Who remembers the parable of the man in the garden of peace with a triton in one hand and an apple in the other? For me it’s easy to remember, even though my family was never especially devout. I didn’t so much hear about it in church or Monday school as see it, as an adult, depicted in the beautiful stained glass window of the religiously run preschool across the street from my apartment building.
For those of you who don’t have a stained glass window staring at you every hour of the day, the parable goes something like this. In the garden of peace lived a man who had everything he needed. He had plenty sustenance in the form of a small plot of land and a nearby river. For the river, he had crafted a triton with which to fish when his diet of vegetables no longer pleased him.
That’s the whole story. At least, that’s what I thought until I moved in across from the window. In the stained glass depiction facing my kitchen, there are two beautiful women standing on either side of the man, one with her hand on the triton, just above his, the other whispering in his ear and with her hand on the wrist by the apple. And on the man’s chest there’s a small cut running right between his pecs. I asked the preschool’s owner and she told me the extended version of the parable, the version they don’t tell casual practitioners.
See, in the down and dirty version, the man was, at first, perfectly content. In addition to his triton and farm, he had two wives. One was a master fisherwoman and the other a simply kick-ass farmer. (Here I might have paraphrased the religious text.) But, because his wives were so competent, the content man began to long for something more in his life. With one hand already with his first wife in the river and the second tied up with the second wife on the farm, a third arm blossomed from the center of his chest. (Yeah, like in Daytona’s Mutant, Freak. Apparently the twelfth century’s best selling pulp fiction author was a religious nut in his spare time. And an alcoholic slut, but that’s another story.)
Unlike in Mutant, Freak, the biblical man’s third arm kills him. The moral is supposed to be something like, “be glad for what you have, and be faithful to those around you; don’t go looking for something more self-fulfilling than family and a decent career.” Which is slightly creepier than the moral of the abridged version, which as explained to me by my hometown’s priest is “draw from the strength of what you already possess, and use your new energy to reach out further in the world.”
At this point, I’m sure you have two questions: one, what is the creepy version doing up on the front of a preschool’s building, and two, what does all of this have to do with anything my column regularly deals with?
In answer to the first, I don’t know, but good spirits above, am I glad my parents aren’t that religious. In answer to the second, as the title hints, County Director Meirston could use another look through his moral book before he continues his current fling with restaurateur Venora Lanne. I mean, the guy’s already got two wives and is supposedly running our county. If he were in the bible, he’d be dying of his body trying to support extra weight right now.
And this isn’t even so much about him possibly getting a third wife. I know some people out there are freaked out about the recent third spouse outbreak among our celebrities and politicians. Personally, I have no problem with someone having three spouses. I mean, have you ever heard Aliva Montayra interviewed about her situation? According to my favorite actress, her first husband is someone she can always rely on, and talk to about what’s going on in her life; her wife is where all the excitement and passion is, and as a companion when she needs a thrill; and her second, more recent husband is someone she can really share her artistic side with. Aliva’s way of putting it is that she doesn’t understand why she should settle for two soul mates just because it’s more “traditional.” She says she has more facets in her personality than tradition allows for, and she’s not going to apologize for that.
But even supposing that’s why Meirston is going for a third wife, I’m pissed. You know why? Because my water still only works half the time. Because there were more cutbacks at work again this week, and I am now not allowed to hire an assistant to replace the one who’s on permanent maternity leave (hi, Tirrie! Good luck with the new baby, love). Because everyway you look at it, this county’s going down hill. And whose responsibility is it to fix that? Galla Meirston, that’s who.
The reason I mentioned the parable of the third arm is because I feel Meirston really is reaching beyond his limits. Hell, I thought he was reaching beyond his limits when he ran for Director in the middle of his second wedding plans. The guy just doesn’t know how to handle one task at a time, and if the drought and economy are any implication, he’s a terrible multitasker.
So here’s my bottom line: no offense to Venora Lanne, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl and all, but she’s not worth jeopardizing our entire county over. Meirston has to wake up and smell the responsibility. If he goes for Lanne, he’s gonna drop the ball even more than he already has. And I don’t think it’s selfish or presumptuous of me to want a say in my Director’s personal life. After all, he’s in charge of my county. That means if he screws up, I pay the price. And seeing as this paper is local, all of you pay the price too.
