The Troupe

One winter day, a childless wheat farmer and his wife stood under a pear tree near their farm on the side of a large travel worn road, exhausted. They were tired of labour and wished to enjoy what life they had left.

“Let’s never work again,” said the wife.

“Yes, lets.”

They threw down their tools beneath the tree and began to dance. Travellers passing by would stop to watch them, entertained, enchanted, and confused.

Why are they dancing?

I don’t know but they look happy!

Who would begrudge them their joy? Drunk, the two spouses twirled. Their dances were both common and bizarre, their silent song nothing anybody else could discern. Only when the sun set, and they could dance no more, did they rest beneath the tree. And time continued to pass.

The next day, the two danced, carefree and with their eyes glued to one another. Between them, flowers bloomed, and it never rained – the world never soured. Meanwhile, spectators were buoyed by the show. The village baker left them two breads for when they needed to eat. And when their shoes began to wear away, the cobbler made them new shoes. And when their bones began to ache and their feet began to bleed, the doctor came to tend to them in the dark of night when they rested at last. Thinking the couple were entertainers, traveling strangers parted with their hard-earned coin.

By the following week, the couple reached a new high. Their figures grew lighter, their shoes more worn and their pain hardly felt. They glided in the shade, their twirls and pirouettes sparkled through the air. Children began to mimic their movements, each taking turns to be either the farmer or his wife. They shrieked, and they frolicked with the two fools, their feet tripping over themselves.

And the girls wished to support the wonderful beauty of the couple.

Mother, can I please have some coin to leave under the tree?

Soon after, the baker came to them under the tree. Only he wept and did not dance, for he lacked wheat to bake into bread and his family had left him for greener pastures. Now the children did not dare come too close to the performers under the tree.

Don’t look, don’t worry, the parents quieted them.

A few more days passed before the baker joined the troupe under the pear tree. And soon after, so did the doctor. The couple danced but the baker, the cobbler and the doctor wept. Fewer and fewer travellers stopped in town for food and shoes.

A month later, the group looked more and more bedraggled. They were gaunt, unbalanced, and hollow-eyed. No fellow neighbour could coax them from the pit they had fallen into within themselves. Even the couple had given up their dancing as their belly curved inwards to touch their spine and their feet swelled from pain and infection. Now, spectators gave their coin in charity and not amusement.

One day, a young boy, a known trouble maker from the small town, cut his bare feet climbing over a neglected fence lining the wheat fields. Soon, the boy fell into a fever and died.

An air of dissatisfaction soon arose within town, growing more and more contentious. The townspeople had no more use for the outcasts under the tree. Slowly but surely, two battlegrounds began to form.

The arguments continued for another week and new travelled to surrounding towns that a rage-filled mayhem had set in around the pear tree. And it had ensnared every person on the road and living in that town. Some of the townspeople were unsure of what to do with the offenders. Others believed they had committed a crime against the town and should be tried and published publicly, as was right. Others thought they should be run out of town and take their misfortune elsewhere before they could curse them further. More still thought they were mad and should be disposed of accordingly. Conversation grew fraught. The neighbourhood continued to draw lines where there were none before, between opposing opinions and opposing people. Soon, they were the same thing.

At the start of the next month, all five sitting under the tree had died of wounds, hunger, cold and broken spirits. And so too did anyone who remained in the town.