There once was an expert woodworking Faun named Nick who had
set his mind on a particularly challenging project. He had a special pride for
his tribe (for the Fauns in these parts were organized into tribes) and the
small village that they had built. He wanted to build a wooden model of the town
that could be put on display in the village archives. This was to be a
time-consuming project, as he planned on using very delicate wood for his very
detailed plans.
He was excited about the prospect of being able to offer
this gift to his fellow tribesfauns, who he looked upon as his family. He
sacrificed his other work to try to complete the model as soon as possible and
see his town honored. For weeks he toiled long hours, and, finally, he finished
the project after two months of nonstop work. The completed model was about a
square meter in size and had been carved down to the minutest details. No part
of the town had been left out. The benches along the river, the bell of the
local temple, and the blades from the windmill were all marvelously represented
with intricate carvings. It was the greatest work the woodcutter had ever
produced, and it made him happy that he could give it to the people he loved.
He desired to keep it secret until an official unveiling could
be arranged, but he couldn’t resist showing someone. He looked out of his
window and saw a young faun passing by. It was his nearest neighbor, Ian,
dribbling a ball as he walked down the road. He threw open the window and
called him.
“Hey Ian! Come inside for a minute and see my latest work!”
Ian, startled, lost his dribble at the unexpected voice, but
then recovered. He spun his ball on his finger and smiled at Nick.
“You have a new work? I have been wondering what you have
been up to over there. Of course I would love to see it.” He turned up the path,
bouncing his ball as he approached Nick’s front door.
“Be careful with that ball,” Nick said. “This particular
piece is very fragile.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll be careful.”
Nick couldn’t keep a grin off his face as Ian entered his
home. He had created what would be considered one of the finest pieces of
woodwork that any faun had ever produced and someone was about to see it. He
led Ian through the hall to his workshop where the model was on a table in the front
of the room covered by a cloth.
“I’m going to show you, but I want you to be quiet about it.
I want this model to be a gift for the town so that all of our village may be
proud of what we have built here. I’ll save it for just the right time to give
it to the archives.”
“A model,” Ian smiled enthusiastically. “I feel honored to
get a sneak preview. Why do I get such a special privilege?”
“Because you were the one who was passing by,” Nick
chuckled.
“Lucky me, I guess.”
“Well, without further ado,” Nick said as he pulled the
covering off the model. “Voila!”
It was Nick’s absolute joy to watch the eyes of Ian take in
his model. Ian’s countenance lit up with wonder as he gazed upon the miniature
version of his town. His eyes first noticed the city hall standing in the
center, right next to the courthouse. He saw the market area and his favorite
park. He moved closer to inspect further.
“This is magnificent!” Ian said. “How did you manage to be
so detailed?”
“I took several walks around town, to be sure,” Nick said.
“Be careful, this piece is very fragile.”
Ian was perusing through the neighborhoods of the model
searching for his own house. He got very excited when he found it, but
unfortunately this excitement was fatal to him. He jerked up in glee, but then
lost control of his ball. It flew up into the air, directly over the model. His
hands shot out, trying to snag the ball before it could fall and do damage.
This sudden surge, however, betrayed his balance, and he himself fell onto the
model and shattered it to bits.
A despair filled gasp escaped involuntarily from Nick’s
mouth. His eyes searched the broken remains, trying to find some part of his
piece that was salvageable. Ian had destroyed it completely, and his eyes
widely conveyed the knots that were turning in his stomach. The gaiety that had
existed in the room a few short moments before had turned into an oppressing
awkwardness.
“I-I am so sorry,” Ian mumbled, horrified by what he had
done. He wanted to say more, but all the words his mind suggested to him were
deemed inappropriate by his heart. Unfortunately, his heart was also telling
him that the silence that had infected the room was just as inappropriate. It
was one of those awful situations where nothing seemed right.
Nick just stared in disbelief. Finally, his mouth hardened
into a stoic line. “Get out,” he said. Ian didn’t want to chat anymore. He grabbed
his ball and scurried out of the room.
Nick, now alone in the room with his destroyed masterpiece,
was unable to process what had happened. He stood paralyzed in his thoughts,
trying to imagine that what had just occurred hadn’t actually come to pass. The
work, which would have made him a world renowned faun and would have offered
his tribe a degree of fame, was now shattered.
As he left the room and sat down to dinner by himself, he
reflected on what had happened. His stoicism finally gave way to emotion. His
food was untouched as his heart swung like a pendulum between sadness and
anger. One minute he was weeping over his lost piece of art, and the next his
blood was boiling over Ian’s clumsiness. Eventually, the last tear was cried
and he was left in his anger.
Nick, however, was a faun who grew up respecting the great
faun teachings. He believed that the gods had left clear instructions about how
fauns ought to live their lives, and normally he sought to follow these
teachings strictly. In this instance, however, he found that he very much
wanted to disobey the teachings of the gods. It was written that fauns ought to
always forgive others. Nick did not want to forgive Ian. He anger was the only
thing he had to hold on to.
The next morning, however, Nick woke up ashamed of how he
felt but still feeling most comfortable in his anger. To add to this shame, an
unexpected event happened. He heard a knock on his door, and upon opening it,
he saw Ian standing before him.
“May I come in for a minute,” Ian asked, looking at the
doormat.
Nick nodded silently and allowed Ian in. He showed him into
his den. “Can I offer you a tea?”
“No, I will just be here for a minute. I don’t want to
burden you any more than I already have.”
“Alright. What’s this about?”
Staring at Nick’s feet, he started, “When I got home last
night I was very sad. I realized how wrong what I did to you was. You had asked
me to be careful, and not only was I not careful, I was careless. I should’ve
never taken the ball in. You were honoring me and I disrespected you, and a
very sad thing happened. There is absolutely nothing I can do to make this
right. I can’t make you a new model or give you the honor you would have
received from the magnificent work you did. I can’t even afford to reimburse
you for the materials you used. You have every right to hate me forever. “
Ian paused for a few seconds. Nick, being still angry, did
not respond, but allowed the moments that passed to stay charged with tension.
Ian began again. “I have a lot of shame in myself, and this
next part is difficult for me to ask. Part of me feels like I am wrong for even
asking, but I have no choice. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want our friendship
to be broken. And, since there is nothing I can do to make things right, I have
to ask for your forgiveness. I am so, so sorry for what happened. I wronged you
and I need your pardon."
Nick looked at Ian. He was still mad, but very much
appreciated Ian’s humility and courage. On top of this, Nick knew the teachings
of the gods. He knew he had no choice but to forgive him if he was going to be
obedient to their teachings. He felt as if he had been backed in a corner. He couldn’t
deny his anger, but Ian had come to him humbly and confessed the wrongness of
what he had done.
“I forgive you,” he mumbled, and a few moments of silence
passed.
“Of course I forgive you,” he restated, as if he was trying
to convince himself that he had done so.
“We all make mistakes, and yours was a
big one. But I must forgive you, so I will.”
A smile came over Ian’s face and he said, “You are truly a
gracious faun. It seems your character is as good as your woodworking skills.”
Ian got up, and, after exchanging in the customary
pleasantries, left.
Nick stood at the door and watched him walk away. Under his
breath, he mumbled, “I forgive you, but I am not going to forget.”
The next day Ian was in town at the market. He was reaching
for the two reddest tomatoes in the basket and was going to try to trade some
apples from his family’s orchard for them.
“Oh no you don’t!” a voice shouted as he grabbed the
tomatoes.
“Excuse me?” Ian questioned as he loosened his grip on the
tomato.
“We will be conducting no more trades with you,” the vender faun
explained. “Nick told us what you did to his model. That would’ve brought many
new opportunities to our town and would have made Nick famous, and you
destroyed it! You should be thanking the heavens that Nick forgave you! He
didn’t forget though, and neither will we! It’s all your fault! From now on,
we’ll get our apples from elsewhere!”
Ian was hurt by this tirade and wondering how word could’ve
spread so fast. Yet he couldn’t argue with the justice of it. Sadly, he found
similar reactions to him everywhere he went in the market. He returned home that
day with only his apples, which is what his family had to content themselves
with for dinner.
The next day after Ian finished his work in the orchard he
got his ball and went to the park to play. Several of the fauns his age would
meet there to play sports together regularly, and there was always room for
more players. Ian was a particularly athletic faun and always one of the first
to be chosen. On top of this, he had the nicest ball to play with, so he was
always welcomed.
This day, however, Ian met a different attitude when he
arrived at the park.
“What do you think you are doing?” said one faun.
“He can’t be serious! As if we would let him play!” said
another.
“You might as well go home,” added a third. “You are no
longer wanted in our games.”
“What?” responded Ian, confused. “What’s the problem? Did I
do something wrong?”
“Did you do something wrong?” said the first faun
sarcastically. “Nick came to our house yesterday and told us all about what you
did wrong. Good ‘ole Nick never hurt anyone and worked so hard for our village,
and you just wrecked everything!”
“That’s right!” another joined in. “I can’t believe he
forgave you! It’s a good thing he didn’t forget about it so he could tell us.
He may have forgiven you, but we will make you pay for what you did! You won’t
be playing with us anymore.”
“Look,” said another. “That’s the ball that messed up
everything! Get it!”
Another faun ran at Ian and seized the ball from his hands.
He then tossed the ball to another faun, who had a knife. He stabbed the ball
right in front of Ian’s face. “That’s what we think about what you did!”
Ian was distraught and ran all the way back home. While he
was sad, he couldn’t fault the fauns for feeling the way they did.
“At least Nick forgave me,” he thought.
The next day Ian was walking through the town center where
he ran into Nick. He was in a conversation with the village chief.
“Well there is the little culprit now!” the chief said as he
was waving him to approach. “Nick was just telling me all about what you did.”
“Ah,” Ian said, his shame-filled eyes pointed toward the
rocks on the ground. “He told you about that, did he?”
“And a good thing he did!” said the chief. “After all, he
forgave, so he can’t make you pay for your crimes. Now that he has told us,
however, we can make sure you get a just punishment for this!”
Nick then put his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Just know, my
dear faun, that whatever happens, we can still be friends.”
“I am going to discuss this with the elders, and when we
reach a decision on the matter you will know.”
Ian kept his head down and went home. He knew that the
punishment he was going to receive would be severe. He had thought that when
Nick had forgiven him that he would not suffer for the wrong he had done. It
now appeared that he would face all the justice that was due to him. He
concluded that he did not actually know what the word forgiveness meant, as it
did not seem that Nick’s forgiveness actually meant anything at all. Despite
vowing to forgive, he was still spreading the word of his offense all over town
to make sure he paid for his clumsiness.
Later that evening Ian heard a great noise outside his
house. He exited the front door to see a mob of his own tribesfauns assembled
in his yard. They were carrying torches and had the town’s warriors with them.
Standing before them was the chief.
“Ian, the tribe has reached a decision concerning your
case.”
“So I wasn’t forgiven?” Ian responded.
“Your deeds have been forgiven, but not forgotten. We find
ourselves remembering your sin and unable to live with it. As long as we are
remembering what you did, I am afraid you cannot live amongst us. We must ask
you to leave.”
“Then you should stop remembering my offense,” Ian said.
“Isn’t that what you are saying when you promise to forgive?”
“Certainly not!” the chief laughed. “If we stopped
remembering your offense then we wouldn’t be able to make you pay for it or have
cause to be angry. The fact is, Ian, that what you did really infuriates us,
and the only thing that we have in memory of our great work of art is our anger
towards you. We certainly don’t want to give that up. We would rather hold on
to our anger with the memory of your sin than you and a suppression of those
memories. Since this is the case, you can no longer stay here. We cannot be
friends. We cannot live together.”
“What then, does it mean that I have your forgiveness?” Ian
pleaded.
“It means we have said the words, ‘I forgive you,’ to you.”
Ian, dejected, looked at his former friends. They had
promised to remember his sins and be angry about them. Their torches and stern
faces told him he really had to leave, so he packed his things and left. He
left knowing he would never see his friends or his family again. The remembered
sin would always be a cancer in any relationship.
As he walked out of the town, he thought sarcastically:
“Well, at least they forgave me.”
