Shadows began to vanish, disguising with the dimming hue of the exhausted earth. Spoons and delicate ceramic plates began to tinkle in Pidyo’s banquet room. Darkness was more adamant than the radiance from the candles shimmering in the corners of his house. Then it rained cats and dogs with a roaring furious wind.
Just as Pidyo sat down on his crimson dining chair, he heard a thunderous persistent knock on his great brown door. Pidyo sighed and abruptly stood up.
“Oh poor man!” he said to himself and got a candle from the table. He marched to the door through the gloomy drawing room. He was never known to be a hospitable man but his mother always was. She was a symbol of compassion, respect, generosity, and most of all, of hospitality. Every breathing creature in the county knew this. She always taught Pidyo, about these values but none of them had he applied. But when she passed away, years ago, Pidyo began to realize the goodness of her mother’s words. And so he always tried and looked for ways to be like her--- to finally obey her zealous wishes for him.
The door made a squeaky sound as Pidyo opened it. The chilly wind blew tiny sharp raindrops to his aging face and blew his candle off. He had to force his naked eyes to see something in spite of the murkiness of the milieu. Nothing but darkness he could perceive. He shook his head and stepped back, slowly closing the door. “Sir!” he suddenly heard. He quickly opened the door wider and widened his already big eyes. A sudden strike of the luminous lightning faintly illuminated his surrounding thus he saw that a short shadow of a being was before him. He could not clearly see it but he believed it was shivering and hungry. He knew, at last it’s the time to be like his mother. “Come in,” he invited.
“Thank you, thank you very much sir,” expressed the trembling man in gratitude. Pidyo lead him to the banquet room where hot soup was waiting.
“Please, have a seat,” politely requested Pidyo mimicking his mother if she was in his shoes. He wholeheartedly shared his dinner with the stranger. After a hearty banquet, he invited the man to the fireplace. “Let’s warm yourself by the hearth,” said he with a reassuring smirk.
“Thank you sir,” replied the man.
“Please don’t call me ‘sir’” requested Pidyo.
“Yes sir,” was his respond.
“I’ll be delighted to, sir.”
“Please don’t call me ‘sir’,” again asked Pidyo standing up to get some tea. His mother always taught him to be humble, never to consider himself higher than others.
“Of course, sir.” Answered the stranger.
Moments later, Pidyo came back with a tray of two white teacups and a teapot. He studied the man who was staring blankly at the blazing fire as he approached the hearth. Then he remembered that it was unbecoming to examine someone from head to foot. His eyes stopped at the man’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asked.
“Sir?” asked the man turning to him.
“Your shoes?”
“Oh yes, my shoes, I left it outside sir,” smiled the stranger.
“But the floor is so cold, just wear your shoes,” allowed Pidyo, “and please don’t call me ‘sir’.”
“It’s just alright sir, I’m not so cold now anyway.”
“Don’t lie to me, I know your feet are freezing cold,” insisted Pidyo.
“Really sir, it’s just alright, you don’t want me to wear my shoes in here, they’re so muddy,” he explained.
“They mustn’t be,” disagreed Pidyo.
“They’re really very muddy sir.”
“Just get them, I don’t care how muddy they are, just warm your chilled feet,” Pidyo persisted still.
“’Twas raining outside sir and I’ve walked on-----”
“Just get your shoes,” Pidyo persisted minding his hospitality.
“But sir----”
“Don’t call me sir, Wear your shoes.”
“No sir”
“My floor is dirty too,” told Pidyo.
“It’s spotless sir,” said the man, “my shoes are mud-covered.”
“Wear it!”
“I won’t sir!”
“Get it!”
“I would not!” insisted back the stranger.
“Get your shoes and wear them!” he demanded.
“No!”
“Bring it inside!”
“I should not!”
“Get it!”
“No!”
“Wear it!”
“Really sir, I respect you a lot, I don’t want to put mud on your clean floor,” reasoned the man agitatedly.
“It… is… just… alright,” explained Pidyo slowly, controlling the anger in his voice, “I… don’t care… how dirty… your shoes might be, … just get it outside… and wear it,” continued Pidyo, “will you, Mr.?”
“Yes sir,” answered the man and went to the door to get his shoes outside. He came back later with the shoes on his feet leaving marks of mud on Pidyo’s squeaky-clean floor. He sat back down to the seat opposite to Pidyo. There was awkwardness between them.
“I’m sorry,” apologized Pidyo, “sorry I raised my voice.”
“It’s just alright sir, it’s all my fault anyway,” humbled the man.
“No, ‘twas not your fault,” assured Pidyo, “’twas mine.”
“Really sir, it’s my fault, I am so disrespectful.”
“No you’re not. It’s really my fault, don’t insist,” insisted Pidyo, “please accept my apologies.”
“No sir, you don’t have to apologize.”
“I should.”
“If there is someone to say sorry, it’s should be me sir,” he bowed down, “I’m so sorry sir, please forgive me.”
“Oh nonsense!” exclaimed Pidyo rousing from his chair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please forgive me! It’s totally absurd! It should be I who must beg your forgiveness!”
“It must be me sir!” protested the man loudly thus standing from his chair too.
“Me!” shouted Pidyo mightily.
“No! Me!” insisted the man.
“Me! Me! Me!”
“No,” contradicted the stranger.
“Yes, I am!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“I’m sorry!!!” shouted Pidyo tremendously.
“No! I’m sorry!!!”
“I am,”
“No, I am!”
“I….” Pidyo stopped and sat back down panting. “How awful of us,” sighed Pidyo.
“Indeed sir,” agreed the man.
“Please don’t call me ‘sir’,” iterated Pidyo.
“Sorry sir,” answered the man.
“Let’s just have our tea, it’s getting cold,” said Pidyo.
“Right sir,” nodded the man and took his cup.
“What’s your name anyway?” asked Pidyo and took a sip from his cup.
“Brabog sir,” he introduced.
“Well, pleased to meet you Brabog,” said Pidyo and put back his teacup on the table and extended his right hand to Brabog. Brabog was sipping his tea and upon seeing Pidyo extending his hand to him, he hurriedly put his cup away that tea spilled to his laps. “I’m sorry,” apologized Pidyo immediately.
“No! I’m…” said Brabog but abruptly sighed and continued not. Instead he carefully placed his empty teacup on the tray and shook Pidyo’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine, hmmmm?”
“Pidyo, My name’s Pidyo,” he introduced. There hands clasped in harmony. A calm, peaceful feeling surged in their bosoms that they are now formally introduced to each other and that the warmth of their handshake was full of love and friendship. They stared into the fire, then Pidyo began, “I’ve got a story about two friends by the fireplace.”
“Pray, tell me sir.”
“I will, but please, don’t call me sir once more,” was their deal.
“Yes sir,” responded Brabog. Pidyo raised an eyebrow reminding him of the ‘sir’. “Oh,” he remembered, “Please tell me the story, Pidyo.”
“Good,” complimented Pidyo. “There were two best friends wanting to warm themselves by the hearth. They went by the unlit fireplace and began to make fire. But their wood was wet and didn’t get on fire quickly. Together, they diligently did everything to make a fire, and then at last, it sparked. But it was very smoky. Their eyes were filled with tears for the painfulness of the smoke getting into their eyes. They could stand it no longer and moved back, the fire went out, making them feeling cold again. They were shivering severely. But then one of them knew about a magic fire fan. He immediately ran to his bedroom and got it. They moved near to the fireplace again. He gave the magic fire fan to his friend and told him, ‘use this, it would make fire in a blink of an eye.’ His friend gladly took it and fanned the woods on the hearth. And indeed, the wet woods burst into flames like paper. They at last felt warm and comfortable. The heat produced from the hearth was truly warm that all their coldness vanished and they even began to sweat.” Brabog shrugged his shoulders in surprise. Then Pidyo continued, “Yes, they began to sweat that they felt really warm. His friend who was holding the fan fanned himself.”
“Then?” asked Brabog.
“Then he burst into flames and died.”
“Oh, that was a lovely story sir,” complimented Brabog.
“No it wasn’t,” disagreed Pidyo.
“It was sir, it was amazing,” praised Brabog.
“’Twas gobbledygook! It’s nonsense!”
“No, ‘twas not, you’re a great storyteller sir, honestly, you are sir.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes you are,”
“Don’t compliment me as a storyteller in telling a story I dislike,” snubbed Pidyo.
“But you and the story is well-matched sir” told Brabog.
“Are you saying I am gibberish too?” asked Pidyo with sparks of rage in his eyes.
“I didn’t say----”
“You!”
“Sir----“
“Don’t call me sir!”
“But---”
