THE BOOK THAT FLYED

To the little girl

Which every day gives me

a shiny red apple.

There was once a book unlike any other. A book that flew. It had no wings, no propellers, no hidden mechanism that would make it fly. No one knew where it came from, where it was going, or what places it had been. Even so, it had no idea of ​​its next destination and certainly had no idea who its next traveling companion would be.

Unknown how, that book, as if it were a magic carpet, traveled through the air and the clouds, saw without having eyes, heard without having ears, observed everything but especially the he felt everything. And... he wrote.

• But how is it possible for this book to soar through the clouds? What magical place gave birth to it and gave it power?

• It will come from Alexandria, which has a famous Library!

• It seems like the oldest book in the world and on earth.

No one could say for sure who had written it, who had taken care to sew its individual pages with silk thread, who had polished the thin board that embraced her and dressed its cover with leather and blue velvet.

Those lucky enough to travel with him could not explain in words their magical journey on its curved pages, which like a pillow each of them rested their thoughts and searches on. Not even one could point out on the map, with certainty, the place they had visited. The only certainty was that their lives changed forever after each journey, with the book that flew by.

But all the travelers had one important thing in common: they understood each other even though they were from another country, even though they were of different gender, age, or social class.

One day, the book, with its pages wide open, was wandering where the clouds touch the mountain peaks. Then it heard a strange voice behind it.

• Hey, you! How did you end up in our place? Have you lost your way and are you looking for help?

The book swayed left and right, took a turn and saw a flock of wild geese flying in an arrow formation.

Their leader, first in line, waited with interest for his answer.

• I go to places of light or darkness, to places as dry as the steppe or as cool as the oasis of the Nile, to fertile meadows or steep canyons. I go where they need me most.

• "Have a good trip then," the wild goose wished kindly and soon disappeared into the clouds.

It continued its journey, with pages of papyrus, parchment, and linen as wings. It descended and became one with the soil, in fields sown with wheat and corn. It caressed the blond ears of corn, flew over villages with stone houses and wooden windows, over stables and farmhouses.

Thus he arrived at a verdant hill. At its edge, a castle loomed majestically and imposingly, with towering towers and battlements. The book stood for a moment to admire the beauty. But he felt two eyes intensely observing him, above a wooden post.

• "For what purpose do you come to the castle and who are you looking for?" said a large hawk in an inquisitive tone.

• "All I want is to rest for a while from my long travels and enjoy the beauty of this land," the book responded courageously.

• "Tell me then, what do you enjoy most when you travel?" the hawk asked sternly.

The book, he thought for a moment and then replied: "I enjoy every easy or difficult route, every cloudy or sunny city. But most of all I enjoy the company of my fellow travelers, even if they are often melancholy and restless."

• "Have a good trip then," said the falcon contentedly and disappeared behind the castle.

 

The days passed quickly and one cold morning, in the heart of winter, before the sunlight had even risen from the East, the book flew effortlessly through the misty mist of the mountain villages.

Then he noticed a young, thin boy with long arms and even longer legs. He was wearing a loose blue overalls like those worn by workers and walked with a heavy and tired step, although his body was as thin as a twig. In his hand he held a small, rusty lantern with smoked glass. The flame from his candle was barely glowing. Soon, the boy joined other men, who were all together, almost in line, going towards the nearby mine, speechless.

The icy north wind blew and the boy pulled his coat tighter around him, his head bowed against the wind. He didn't even notice the book flying and coming closer and closer. When it finally landed in front of him, the boy looked up in surprise.

• "You look tired. How about resting for a while on my wings?" the book asked him.

The child, willingly, laid his body on the soft leaves and sighed with relief. A sweet warmth flooded his body and he quickly fell asleep, surrendered to a deep sleep.

The book continued to travel peacefully, until happy voices and children's laughter were heard. The boy then woke up and saw with surprise, a large dirt field, full of boys and girls. They were playing "apples" with a shiny red ball, they were running and laughing. Their cheeks were flushed with excitement and the longing they feel only those who play.

• "Come, play with us!" the children invited him.

The boy slipped off the spine of the book and, with a light and quick step this time, joined them. His eyes were shining with joy.

• "Thank you, my friend. Have a good trip!" he shouted at the book, waving his hand vigorously.

It smiled at him and continued flying.

It wasn't long before he arrived at a farmhouse with a stone fence around it.

In the yard, he noticed a woman sitting on an old wooden chair sewing. She was skillfully mending her lace apron that was sparkling, pure white and clean. And while she sewed, she was humming softly. Thus the book listened to her longing and approached her.

The woman understood. She closed the needle and thread in a small box, stuffed it in her pocket and without a second thought, climbed the pages of the book.

An unexpected surprise awaited her soon. The joy and emotion that flooded her when she saw her daughter and son, who had been waiting for her for years, was indescribable.

• Wow! How much you have grown, how much you have grown taller, my sweet children!

Her embrace was filled with love and her eyes welled up with joy. Tears of joy also flowed from the children's eyes. She gently wiped them with her white apron and kissed them affectionately.

The book, satisfied, made a circle around them to cheer them on and then, without haste, moved on to new places.

After several days, as he wandered among the clouds, he found himself in a village full of mud and garbage. The inhabitants wore dusty clothes and walked with their eyes half-closed. There was so much dust around that it had even hidden the sunlight. At a bend in the road, he noticed a man sitting on some stone steps. The man, although poorly dressed, was wiping and re-wiping his shiny shoes, with dedication.

The book stopped in surprise and asked him:

• Why are you polishing your shoes when there's so much dirt and mud around?

• I clean and polish them because that's what I know how to do well. I used to be a shoemaker, but no one comes to my shop anymore to have their shoes taken care of.

• Come with me and I will take you to a place with clear skies and sparkling sun.

So it happened.

Over time, the fame of the flying book spread around the world. Everyone was looking for a way to see it up close and touch its magical pages. Of course, it was not fooled by cunning tricks or false summons. It only appeared where it was really needed.

Its peculiar power did not go unnoticed by the most powerful Lord on Earth. He was overcome by deep uneasiness without knowing the reason. What was certain was that those who traveled with the flying book acquired a different way of thinking from the rest and expressed themselves with wisdom, honesty and kindness.

"I must destroy it once and for all!" he whispered stubbornly.

He walked back and forth in his high, well-polished boots, ruffling his hair thoughtfully. He racked his brain until an idea came to him.

He thought that since the book was traveling in the clouds, in waters and oceans, in meadows and mountains, then he would also take care to send such a fierce and unexpected storm in its path that it would completely destroy it. He did not care at all how much time or effort he would waste for this purpose. As long as he made it disappear once and for all from the face of the earth.

A long time indeed passed. The Lord had now begun to grow old. Nevertheless, he continued his plan unceasingly. He built not one but many machines, whose power was capable of generating sweeping winds, torrential rains and thousands of lightning bolts.

So, one day like any other, as the book continued its journey, it was destined to face the fiercest storm it had ever encountered.

A multitude of heavy and black clouds gathered in the sky and covered it from side to side. Thunder and endless flashes of lightning swept the earth's dome and brought incessant and torrential rains. The winds, as if a hundred bags of Aeolus had opened, raged on sea and land, whirling in their path boats, trees and huge branches, even ships and roofs of houses. The rivers swelled, the lakes overflowed, the dams broke as if they were made of glass. The stormy water swept away everything in its path.

In vain the book tried to find shelter in the trunks of ancient plane trees or under sturdy bridges. The wind beat at it mercilessly, the relentless rain soaked its pages until it completely disintegrated them. The silk thread that held them together was also cut. The plane trees were uprooted and the stone bridges were shattered. The book felt itself losing its strength as the letters flickered on the pieces of the wet pages, until they became faint and disappeared.

The book fell into the muddy water, worn and battered, its velvet cover torn and soiled like a rag. It lay there, bewildered, thinking of only one thing: how to find new ways to reach those who needed it most.

For this storm mercilessly struck not only itself, but also the entire earth and all its creatures, human and non-human. It swept away the shelters and nests of animals, leveled the crops of the peasants and destroyed their homes.

And when the terrible storm subsided, because storms don't last forever, then something incredible happened.

One by one, all those who had traveled on the back of the flying book gathered and carefully picked up its pieces. They began to write new pages with what each of them had kept precious in their hearts.

• "Let's sew the torn pieces with new silk thread," said the boy, and immediately the woman with the sparkling apron began sewing.

• "Let's clean the dirty cover," said the man with the shiny shoes, and everyone got to work.

Thus, all the pages were filled again, and he began to breathe and find his lost strength.

Then everyone around him set up a merry-go-round and started dancing. They sang together and their voices sounded clear as a spring.

The heart of the book, leapt with joy and gratitude. Resolutely, it opened its freshly written pages, rose and flew again, high in the clouds, like an eagle.

In that clearing, drums of war never sounded again. As for the Lord, they say he was swallowed up by his own hatred and no one saw him again.

Image license by freepik.com