King Thunderbolt

by my sister Melinda Marie Antuna retold humbly and with gratitude by me: Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who was young and powerful. Though he was a peace loving man, he had no choice but to war with those who would threaten his kingdom, and when war came to his land, he vanquished every foe, so that, in time, there were none who dared to threaten the peace of his people. He was strong and noble; kind and fair. He was wealthy beyond description, and he was very handsome to behold. “King Thunderbolt” he was called, because whenever he approached to survey a given village or hamlet, the clamber and tumult created by the young women of the place was thunderous. You see, the young king was the most desirable bachelor in all the land; in all the world, to hear the young women speak of it. Every young maiden in the kingdom desired to be his chosen wife. And it came to pass that King Thunderbolt determined the time had come he should choose a wife. He rode upon his fine white stallion throughout his vast kingdom in search of the woman perfectly suited to him. As he, in his finery and grandeur, rode into each village and town, the young maids came quickly, shouting, “The King approaches! Make way for the King!” and they all came dressed in their finest clothes, displaying their finest jewels, with faces made up and hair done, with not one hair out of place. They brought baked goods and tapestries to show their skills in such womanly arts. Some would sing and dance in the street to draw the attention of the handsome, wealthy and powerful king. But, King Thunderbolt rode through each place, never selecting one of the maidens from among those trying to impress. He travelled thus for months and years, until he had travelled the entirety of his kingdom…until one day, he came no more. It was rumored he left his own lands to find a suitable wife among the peoples of the East. Some said he was fallen in a battle (untold by the scribes). Some said he was eaten by a bear. But, truth be told, no one ever knew what happened to the young king. He was simply gone. But, peace continued for many years and the people continued to prosper. All was well, for the lost, or fallen king had provided for the welfare of his people and life went on. And so it was, on a beautiful sunny day, a kind-hearted maid was working in the garden outside the cottage where she lived with her aging parents. She sang and hummed as she worked; feeling the warmth of the earth between her fingers and the touch of sunshine upon her shoulders. She was glad for the goodness of this beautiful day, for though she had no riches or fame, she knew, in her heart, she was wealthy. She had the love of dear parents who had treated her with kindness and respect from childhood and now felt honored to care for them in the silver years of life. The maid was unaware of the excitement in a nearby village while she worked, for her family home was far removed from the busy places of town. Where she knelt in the garden, it was peaceful and still. She didn’t hear the tumultuous clatter of pans and tables and musicians striking up chords by which women could dance, as was happening only miles up the dusty road. “One man approaches!” came the cry from the watchmen. In remembrance of the lost king, everyone came to the streets to discover the identity of the lone traveler. In great disappointment they beheld a dirty old man, dressed in rags, on a bony malnourished mule, slowly making his way into the town center. As he came, the people looked down, the dancing women turned away and the musicians ceased their songs. As the dirty, ragged old man passed through, the streets became still and vacant. Nobody was interested in a filthy peasant passing through. “Let him pass undisturbed,” thought they all. As the sun dropped to its lazy place in the afternoon sky, the maid looked up to see a sorry lost soul passing on the road beside the cottage. She called out to the poor man to stop and rest his animal a while, and perhaps to sup with her family, as the evening meal was soon to be had. He gratefully accepted, as it had been ‘years,’ said he, since he’d had a well cooked meal at home. The dirty lone traveler enjoyed good food and lively conversation with the woman’s elderly parents and, indeed, with her, as well. She offered him clean garments, borrowed from her father, while she washed and dried his by the fire. He was treated as an equal to them in every way, no matter his meager appearance and circumstances. His heart was touched by true human kindness and Christian charity. Before he was ready to leave, the kind lady offered him food for the coming day’s journey. She not only ministered to his needs, but had fed and watered his animal, as well. He did not intend to seem ungrateful for what had been given in the least, but felt the need to ask yet one more favor of the maid. “Please,” he asked with hope in his voice, “will you be so kind as to shave my woolen face? I’ve not had a clean face in years!” So, beside the fire, in the small homey cottage, the unnamed maid shaved the face of the unknown traveler. It took three or four full sweeps of the razor before she stood back, then bowed her head, then kneeled herself to the floor. “Rise,” the King bade her. “You alone have shown me kindness and love when I was but a filthy lone vagabond. Many people have loved me for what I am. You alone have shown love in spite of what I seemed to be.” King Thunderbolt fell in love with her…and with the passage of time, she came to love him more. Such is the end and the beginning in one.