Once upon a time there lived a widow who had a son called Peter. He was a strong and able boy, but he did not enjoy going to school and he was forever daydreaming.
“Peter, what are you dreaming about this time?” his teacher would often ask him.
“I’m thinking about what I’ll be when I grow up,” was Peter’s common reply.
“Be patient. There’s plenty of time for that. Being grown up isn’t all fun and games, you know,” his teacher would answer.
But Peter found it hard to enjoy whatever he was doing at the moment, and was always hankering after the next thing. In winter, he longed for it to be summer again, and in summer he looked forward to the skating, sledging and warm fires of winter. At school he would long for the day to be over so that he could go home, and on Sunday nights he would sigh, “If only the weekends would last forever!” What Peter enjoyed most was playing with his friend Liese. She was as good a companion as any boy, and no matter how impatient Peter would get with her, she never took offense. “When I grow up, I shall marry Liese,” Peter often thought to himself.
Peter loved to wander through the forest, dreaming of the future. Sometimes he would lay down on the soft forest floor in the warm sun, his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky through the distant treetops. One hot afternoon as he began to grow sleepy, he heard someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and sat up. Standing before him was an old woman. In her hand she held a silver ball, from which dangled a silken golden thread.
“See what I’ve got here, Peter,” she said, offering the ball to him.
“What is it?” he asked curiously, touching the fine golden thread.
“This is your life thread,” the old woman answered. “Do not touch it and time will pass normally. But if you wish time to pass more quickly, you have only to pull the thread and an hour will pass like a second. But I warn you, once the thread has been pulled out, it cannot be pushed back in again. It will disappear like a puff of smoke. The ball is yours for the taking. It is my gift to you. But if you accept it you must tell no one, or on that very day you shall die. Now, pray tell, do you want
it?”
Peter seized the gift from her joyfully. It was just what he wished for. Clutching the silver ball in his hands, he examined it closely. It was light yet solid, made of a single piece. The only flaw in it was the tiny hole from which the bright golden thread hung. He put the ball in his pocket and ran home. Once there, making sure his mother was not at home, he examined it again. The thread seemed to be creeping very slowly out of the ball, so slowly that it was scarcely noticeable to the naked eye. Peter longed to give it a quick tug, but dared not do so. Not yet.
The following day at school, Peter sat daydreaming about what he would do with his magic thread. His teacher scolded him for not concentrating on his schoolwork. If only, Peter thought, it was time to go home. Then he felt the silver ball in his pocket. An idea hit him. If he pulled out a tiny bit of thread, the day would be over. Very carefully he took hold of it and tugged. Suddenly the teacher was telling everyone to pack up their books and to leave the classroom in an orderly fashion. Peter was overjoyed. He ran all the way home. How easy life would be now! All his troubles were over. From that day forth he began to pull the thread, just a little every day.
One day, however, it occurred to Peter that it was stupid to pull the thread just a little each day. If he gave it a harder tug, school would be over altogether. Then he could start learning a trade and marry Liese. So that night he gave the thread a hard pull, and in the morning he awoke to find himself apprenticed to a carpenter in town. He loved his new life, clambering about roofs and scaffolding, lifting and hammering great beams into place that still smelled of the forest. But sometimes, when payday seemed too far off, he gave the thread a little tug and suddenly the week was drawing to a close and it was Friday night and he had money in his pocket.
Liese had also moved into the town and was living with her aunt, who taught her housekeeping. Peter began to grow impatient for the day when they would be married. It was hard to live so near and yet so far from her. He asked her when they could become husband and wife.
“In another year,” she responded. “Then I will have learned how to be a capable wife.”
Peter fingered the silver ball in his pocket.
“Well, the time will pass quickly enough,” he said knowingly.
That night Peter could not sleep. He tossed and turned restlessly. He took the magic ball from under his pillow. For a moment he hesitated; then his impatience got the better of him, and he tugged at the golden thread. In the morning he awoke to find that the year was over and that Liese had at last agreed to marry him. Now Peter felt truly happy.
But before their wedding could take place, Peter received an official-looking letter. He opened it in trepidation and read that he was expected to report at the army barracks the following week for two years’ military service. In despair, he shared the letter with Liese.
“Well,” she replied, “there is nothing we can do about it, we shall just have wait. But the time will pass quickly, you’ll see. Besides, there are so many things to do still in preparation for our life together.”
Peter smiled bravely, knowing that two years would seem a lifetime to him.
Once Peter had settled into life at the barracks, however, he began to feel that it wasn’t so bad after all. He quite enjoyed being with all the other young men, and their duties were not that arduous at first. He remembered the old woman’s warning to use the thread wisely and for a while refrained from pulling it. But in time he grew restless again. Army life now bored him with its routine duties and harsh discipline. He began pulling the thread to make the week go faster so that it would be Sunday again, or to speed up the time until he was due for leave. And so the two years passed almost as if they had been a dream.
Back home, Peter determined not to pull the thread again until it was absolutely necessary. After all, this was the best time of his life, as everyone told him. He did not want it to be over too quickly. He did, however, give the thread one or two very small tugs, just to speed along the day of his marriage. He longed to tell Liese of his secret, but he knew if he did, then, as the old woman had forewarned him, he would surely die.
On the day of his wedding, everyone, including Peter, was happy. He could hardly wait to show Liese the house he had built for her. At the wedding feast Peter glanced over at his mother. He noticed how gray her hair had grown recently. She seemed to be aging so quickly. Peter felt a pang of guilt that he had pulled the thread so often. He promised himself that, henceforth, he would be much more sparing with it and only use it if it was strictly necessary.
A few months later Liese announced she was with child. Peter was overjoyed and could hardly wait. When the baby was born, he felt that he could never want for anything again. But whenever the child was ill or cried through the sleepless night, he would give the thread a little tug, just so the baby might be well and happy again.
Times were hard. Business was bad and a government had come to power that squeezed the people dry with taxes and would tolerate no opposition. Anyone who became known as a troublemaker, or was just rumored to be, would be thrown into prison without a trial. Peter had always been known as someone who spoke his mind and, as such, very soon he was arrested and cast into jail. Luckily he had his magic ball with him and he tugged very hard at the thread. The prison walls dissolved before him and his enemies were scattered in the huge explosion that burst forth like thunder. It was the war that had been threatening, but it was over as quickly as a summer storm, leaving behind an exhausted peace. Peter found himself back home with his family. But now he was a middle-aged man.
For a time things went well and Peter lived in relative contentment. One day he looked at his magic ball and saw to his surprise that the thread had turned from gold to silver. He then looked in the mirror. His hair was beginning to turn gray in a few spots and his face was lined where before there had not been a wrinkle to be seen. He suddenly felt afraid and determined to use the thread even more carefully than before. Liese bore him more children and he seemed happy as the head of his growing household. He kept his magic ball in a well-hidden place, safe from the curious eyes of his children, knowing that if anyone were to discover it, it could be fatal.
As the number of his children grew, so his house became more overcrowded. He would have to add onto it, but for that he needed money. He had other worries too. His mother was looking older and more tired every day. It was of no use to pull the magic thread because that would only hasten her approaching death. All too soon she did die, and as Peter stood at her graveside, he wondered how it was that life passed so quickly, even without pulling the magic thread.
One night as he lay in bed, kept awake by his worries, Peter thought about how much easier things would be if all his children were grown up and were launched upon their own careers in life. He gave the thread a mighty pull, and the following day he awoke to find that all his children had left home for jobs far away in different parts of the country, and that he and Liese were alone. His hair was almost white now and his back and limbs ached when he climbed a ladder or lifted a heavy beam into place. Liese too was getting old and she was often ill. Peter couldn’t bear to see her suffer, so that more and more he resorted to tugging at the magic thread. But as soon as one trouble was solved, another seemed to grow in its place. Perhaps life would be easier if he retired, Peter thought. Then he would no longer have to clamber about on drafty, half-completed buildings and he could look after Liese when she was ill. The trouble was that he didn’t have enough money to live on. He picked up his magic ball and looked at it. To his dismay he saw that the thread was no longer silver but gray and lusterless. He decided to go for a walk in the forest to ponder over these things.
It had been a long time since he had journeyed into this part of the forest. The small saplings he remembered had now grown into tall fir trees, and it was hard to find the path that he had once known so well. Eventually he came to a bench in a clearing. He sat down to rest and fell into a light doze. He was suddenly awakened by the sound of someone calling his name, “Peter! Peter!”
He looked up and saw the old woman he had met so many years ago when she had given him the magic silver ball with its golden thread. She looked just as she had on that day, not a day older. She smiled at him.
“So, Peter, have you had a good life?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Peter replied. “Your magic ball is a wonderful thing. I have never had to suffer or wait for anything in my life. And yet it has all passed so quickly. I feel I have had no time to take in what has happened to me, neither the good things nor the bad. Now there is so little time left. I dare not pull the thread again for it will only bring me closer to my death. In all honesty, I do not think that your gift has actually brought me much luck.”
“How ungrateful you are!” the old woman exclaimed. “In what way would you have wished things to be different?”
“Perhaps if you had given me a different ball, one where I could have pushed the thread back in as well as pulling it out. Then I could have relived the things that went badly.”
The old woman laughed. “You ask a great deal! Do you think that God allows us to live our lives twice over?” Pausing for a moment, the old woman continued, “But I do have it within my power to grant you one final wish, you foolish, demanding man.”
“What is that?” Peter asked.
“Choose yourself,” the old woman said.
Peter thought hard. At length he said, “I should like to live my life again as if for the first time, but without your magic ball. Then I will experience the bad things as well as the good without cutting either short, but then at least my life will not pass as swiftly and meaninglessly as a daydream.”
“So be it,” answered the woman. “Give me back my ball.”
She stretched out her hand and Peter placed the silver ball in it. Then he sat back and closed his eyes with exhaustion.
When he awoke he was in his own bed. His youthful mother was bending over him, shaking him gently.
“Wake up, Peter. You will be late for school. You were sleeping like the dead.”
Peter looked up at his mother in surprise and relief.
“I’ve had a terrible dream, Mother. I dreamed that I was old and sick and that my life had passed like the blinking of an eye with nothing to show for it. Not even any memories.”
Peter’s mother laughed and shook her head.
“That will never happen,” she said. “Memories are the one thing we all have, even when we are old. Now hurry and get dressed. Liese is waiting for you and you will be late for school.”
As Peter walked to school with Liese, he noticed what a bright summer morning it was, the kind of morning when it felt good to be alive. Soon he would see his friends and classmates, and even the prospect of lessons didn’t seem so bad. In fact Peter could hardly wait.
“I think in terms of the day’s resolutions, not the years.” – Henry Moore
Best wishes to all of you for an AWE-full New Year!
William J. “Bill” Bacqué