Piper Square - Chapter 4 - Sophist Joe

Pied Piper - Art by Jake Hair

“In my youth I was known for catching sharpened blades between my teeth,” began the old man with the one white eye.

Across from was a the twenty two year old college dropout who has become accustomed to extracting wisdom from the old man’s mutterings. Their relationship having begun a few months before over a game of chess.

The haggard figure was called Sophist Joe; though no one knew his real name. From the first day the park had opened he was a permanent fixture; every day except Sunday, from mid-morning to mid-afternoon, always below the shadow of the Pied Piper.

“This place was called Pepper Station back then. Over there,” he pointed to the eastern corner “...was the station platform. My friend and I would perform there, tossing knives back and forth, letting people drop loose change and bills into our hats, our pocket money to impress the ladies.”

As the shadow moved along the air began to heat around Sophist Joe and a coughing fit ensued.

“Fear was a foreign concept to me at the time, you see, which is why for our finale, one last knife would get tossed high in the air, and I would dive to the ground, just barely catching it before it struck the ground. Then I would rise, a long silver smile across my face, to the sound of a thousand applause.”

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Sophist Joe gently dabbed the water that had pooled under his dead white eye.

“One day my partner went missing so I did the show alone; juggling knives, drinking in the oohs and ahhs, the the sound of money piling higher feeding my overconfidence. And so encouraged, I launched a knife high into the air, dove as I always did, only to feel it cut straight through the cheek and wedge into the jawbone.”

His hand ran gently across his right cheek, over scar hidden behind his tangled white beard.

“I was in the hospital a week when my girl came to see me. I yearned for her touch, to hold my hand, to console and love me. And as she stepped into the room, I felt relief, as though her presence had dulled my pains. She came close and took hold of my hand as she studied the wound upon my face, taking her time to let it all sink in.

“A moment passed before I saw the disgust on her face. ‘If only you had died,’ she said ‘rather than live as a monster.’ I began to respond, forcing stitch after stitch to rip out as I told her I loved her. The depth of my love was too much, forcing her to flee, and upon her departure returning the pain she had taken away, causing me to black out.”

A tear slipped from his good left eye, losing itself in the forest of his bear.

“Once healed, I grew this beard to mask my scar, though it did so poorly. The nerve was severed, you see. So even though they managed to sew me up, my face had frozen and sagged. My eye no longer blinked, forcing me to learn how to sleep while staring into the darkness.

“Slowly my unblinking eye turned white; eventually dying. Yet I could still see, only now I saw the world as it is, not as we want it to be. Dead things cannot lie, you see. And the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. The past unraveled, the future’s fog gone. They call me confused and mock me like some befuddled old man. But I know...”

Sophist Joe began to rise from his seat, the young man standing quickly to aid him. Grabbing a hold of his arm, Sophist Joe steadied himself then took a long look in the direction of the Piper' statue.

“I know that we are all punished eventually, you see. Guilty with or without knowing the cause. Your punishment is coming soon, young man. I see it. I see the ghost of your past looming as clearly as you see the day.”

Something imperceptible caught Joe’s attention and he ceased to speak. The young man believing the story was done began to leave, his heart skipping a beat when Sophist Joe grabbed him strongly on by shoulder and pulled in close, forcing him to peer into that dead eye.

“Learn to fear,” he said “or prepare to forever carry the scar of your hubris.”