Mercy

Once upon a time there was a man whom the people in the village gave a wide berth. They called him the curmudgeon. When children ran past his garden fence, they grew quiet, and when someone greeted him on the street, at most a terse grumble came back. His gaze always looked first for what was crooked, what was noisy, or what might break. What nobody in the village knew: the man did not want to be like that at all. ...

Once upon a time there was a boy in whom a restless fire burned. In the village, nobody knew what to do with him. He ran too fast, he asked too much, he did not fit on any chair. Wherever he went, he met gazes that kept him small. “Sit up straight,” said the teacher’s eyes. “Pull yourself together,” said the neighbours’ eyes. The more strictly they looked, the more wildly the boy’s heart thrashed about. ...