High-Five to the Hero Page 3

  “I’d like that,” Hercules said quietly. “You be the warrior, leave the care and repair to me.”

  When Hera recovered, she replaced the statue of Hercules with one showing a snake circling a column; a symbol of the strength, diversity, and stability that held up not only their family, but their community. Hercules was touched and added the symbol to his nurse’s uniform, so he could always remember that he had the support of his family in his work. He remained the first face of care for so many, from the hospital to the battlefield. From then on, the only time his mighty arms were the talk of the town was when they gently cradled a newborn baby.

  On the chariot ride back, Hercules sat beside Hera and held her hand.

  Sinbad

  Once, beside a green sea, lay a dazzling city carved of white stone. Its rooftops were punctuated with golden domes and spires, and from the narrow-cobbled streets climbed fragrant smoke, laughter, and the voices of thousands of people. The stone city was made up of two distinct worlds. One was of grand residences, with lush courtyards and towering rooms decked with mirrored lanterns for entertaining. The second world lay beneath this one: on the street level, where the cooks, housekeepers, helping hands, gardeners, fisher folk, and butlers resided. In each part of the city, there lived a man named Sinbad. The two lived nearly side by side but never met.

  Until one day, when both Sinbads went to the same sandwich stand—Salty’s Surf, a beach kiosk with stools in the sand. One Sinbad, a stately fellow with beads in his long white hair, ordered eggplant fritters with sesame sauce. The other Sinbad, a young man with a sun streaked bun and a worn backpack, ordered boiled egg with sesame sauce. When chef Salty called out “Sinbad!” the two men both stepped up to grab their food, mistakenly getting each other’s order.

  “Chef, this looks delicious, but I didn’t order eggs,” said the first Sinbad.

  “I think this must be yours,” the younger Sinbad replied, handing him his fritters.

  “Thank you! Are you also called Sinbad?” the elder gentleman asked, biting into his lunch.

  “Yes, I am. But my friends call me Bab. I have never met anyone of the same name. Are you from these parts?”

  “That’s a long story,” the elder Sinbad said as he pulled out a couple of beach stools. “I was a sailor, so I come from many places. When I was your age, I made a living through trickery and games, gambling, and cons. I cheated the wrong people and there was a bounty on my head, so I had to flee. I snuck onto a merchant vessel called The Genie and set sail for my future!”

  “What a coincidence that we should meet,” said Bab. “I’ve just been granted a post as a merchant marine on a ship called the Scarab. I depart next month and I am terribly nervous. What should I expect?”

  “Expect the unexpected, my friend,” Sinbad said, then launched into a tale:

  “No sooner had we set sail when we encountered a storm. The boat heaved from side to side and soon water rained down on me from the cabin doors and portholes. On deck the crew raced and screamed. I can’t recall which was louder—the wind, the rain, the cries of the sailors, or the commands of the captain. I trembled in my hiding spot until the roil of the ship was so great, I passed out from fear!”

  Bab looked freaked out. “Is this supposed to ease my nerves?” he asked with a tense laugh.

  “I came to and found myself lying on a sandy beach,” Sinbad continued, not realizing he was worrying his listener. “A few crew members had weathered the storm with me and we gathered to make a fire to dry ourselves. Just as the kindling caught and smoke began to tinge the air, we felt a great stirring beneath our feet.”

  Sinbad rose from his stool to act out the next part of the story.

  “The beach began to shudder and fall away, and right where we stood rose a vast gray stone. We clung to one another, we fell to our knees! For the island was no island at all, but a majestic whale!”

  Sinbad grinned ear to ear but Bab shook his head with shock. “I don’t know if you’ve eased my mind or made me more afraid,” he confessed. “What happened next? How did you get to safety?”

  “The great creature opened its massive mouth full of bristly teeth and spat out our ship! We swam for our lives, scrambled aboard and got out of there as quickly as we could. But it was nothing compared to what happened next. Meet me here this time next week and I’ll tell you all about it!”

  Bab was nervous to hear the rest, but a week later he went to Salty’s Surf again.

  “It all started when The Genie discovered a foggy lagoon,” Sinbad said over a chickpea platter. “We happened upon it by chance, drawn there by the strangest song I ever heard, like a silken bow against the smoothest shell…”

  “Don’t tell me, sirens? Those aren’t real, right?” Bab asked with worry in his voice.

  “They are real! But have no fear, my friend, they don’t devour the souls of sailors like myths suggest. They retrieve sunken ships and heal ailing mariners. They helped us find our way back, their song putting joyful memories in place of scary shipwreck ones.”

  “Wow,” Bab gulped. “You are awfully brave—a storm, a whale, a siren’s song. What could top that?”

  “Let’s dine again next week,” Sinbad said with a wink.

  For many weeks, Bab met Sinbad for lunch and stories, hoping to ready himself for his journey ahead. Sinbad told of magic lamps that granted wishes, of mirages in the desert with pools of jewels and trees ripe with fruits. The story that captivated Bab the most was of an enormous bird. At first it had frightened Sinbad and his crewmates, but in their hour of need it rescued them from a band of pirates, sweeping down to pluck them from a cliff’s edge in the nick of time.

  Throughout the stories Bab listened attentively. However, as time went on, he started to worry about his decision to set sail. The stories Sinbad told were exciting, but they were also frightening.

  When Bab’s big day arrived, chef Salty threw the Sinbads a free lunch with bunting and balloons. The ship on which Bab was listed—the Scarab—waited just in view, flag flying high. Sinbad arrived early, his captain’s hat in hand, eager to see off his young friend.

  The noon sun beat down on the eatery and lunch patrons came and went, but none were Bab. Then the sun lowered in the afternoon sky and visitors came for cold drinks and iced sweets. By early evening, there was still no sign of Bab.

  “Where could he be?” Sinbad murmured to chef Salty.

  “You tell me. I thought you knew him well,” Salty replied as he closed up shop. “His ship departs this evening. Why don’t you ask the captain?”

  Sinbad strode over to the Scarab and called up to the deck. The captain came into view, holding the manifest and checking the list of names. “I’m holding the ship for a new sailor named Sinbad,” she called over. “Do you happen to be him?”

  “No, but he’s my friend. I’m having trouble finding him myself,” Sinbad confessed.

  “What does he look like?” the captain probed.

  “I never really noticed.”

  “Where does he live?” she asked.

  “I never inquired!” Sinbad admitted, alarmed by his own disregard.

  Distressed, Sinbad hurried back into town. How had he been so foolish? While he’d told stories each week, he’d scarcely asked young Bab a single question. Or helped to quell his fear of his sea voyage. The poor fellow might have given up the most exciting opportunity of his life!

  Sinbad knocked on doors frantically. “Have you seen a young sailor?” he begged at each door. “They call him Bab!”

  After some time, he landed on a helpful doorstep. “Why yes, I know Bab,” a young woman said. “He lives near the park.”

  “Oh, I live near the park!” exclaimed Sinbad and he raced to his own street. He rang his neighbors’ doorbells but to no avail. Defeated, he sat on a park bench and looked at the grand homes that lined the fine park. Peacocks settled on the stone walls for the night and lights began to come on in the windows.

  That was when Sinbad took notic
e of his street from a new perspective. Not only had lights appeared upstairs in the grand homes, but they were warming the windows below the street too. There was a whole other set of doors he hadn’t thought to try. He started with the one across from his home. He smoothed back his hair, straightened his clothes, and descended the stairs to the entrance. He raised his hand to knock when the door opened by surprise.

  There on the threshold stood Bab. He looked ragged and forlorn.

  “My friend, I’ve been looking for you. Today is your big day!” Sinbad bellowed. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve decided to decline my post,” Bab said, stepping out into the night. “I listened carefully to your stories and I see now that I’m not sailing material.”

  “Oh no!” Sinbad gasped and stepped back. “I … I meant to inspire you, not discourage you.”

  “It’s not your fault. If you knew me better, you’d know I have a lot of fears,” Bab admitted. “I’m a nervous guy.”

  “Yeah, I guess we don’t really know one another at all. All those lunches we had, I mostly just carried on, didn’t I?” Sinbad said.

  Bab nodded in agreement. “It’s OK. I got kind of swept away in your tales. No one from this part of the city has ever been a merchant marine.”

  Sinbad got quiet. “Truth is, I was really scared on my first voyage.”

  “You were?!” Bab looked to his hero.

  “You bet,” Sinbad admitted. “Sailing isn’t all high-seas adventure, full of magic and miracles. It’s hard work, for hours on end, forging trusting friendships and learning to be a leader. That’s how you’ll know what to do when an adventure comes your way. Seafaring is perfect for someone as sensitive as yourself.”

  A smile broke across Bab’s face. “You really think I can do it?” he said, accepting Sinbad’s hand.

  “I do,” Sinbad said as the two strode back to the harbor. “Plus, this old sea dog might have one last journey in him …” Sinbad secured his captain’s hat upon his head.

  Under the stars and a luminous moon, the Scarab eased out of the harbor. Aboard the ship, Sinbad saw to it that Bab had the best experience at sea. He helped the young sailor pick out a central sleeping hammock to stave off sea-sickness. In the morning, he helped Bab and the other new sailors’ practise their knots. In the evening, they studied star navigation as a group.

  The crew of the Scarab sailed far and wide. Sinbad, Bab, and the crew met all kinds of people and visited a great many places. The seas were kind to them, and they were kind to those they met along the way. Once in a tight lagoon, Bab saw the shadow of a great bird shade the deck. The hairs on the back of his head stood up, but he remembered the stories of Sinbad and bravely stayed the course. The bird, it turned out, needed only a guide, and the lights of the Scarab led the creature back out to sea. Another time, on a moonless night, Bab and the crew heard a Siren’s song. The crew followed the solemn ballad, and avoided a dangerous reef known for shipwrecks. And on one particular voyage, a dark island caught Bab’s eye, it so resembled a whale. He pointed to the gray mass and called out with joy, “Sails up team, adventure awaits!”

  But what happened next is a matter for another story entirely.

  “Sails up team, adventure awaits!”

  The Emperor’s New Clothes

  Once upon a time, in the heart of an empire that spanned mountains and seas, sat an enormous palace. Inside the palace lived an enormously important family: Emperor On and his son Piào.

  Emperor On was a reserved fellow. He believed that there was a place for everything and everything had a place, and this included clothes. Uniforms were strictly abided by and he himself dressed in austere tunics and robes, neutral shoes and not an inch of jewelry.

  On’s son Piào was different. He dressed in bright silks layered with fur and sheep skins. He accessorized with leather pouches, hats, and boots with colored laces. His outward appearance was an extension of his warm and lively personality. He was eager to help others and brighten the world around him. However, Piào’s efforts did not go over well at court. Some of the murmurs that passed through the palace when Piào strode by were: “Wow, I’ve never seen feathers worn like that before!” or “Is that meant to be a top? It looks more like a beach umbrella!” followed by snickers or sideways glances.

  Piào’s toughest critic was his father. Emperor On cautioned his son that when he was emperor, he would be expected to tone down his playful wardrobe. “You do know you’ll need to start dressing like a leader? The people will look to you as an example, they’ll need continuity to feel safe!” he warned, looking at Piào’s collection of jewelry.

  One day, the emperor set off on a perilous journey into the mountain mines. Sadly, the trip went awry and the elder leader never returned. Under a cloud of sadness young Piào took the throne.

  Piào fretted over what to wear for his coronation. He could hear the final quarrel he’d had with his father echoing in his head, pleading him to follow in his footsteps. As the countdown to the big day neared Piào tried on everything in his closet. He needed his people to know he was confident, capable, and steadfast; honest, genuine, and true. But when Piào turned to the mirror, no matter what he was wearing, he saw only his father’s doubt. Seeking help, he turned to Noble Li, his imperial advisor. “Send out a summons for all royal weavers and designers of the region,” Piào decreed. “I’m seeking a true artisan to create my coronation outfit!”

  Weavers and designers poured in from all over the empire. They modeled finery for Piào that normally would have spoken to him. But Piào believed he needed to change his look to win the approval of the court, so one by one, he sent them away. Just as the doors were closing, a brother and sister who had overheard the day’s affairs slipped in. Unfortunately, they were not weavers, but con artists. The two had hatched a plan to take advantage of the young emperor and they began to thread the needle of their scam.

  “We can help your royal highness, we dabble in the obscure textile arts,” they explained. “We can make you a fine suit that will magically permit you to see if you’ve earned the admiration of your citizens. Only those loyal and true will be able to see its splendor. They will shower you with praise! To everyone else, the doubters and naysayers, well, they won’t see anything at all. The clothes will be invisible.”

  They bowed low, wondering if Piào would see through their scheme, but Piào hadn’t even listened to the end. “An outfit that shows whether my people approve of me?” he said in wonder. “How wonderful!”

  “All we require is accommodation,” the sister said smoothly, “for the work takes place day and night.”

  “And a chest of gold bars for materials, and a bag of rare gems for the ribbons and trimmings,” her brother added.

  Piào agreed and the two troublemakers moved into the imperial palace at once. They requested that a bold placard be placed outside their door to explain the delicate nature of their work. It read: Magical Textiles Studio: exclusive viewing for loyal and true subjects only. In small print below, it read: If you can’t readily appreciate the charmed fashion, see the information desk regarding exile and relocation planning.

  As they worked, Piào sent different members of the court to check on the progress. First Noble Li went to see the materials. He took in the sign at the door. “Whatever could that mean?” he thought to himself. But when he opened the door, he began to understand. The brother and sister were seated at the work table, scissors in hand, cutting out a pattern. Yet, when they pulled the paper stencil away, there was ZERO upon the table. Not a thread, scrap, or a ball of fuzz, nothing!

  “Well, what do you think?” grinned the siblings. “Isn’t it just lustrous?” The brother closed his eyes and stroked the “material.”

  Noble Li thought he might barf. Was he not loyal and true? No one was more so than he! “It’s stunning,” he fibbed, hurrying away.

  Full of worry, Noble Li sent the imperial librarian to see the garments too. She was a learned person. “Surely she w
ill see the artists’ vision,” thought Noble Li. But when the librarian entered, she took in a strange scene.

  “Hi, just in time to see us dressing the model!” the brother said.

  “I just LOVE the drape!” the sister bragged. “The lines are so innovative, don’t you think?”

  The librarian was careful not to let her alarm show on her face, since all she saw were hundreds of pins puncturing a bare mannequin. She knew if she were to remain on the imperial staff she must say the right thing. “It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before,” she hurried. “I’ll be sure to include it in the archive.”

  Day after day, different members of the imperial staff visited the design shop. Day after day, they saw the brother and sister stitching, fastening, pressing, and steaming what looked like nothing at all. But when they read the entry placard they were reminded of how important the garments were, and immediately praised their glamour and look (which they entirely could not see!).

  The big day arrived, and the young emperor gathered his team. The designer duo dressed the new leader in his finery with ceremony and exaggerated gestures. It was an elaborate pantomime, because the brother and sister hadn’t done a stitch of work. It had all been an elegant fraud. There was nothing to dress the emperor with, not even underwear. He would be parading in the buff!

  But the emperor seemed unfazed. Noble Li oohed and aaahed, and suggested a portrait be commissioned. The librarian stifled a laugh, but then quickly covered it with applause. So, young Piào was under the impression everyone greatly approved of his stunning new outfit. He strode from his dressing room and out into the grounds without so much as a glance in the mirror.

  Assembled on the palace promenade stood all the citizens of the land, eager to receive their leader. As the nude emperor splashed into the sunlight, a collective gasp flew up from the crowd. Piào took it as affirmation, and walked proudly along the pathways, past hundreds of wide eyes and gaping mouths.