Walking for identity

It looked at his breakfast table bewildered and somehow depressed. Who was he by this table? Could it tell something about himself, he wondered. He was nothing but nothing, and his breakfast table showed that.

 

It left the breakfast table and went to try to find out who he was, he with the dull breakfast. When he found a path marked “For the successfulies, he took it. Not that he was successful. Rather the other way round. He felt he had to face what the path of the successful ones was edged with.

 

The path was long, small, narrow, crunchy and heavy to walk. Yet It walked it, on and on in the search of who or what he was. It didn’t know about himself, neither from where nor what kind of roots, if any.  Would he find it along this path? It didn’t know, but this was the last try of lots and lots of such. It had crossed oceans, moors, swamps, rivers; you name it, in search of what and who he was. Now this narrow hopeless path was his last try.

 

Coming slowly out of a bend, It saw the path was edged with browns. It bstopped dead, looked at the browns, gazed at them carefully.

-        Who are you? he asked.

No answer. Silence. It prompted:

-        What are you?

The browns nearly looked at him when they proudly answered.

-        We are the Brown cheese, born in Norway. Used by every Norwegian. Strange that you don’t know about us.  Everybody does. Nobody has asked about it before.

It lowered his head in shame. May be he then was Nobody since Nobody had asked before.  But he still had to ask. He dared himself up and asked vainly:

-        What are your roots? Where do you come from?

The Brown cheese barely bothered look at him when they answered in a patronizing way:

-        We are from the milk from Norwegian cows and goats fed on Norwegian grass that grows on clear and clean Norwegian soil. We are formed by Norwegians according to generations of generations backward. We are on all Norwegian tables every day.

It looked at them. He had more questions but he knew they wouldn’t deign to answer him any more.

 

He left and continued the crunchy and heavy path. He decided never to have brown cheese on his table any more. Such selfishness couldn’t be healthy for anybody.

 

Around the next bend the saw the path edged with rows and rows of sardine-boxes, well tinned, but some of them opened. It stopped, but with the experience from the meeting with brown cheese, he carefully asked why they edged the path here, the narrow path, when there were much better places , wide roads with many passing. Here very few passed.

 

From one of the tins a sardine popped up. He looked at It.

-        We are for the very few, he answeredcalmly. Not many like us, a very few use us, even though we can be useful to everyone.

It got so surprised that he could only whisper when he answered:

-        Sardines are always on my table.

The sardine nodded and said diving into the tin:

-        Then you are among the fews.

 

IT shivered with joy and pleasure. He was not Nothing or Nobody. He was Fews.

 

It Few walked on. He had got a second name and felt more confident. It Few, It few he said to himself as he walked on after in his polite manner had bidden the sardines farewell.  He walked with long and casual steps, he nearly whistled – and that was probably why he didn’t recognize at once the tubes that edged his path around this bend of his walking  towards identity. It Few stopped short. Politely as he was he become afraid he had hurt the tubes by not stopping to great them at once. He bowed politely and said:

-        I am sorry not to have seen you at once. I was preoccupied. My name is It Few. Whom do I have the pleasure to meet here on my walking?

The tubes all turned the opened tubeside to him and he could see the orange-coloured content.

-        We are tubed cod roe, they answered as in one mouth-

-        Oh, I see, It Few said. I know you in some way. I am a liker of the cod roe.

-        But how about us, the tubes said humbledly. Do you like us?

It Few thought for a while before he politely replied:

-        I do thinks so, since I like the cod roe with some salt and spices on, and you are probably – he hesitated for a while, then continued – you are probably tubed cod roe with salt and spices? He smiled apologizing.

The tubes nodded eagerly.

-        So we are, so we are, they said.

It few smiled.

-        Then we are already old friends. He hesitated, then bid politely farewell and walked onward.

 

 His body got more and more upright. He was among friends. He was It Few. Springy steps took him around the next bent of the path. There the path was edged with an alley of trees carrying red and tempting berries. It Few stopped politely.

-        Nice colour, he said. And so extremely nice to meet you here. I am It Few. Whom do I have the pleasure to meet here?

They looked extremely tasty, and It Few felt he was hungry. But as the polite creature he was, he awaited answer of his greeting before he would stretch up and have a mouthful of the berries. Berries were to be eaten. Everybody knew that. He stopped in his thoughts. Everybody? Everybody. May be he then was Everybody and not Nobody as he had felt before he started walking on the path of identity.

-        We are the rowanberries, the berries interrupted his thought. They hesitated. You look hungry, they smiled. Do help yourself.

It Few, no It Few Everybody stretched out and reached for a heap  of the tempting red berries and put a handful into his mouth. The berries watched him carefully. It looked like they kept their breath while he tasted his mouthful. It few looked at them, saw their awaiting manner and said:

-        How extremely rear and nice taste. Extremely.  If possible, I would like to add you to my table.

The berries let the breath go.

-        ‘course, they said as if that was the most natural thing to hear.  ‘course we would like to join your table. What is there now?

It Few Everybody smiled.

-        Well, yopu will have the company of for instance sardines, torskerogn / kaviar and – he hesitated a while -  sometimes you also will have the company of the brown cheese. Polite as he was, It Few Everybody didn’t want to exclude anybody. The brown cheese is very sweet, sugared a lot, therefore not always on my table.

The berries laughed.

-        Then we are the opposites. We are said to be very sour.

 

It few Everybody thought about it before he nodded.

-        Yes, that is perfect, isn’t? He said before he bid farewell and jogged to his home to his breakfast table where sardines, cod roe, rowanberries and sometimes brown cheese among others had been for al long time. It Few Everybody smiled and smiled. There on the path for the successfulies a heavy weight had fallen of his shoulders.

 

So does your sincerely. He straddles on his newly-surgeried feet to his breakfast-table with to the point resembles the one  It Few Somebody sits by every morning after his successful identity walk.

And which is part of the weekly smells.