear Daniel whispered, “You are the tree! Your power like branches reaches from one end of the empire to the other. If you show respect and a compassionate justice to the weakest and poorest of the creatures: hummingbirds, dolphins, forests, bees, rivers, sparrows, humans and other animals of every kind and kin, you shall stand tall like a great tree. Under this tree’s boughs, happy lives and well being will abound. But, if you and your little circle continue in your greedy ways, eating up the earth, waters and creatures, taking mountains more than you need, you, Tree, you shall be cut down in shame. . . . So decide your majesty, will you be bad news to the greedy and good news to the needy, or the other way around?”
Daniel let go of the king, gave the king two motherly slaps to the head and turned to the door. Quick as a coyote, Daniel turned back, giving the king’s head one more slap, before walking out of the grand hall. Everyone just stood with mouths open. King Nebuchadnezzar gave himself a shake and shouted “Out. Everyone out! Go, so I may think about what has been said.” And they did and he did.
As the sun was setting, the king finally got up and made his way up the marble staircase. Reaching the roof garden, he took one step out, saying “I shall be a good king, a tall tree standing.” Two steps out, “A good king, a tall tree standing. Three steps out to where he could see the lights of his great city, the heaven high chimneys whose smoke was like gold, the king declared, “Already I am a good king, a king of goods! That is why those around me sing,
Sleep well , O king of everything
O king of bigger and more.
You the bell and we
the ring-a-ding-ding.
So I say, I, King Nebuchadnezzar am the tallest of trees standing.”
At that very moment, as if slipping on a banana peel, his highness lost his balance, stumbled to the left, staggered to the right, and then toppled off the roof. He fell like a tree, chopped down. Down, down, he fell. But, just before he hit the bricks of the palace steps —one hundred ravens, doves, and sparrows set their claws into his britches and bottom and flew up with the terrified king. All through the night, all through the next day, and into the holy dark of the next night flew the hundred birds with their cargo. Finally, they dropped Nebuchadnezzar on to a grassy riverbank in the heart of a forest. “Ooomphhh” was the sound kings made when they hit the ground. Lying there on his back, King Nebuchadnezzar looked up at the stars. He saw the moonshine shine on tree tops, a tree trunk, and a BEAR.
The bear looking down at him said, “Urrrrrhh.” Thinking the bear had said “Sirrrr,” the king murmured with as much bluster as he could, “I am your king, Nebuchadnezzar, King of of Bigger and More.”
“URRRHH,” repeated Bear. “You are the king of bigger and more, bigger and more tears.”
“You,” snarled the surrounding Forest, “are a king of sawblades and sorrows.”
“You,” chirped the Sparrows, “are a beserker among berry bushes.”
“Let’s poke him in the eyes,” hissed a hummingbird.
“Let’s bite him!,” quacked the Ducks, who had seen many rivers the king and his great projects had turned from sweet to sick.
“Let’s whack him and whack him!” said the Fish with big tails. “Let’s lick him!,” croaked the Frogs. “All over!”
“You frogs are disgusting,” said the toads.
“There is nothing to discuss! Lick him!,” frogs replied.
“Wait!” insisted the River Turtle, who was older than Moses. “The situation is urgent. We must go slowly! Let’s leave this arrogant king to sit here alone … in stillness, until he knows that he is not God. Perhaps, his eyes will see. Perhaps, his ears will learn to hear.”
“Perhaps his nose will run and his bum will trot,” growled bear.
“Perhaps,” said Turtle. “But maybe, his hard heart will soften. His heart of stone will, against all odds, become a heart of flesh. Is not the God of the heavens and earth a God who softens and stretches hearts?”
“A cruel stretcher of hearts,” smiled Wolf, as a deer calf rested in the shade of his shoulder.
“Let us leave him awhile,” said Turtle to the agreement of all. Even the grass and trees turned themselves away from the king.
“Stop! Do not leave me!,” pleaded the king as they all left and loneliness arrived.
Confused, Nebuchadnezzar flopped down on to the grass by the river’s edge and began to cry. He cried, as loneliness swept over him.
Then the king wept because he was afraid to be in a world not of his making or his managing . . . nor to his understanding. He sobbed and sobbed, the King of Bigger and More, the Majesty of Management. He only stopped crying long enough to lick the dew off the grass so that he had water enough to make more tears. After weeping all night and all the next day, the king had cried out some of his loneliness . . . some of his fear . . . some of his arrogance. Now, as his tears flowed, his fisted heart began to open a little. And his eyes opened a little.
And his face that leaned just over the river bank, ran with tears which streamed into the water. Suddenly, little fishes swam up those tears, up into his eyes, into his head. And began to swim around in there, joined by some trout, a frog, an otter and . . . . The king began to think, “The flowing brightness of these lovely ones is more beautiful than gold.”
Quick as a minnow’s flash, a song sparrow flew into the king’s ear. Two, three, four singing song sparrows flew into his head and down into his heart. And with them, they brought the morning air and the sky that wraps the earth. “This airy music is much lovelier than a lullaby at bedtime,” declared the king.
Hearing all the music, the king was unable not to dance. He danced up and down the shore of the river. Until he became dizzy, and fell in. Then, he danced under the water as he sank down. As he danced under the water, Nebuchadnezzar reached out to a root of a great tree. It grabbed him. Took hold with its wondrous water-sucking roots, and it sucked the king right into itself. He found himself in a river, which runs under the bark of every tree. Up, up, he was sucked and drawn, until he was pulled into a large branch. Then into a stem. Then into a leaf. Then tossed from the leafy fountain that is every tree’s crown. Tossed was the king into the catching air, until he was caught no longer. Down dropped the king, bouncing from one branch to another and another . . . sliding down the last green hill onto a big bed of green moss with tiny red flowers. “That was bee-utie-full , bee-utie-full,” whispered the king in a kind of prayer.
These attacks of beauty overwhelmed the king’s defenses, and again he began to weep. For two more days and nights, he cried. Cried out from regions of his heart whose geography he had never visited. As quickly as he was given a sense of the beauty and goodness of the singing air and living waters, he was given tears of remorse. Tears for his share in the destruction of the Forests. Tears for his part in the poisoning of Rivers and . . . it was at that moment, he began to hear others crying. He heard sad singing in the air. Sad songs in the water. The sorrowful sounds of the Trees, of the Earth. “Why must I hear these crying tears?”
“Tears . . .,” piped Turtle, who, along with the others, was never very far away. “Tears are for you to swim in for a little while. Some things can only be discovered through tears. The tears of others, no less than our own. Tears have their own wisdom. And tears, like rivers, not only separate but can join together. Have they not joined you to your kin, whom you have forgotten?”
“Yes, . . . tears have joined me to my kin, whom I’ve long denied,” realized the king. Immediately came a mysterious invasion of laughter. King Nebuchadnezzar began to laugh—with a new laugh. It sounded like water, water tumbling over river stones, growing into the sound of a waterfall.
“The king laughed his new laugh for as long as he had cried. For three days and nights, he laughed. He only stopped long enough to drink fresh water from River, so that he could laugh some more. To get River’s water, King Nebuchadnezzar, again and again, knelt on the shore, and held out his cupped hands in the form of a begging bowl.
On the first day of laughter, because laughter like misery loves company, he tried nestling in with Bear. But Bear was not yet ready to trust the king. However, the Crows with growing confidence that the king’s heart was turning in a new direction had already decided on a new name, “Little Neba.”
On the second day of laughter, some of the other creatures grew forgiving. And in that universal gesture of friendship-mending among frogs, toads, humans and others, they warmed their wet cold feet on the king’s belly.
On the third day of laughter, River, Forest, Plants, Insects, Animals had a heated debate: “Be it resolved that the king is now ready to attend a Parliament of the Creatures.” The debate hinged on whether “Neba” had been sufficiently debauched by the divine comedy. “Has he been given the holy laughter that corrupts the purity of arrogance?,” asked the Red Willows on the riverbank. “Has he laughed long enough with the bellylaughter of delight to pervert the course of his ingratitude?,”asked Moose, who has a nose like a bun. The debate ended with Turtle’s question, “Do not most of us believe that the king now has within him the laughter of the bowl that gently holds all, even the laughter of the knife that wisely cuts?” Then all nodded agreement to the River’s motion. “Be it resolved and enacted that the king be invited to be part of the Parliament of the Creatures.”
And so the king joined the others on the shoreline of River where the citizens of Water, Earth, Wood and fiery Air meet. For many days they brooded together over matters great and small. Only on the last day did the king feel ready to speak. “Until these last days, like many others I have been one who hears better with his rear than with his ears. Now may I be a king of big ears. I shall continue to listen and learn from all of you good citizens. No longer shall I seek the applause of the rich and powerful. Let my joy be the mountains and hills bursting into songs, and the trees clapping their hands. For then all the children yet to come shall surely be fat with milk and glad with honey.“
“May it be so,” said the Hummingbirds and everyone else.
“Come, Neba, tomorrow you shall be returned to your palace, and you must rest,” said a tall Spruce Tree.
Tired, the king lay down beneath that tree. As the winds began to tug at the tree top, the tree swayed back and forth, and the tree’s bed of roots moved up and down, up and down, rocking the king to sleep.
When he awoke, all were there. The king, stretching out his arms and legs, yawned. ”I slept like a baby.”
“Do you mean, you peed your bed and burped up your dinner?,” asked Duck.
“No, I mean, I have been given to feel like a new man. A new king.”
“Tell me, Bear,” asked Turtle, “Does not a new king need a new crown?”
“Not a crown that sets him high above others. But a crown to put him in mind of other creatures. Even humans,” replied Bear.
“Not a crown, to sit on him, but in him,” said Mourning Dove.
“Yeah,” said Raven, with the look of good mischief in his eye.
At that moment, the Bees arrived. The Bees were covered with pollen from Dandelions of the Meadows, from Lilies of the Waters, from Forest Blueberries. The Bees swarmed around the king’s head. As quickly as they appeared, they disappeared into the king’s ears, eyes, nose and mouth. In went the Bees, buzzing past his tonsils, buzzing into his heart and buzzing up into his brain. They buzzed round and round in golden circles, making the shape of a crown.
“There,” said Raven. “Perhaps, king Neba is ready to return.”
“Perhaps,” said the Trees, Turtle, and River, as one hundred Sparrows, Doves, and Ravens landed on the king’s britches and bottom and carried him back to the roof of his palace.
Some say that when King Nebuchadnezzar returned, he became a good king for all the creatures and the earth. Before long, the people who wanted more and more sensed that there was something new in the land. Maybe it was because when they met with the king, it was now in his new little house where forests of trees were replacing much of the forest of chimneys. Maybe it was because they now had to fight hard not to stare at the king’s face when a Bee would suddenly appear on the king’s lip or cheek in the middle of a conversation. And then, just as suddenly disappear into his nose, eyes or very big ears.
The storyteller Daniel says that Nebuchadnezzar remained a good king until he died. The poet Isaiah says he didn’t. Some storytellers say that King Nebuchadnezzar is still alive, living in his palace with a roof garden, and hasn’t even fallen off the roof. Yet.
