Waldemar and the Wandering Crown

More about Waldemar and the Wandering Crown

The morning smelled of rain and young wood as Waldemar descended the path to the village, his backpack pushing gently against his back like a companion keeping pace, and his red hat caught the slanting light as if gathering it like berries for later. In the square, charcoal burners, market women, and children crowded around a circle of sparks, in the center of which lay a crown, as if it carried its own weather. Before Waldemar could ask, it leaped like a shy animal, landing one after the other on the heads of the strongest and stillest, lingering for the briefest breath of a breath, and hopping on until it made a glittering arc over the ring and landed on Waldemar's hat—so light that the felt barely gave way, so warm that his forehead glowed like a stove window. The crowd held its breath, and in the silence, the fountain's gargoyles could be heard ticking as if counting heartbeats. "Me?" Waldemar asked quietly, placing two fingers on the rim, not to hold them, but to greet them, and felt a friendly, warm, scrutinizing nod. He bowed to the people, asking them to go about their work, for whoever wears a crown should first check whether they can still distinguish between paths, then he moved on, as if he were wearing not gold, but a question. At the blacksmith's, men demanded that he now command, for order grows from obedient shoulders. Waldemar thought of branches that listen first before they bow, and said calmly: "I command you not to command anyone today. Share bread and tools, and when someone calls, seek not the strongest, but the quietest." The crown became light as a laughing breath, sparks jumped, settled on the tips of his boots, and went out as if they had changed their minds. At midday a woman arrived with a crooked basket and a dispute in her eyes: the hedge between two farms had grown, cooling beans here, stealing wind there, and each held its justice like a shield. Waldemar invited them both to the hedge, laid his hand on the trunk and listened to the murmur that came from the river, and decided to trim the hedge so that the beans would have shade and the wind would find the laundry. When they nodded, he felt the crown as light as the word "please." But in the afternoon a different sound came: from beyond the moorland bridge rode in a small troop, boots polished, banners in the wind, on it a golden barbet, arranging its feathers like foreign laws. The captain bowed his chin, declared that the traveling crown belonged to him before whom many kneel—brilliance requires knees—and blew a whistle, whereupon a flock of glittering dustbirds fluttered from the banner, circling the crown and hissing: "Show us power, reverse the flow, let the day begin after you!" The words laid stones in the crown.