You Choose

From “Watchman”…

The armor-bearer heard the trumpet and slammed down his sword. He realized his unseemly response and apologized. “I’m sorry, my king, for my reaction. The watchman always signals with bad news. I am tired of it.”

“I see the disgust on your face, my faithful servant. I ask, however, that you restrain yourself in my presence. What is the watchman’s alert?”

“He cautions of trouble to come. Even when the herald is good and uplifting, the watchman tempers it with caveats and negativity.”

“Should we listen to him? You know I value your reasoned advice only minimally less than that of my cupbearer. If he says, ‘Poison!’ and dies, how valuable is that counsel? If you say, ‘Close your ears,’ I likewise will heed your words.”

“I will go, my king, to speak directly with the watchman on his wall. He must understand that so much of what he warns upsets, not only you, but the people as well. We cannot have him sow fear or the kingdom will collapse from dissent. That will never do.”

“By all means, armor-bearer, hasten to the wall.”

In the prime of his life, the armor-bearer scampered up the stairs to the parapet where the watchman spent his days and nights. “Watchman,” he called, “I have come from the king.”

A brilliant blue sky afforded visibility for many miles. The watchman took his eyes from the horizon for a moment to acknowledge his visitor and turned back to scanning the distance. “He is not pleased with my work?” he inquired.

“It is I who have reservations.” The armor-bearer closed the gap between them. “It is right that you signal to bring us news, but too often it fosters fear. I hate hearing the sound of that blasted device. Are the barbarians truly at the gate? Must you force me to continually speak to the king of the terrors that abound in the depths of your imagination?”

“Just because the sun is shining doesn’t mean that dark clouds don’t lurk. Would you prefer the king be blindsided?” He picked up his trumpet. “Should I dash this to the rocks below, abandon my post, and let the invaders have their way?”

“But watchman…” the armor-bearer gazed upon the empty lands before them, “there is nothing to see, no clouds, as you say, no enemy at hand. Your pessimism is not warranted.”