The Most Righteous of Men

The most righteous of men was a sad and solitary soul. Not because he had been abandoned. The truth is, he chose to be alone. People wondered about the reason for his solitude. And there was no shortage of answers. All of them speculation. Yes. Much was assumed about the life of the most righteous of men.

One day, as he walked toward the lake, the sad and solitary man crossed paths with another man. A meeting entirely by chance. This other man, unlike him, was happy and far from lonely. He lived surrounded by people. He had many friends. And he wore the most beautiful smile.

Naturally, the righteous man tried to avoid him. He changed course, turned back. But the happy man was persistent, and at last he managed to begin a conversation. Yes, he was very curious. He longed to understand why the righteous man kept himself apart from everyone else. But he restrained that question. He spoke of the greenness of the village, of water clear as a mirror, of birds flying freely across the sky. The righteous man listened and watched him carefully, surprised that that question did not come.

The next day, the righteous man returned to the lake and, to his own astonishment, he felt a flicker of anticipation at the thought of seeing the other man again. That day, the happy man led him into a forest. The forest had always been there, but isolation had kept it hidden from him. Stories were told beneath its trees, and at an unexpected moment, the sad man allowed himself the faintest smile. The happy man’s joy grew brighter (that smile too, how beautiful it was!). He seemed on the verge of gaining another friend.

I want you to know, the sad man said quietly, as though confessing something sacred, that I am the most righteous of men. I know, replied the happy man. What I do not yet know is...

But he lacked the courage to finish the thought. And so they parted for the evening.

Time passed. And slowly they became friends, close friends, confidants. One day, moved by trust, the sad man offered the happy man his greatest treasure: a small emerald. The happy man beamed. His smile widened so fully that it made the other blush.

Not long after, during one of his nightly walks to the lake, the most righteous of men heard murmuring in the half-dark. Two voices, low and secretive. He approached quietly and froze. It was the happy man. And with him, a happy woman. What were they doing there?

He turned to leave at once, as it would not be just to overhear another’s conversation, least of all his best friend’s. But as he turned, he saw the happy man place something in the woman’s hands. Was that not his emerald?

How foolish I have been, he thought, as tears slid down his face. And with sorrow came anger. How could he have been so foolish as to trust a happy man?

The following night, as they stood atop the mountain watching the moon, the happy man gathered his courage. Why do you live apart from everyone?

The sad man’s heart burned. The image of betrayal would not leave him. He wanted to run, to hide. How could he have trusted the happy man?

But the happy man would not let him go and embraced him tightly. The sad man struggled to break free. The embrace tightened even more. And without warning, the hug became a fight. Driven by rage, and by his sense of justice, the sad man pushed the happy man, who stumbled and fell down the slope into the endless dark. As the figure disappeared, the most righteous of men felt, ultimately, vindicated. And, satisfied, he descended the mountain calmly.

Near his home, he saw the happy woman leaving something at his door. He ran toward her, but she vanished among the trees. At his threshold lay a small box. Inside, he found a handwoven necklace crafted with great care. And as its pendant, his emerald.

The most righteous of men ran back to the mountain, calling out wildly for his friend. Tears streamed down his face in small waterfalls. He searched for hours. But the truth is he never found him again.

I am not a good man, he cried into the darkness. I am not a good man! For when he believed himself to be carrying out justice, he was capable of anything. Anything at all, good or evil, mattered little, so long as justice was done. But how can one be certain that, in the pursuit of justice, one is not committing the greatest injustice of all?

The village grew dark. The lake churned restlessly. No birds crossed the sky. Then it began to rain. It was not fair that the sad man should dwell among others. And so the most righteous of men returned to his solitude, and never left it again.