Men are stupid.
Their intentions make no difference, as they usually proceed out of stupidity.
The difference between stupidity and ignorance is measured in willfulness. Ignorance is a result of innocence, and even we women are born with that. But stupidity requires the deliberate blindness to either truth or fact, and men are particularly willful in that respect. I honestly believe if they were not required to conceive children, we women could be quite content without them.
Only one man, in my admittedly limited experience, has seemed to be of a superior mold. He is dead now, and all of us who chose to truly know him mourn his loss. I do not know if I will outlive missing him.
This is not to say that we would have fallen in love and wedded, for that is only one of the many shapes of love that people can carve together and share. But, Little Man, as those of us in his heart-woven circle fondly knew him, had a soul that seemed free of stupidity. Somewhere in its forming, it was left absent the manful tendency to put ego over respect, and the result was an enduring heart, a comforting presence, and a fearless joy.
Little Man was not immune to having a broken heart, and his would take a very long time to heal. His far-flung wanderings as a boy to seek mending eventually eased his pain and introduced him to the lovely man he would become, and when he finally returned to us, his title of Little Man could only refer to his physical stature, for inside he was a gentle giant.
He was fated to fall in love with a good and powerful Elf-maid, and she with him. Her presence and personality shown so brightly that his heart happily gave up its hermitage from a mating love. He joined her House in Falathlorn and soon they were betrothed, but some cruelty of fate, or perhaps some other man’s ignorance or stupidity, ended him. We in his broken circle will never forget his laughter or his touch on our hearts.
Not all saw him by his true light. To most, he was just another unremarkable fellow on a busy lane. To a few, he was a useless wanderer, having no value to the drudging existence of Men. My brother, Torrance, was one whose manful stupidity blinded him to Little Man’s true self, and even though I love my brother for his good intentions, his disdain for Little Man will always a point of contention between us.
Torrance came to pay me a rare visit. I was in the Scholar’s Hall transcribing an ancient scroll before its knowledge would soon be lost to crumbling dust. We embraced and shared kisses on cheeks and commented on how fit we both seemed in each other's eyes, rose-colored as they are by sibling love. Our conversation followed the obligatory tour summarizing our own events since we last visited, but as that path approached the present, I could see the conversation would not continue as well as either of us would like. He put that ‘look’ on his face, the one he wore when he was intent on protecting me from something misconstrued by his stupidity.
He had just filed his Watcher’s Oath and the Mayor immediately sent him on a task to retrieve a copy of the report detailing Little Man’s death in the Shire. Before departing, my brother wanted to know if I had gone to the Mayor and, using my Greenlake name, asked him to look into the death. Of course, I had not, as in my own heart, the circumstances of the death would not change its inevitability, and I needed no more details to deepen my grief. On the other hand, Claywick Cob, another member of the broken circle, might well have done so, as Little Man was like a brother to him. Clay would’ve wanted to know what happened. His protectiveness of those he cared for would drive him to seek some semblance of belated justice. Torry’s visit confirmed in my mind that Clay had done the asking, probably calling in some favor from the Mayor. As a bounty hunter, Clay had assembled a network of such favors, and although they are a precious commodity in his pursuits, he would most assuredly spend at least one to further his understanding of Little Man’s death.
When I mused with Torry about this, my brother grumbled with exasperation. “Honestly, sister, I will never understand anyone’s interest in this no-account Cutch Crane. He was a thoughtless, sulking sniveler who abandoned his own family, only to return years later to be mesmerized by some elf witch, run away again, and get killed.”
I slapped my brother.
Very hard.
The blow surprised us both. In silence, we stared at each other stunned and unblinking. In hindsight, I understand why I struck him. It was not to punish him. It was to awaken him from his own stupidity, for I knew Cutch and his betrothed to be quite the opposite of Torry’s accusations. They were beautiful together, an inspiration to those who long to see evidence that a couple can complete each other.
My brother had raised my ire and, knowing me as he does, chose to hold his tongue as I stepped close to press him. “Damn your disdain for them, Torry, and your disrespect for me. No doubt you think me some heart-swollen, weak-headed female. But, do you also think Clay Cob such a fool?”
Unlike Little Man, Clay was physically a mountain of flesh, blood, bone and, strikingly, hair. Heavily muscled and tall, he was literally a head and a half, at least, above others. Being different by so many measures led him to brooding and cynicism, but if you managed to earn his trust, you could not ask for a stauncher ally. After the tragedy of his half-brother Calder’s betrayal to Archet, Clay embarked on a vengeful rampage to find whoever or whatever should be made to answer for his brother’s fall. In the end, Clay’s maddening anger led him to carelessness, which nearly killed him. It was Little Man who found and rescued him, nursed him back to health, and made him realize that his unswerving quest for revenge was making him as bad as whatever had led his brother astray. Their bond was thus completed.
Torry shook his head at my question. “No, Cally, I don’t think him a fool. I have to admire Clay for his determination and his prowess.” He paused, and again that ‘look’ occupied his face. “I do, as your older brother, have to ask, though, what are your intentions for Cob? Are you contemplating bringing a half-breed brother of a traitor into our family?”
There must have been some clue on my face that I was ready to strike him again, for he winced and leaned back, hands lifted before his face. It was true that I again wished to awaken him but, having seen the futility in that, I thrust a pointing fist at the door.
“Leave me, dear brother, and don’t come back until you can show more respect for me and others I hold dear.”
