One day, a boy of seven years walked into school. As he took his seat, he saw a word he had never encountered before written upon his desk: buckberry. Curious, he turned to the girl next to him. “Excuse me,” he said, “what’s buckberry?” The girl turned to him, mouth agape and face flush with shock.
“What did you say?”
“Er, buckberry…what is it?”
“Hmmph!”, the girl snorted, turning away in disgust. “Don’t talk to me!”
Confused but still curious, he raised his hand and got the teacher’s attention. “Teacher? Could you please tell me…what is buckberry?” The teacher raised both hands to her mouth and stared wide-eyed at the boy.
“The nerve! To think…of all the…OUT OF HERE, young man, and to the principal’s office with you!” The boy, now completely perplexed, complied, and a few moments later found himself sitting in front of the principal. The principal, a kind and patient man, calmly asked the boy how he had come to be here.
“Well sir,” said the boy, confident that the man would shed some light on the problem, “all I did was ask her what buckberry was.” The principal bolted upright, sending his chair flying backward into the wall.
“I will not tolerate this, boy!”, he screamed. “You stay right where you are! I’m calling the police!” The boy waited, the police came, and they took him down to the police station. They placed him under arrest, and he was kept there until the day of his trial. As he was led into the courtroom, he took heart, for the judge that sat upon the bench was well-known throughout the county for being the fairest, most intelligent, righteous and level-headed in many a year. If anybody could answer him, His Honor could. The judge, upon seeing the age of the person being brought before him, asked the boy to approach the bench. Smiling at the lad, he asked what crime had been committed that had resulted in this trial.
“Your honor,” pleaded the boy, “I honestly do not know. I have asked but one simple question of a classmate, my teacher, and my principal, and they’ve all flown off the handle and decided to punish me. And all I did in each case was ask them what buckberry was.” The judge’s soft eyes turned to steel, his warm demeanor to an icy glare.
“What game do you think you’re playing at, defiling my courtroom in this manner? BAILIFF! Take this worthless brat away from me! Boy, I hereby sentence you to fifty years in prison, and not a day less! May God take mercy on your soul, because I can surely have none!” And so, the boy was taken to prison, where he spent fifty lonely years in captivity. His cellmate was his only friend, and he never mentioned his crime to the man, lest he react in the same inexplicable manner and leave him friendless and alone. On the day before he was to be released, he approached the man (who was now approaching seventy), confessed his crime, and asked if he happened to know what buckberry was. Though the old man initially recoiled in horror, he relaxed somewhat after a moment, and gave his reply.
“That is horrible, indeed, but I suppose you’ve been punished enough. I cannot give you the answer you seek, for I am unwilling to allow it to pass my lips. But I will tell you this: when you leave this place, go west into the mountains. Find the highest of the peaks, and climb the mountain to its snow-capped summit. There, on the mountaintop, you will find the ancient guru Mahirafa. He, and he alone, will give you your answer.” The boy thanked the man profusely, and the next day, he was off.
It took him a year to locate the mountain, but find it he did. And now, nearly sixty years old, he stood on the edge of the road, not 200 yards away from its base. He started across the road toward the mountain, eager to complete his journey, and at last know the secret that had tormented him throughout his life.
Then he got hit by a bus and died.
