The Last Gift of the Master Artists by Ben Okri

Author:Ben Okri [Okri, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838935887
Publisher: Head of Zeus

65

THEN ONE DAY, in her dream, the dying prince sat up and stared at her. He looked at her as if she were the first flower he had ever seen. It was as if he were trying to see the flower properly, to understand what about it so moved him.

He stared at her as at a work of art that was beyond understanding. She bore his gaze for a long time, waiting.

Then it occurred to her that it was she who must speak. He was her creation. If the creator did not speak, how could the creation? Her speech would free him into speech. She had to invest the dream with life. For too long she had been mute. What a failure in a creator, she thought. If the creation was to have the vitality of the creator then its soul must be awoken with love.

The prince had sat up. He was looking at her simply. She realised that she must seem the most impenetrable mystery to him, because of her silence. Unless she spoke, the prince would remain in his unknown condition. He would be unconnected to her, the sole focus of his being. He would have nothing to say to her. And she would never know herself through the eyes of another. She would remain a mystery to herself.

She realised that she needed the prince more than the prince needed her. Her reality depended on being known and loved by another. If the prince did not speak, she might cease to exist.

Then she understood his stare. He was looking at her with love. A love without suffering, without story. A love that did not know itself. The love of a pure thing that had not lived.

That was what she saw in the prince’s eyes. The purity would have to be broken if the prince was ever to speak or be free. He must be free to love her not as her creation, but out of his own necessity. He must be free to love her as himself. He must be awoken from his enchantment.

Then the maiden, in her dream, spoke to the dying prince.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘I am that which was and now am.’

‘What is your name?’

‘My name is written in your tears.’

She realised then that she had tears in her eyes.

‘Why are you dying?’

‘Because I’m not living.’

‘Why are you not living?’

‘Because I don’t know what love is.’

‘Do you know what love is now?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is love?’

‘Love is life.’

‘You talk back and forth.’

‘It is back and forth.’

‘Why are you a prince?’

‘Because I’m the son of a king.’

‘Who is the king?’

‘The king is the king.’

‘What is he king of?’

‘A kingdom.’

She paused and stared thoughtfully at him. The prince gazed back at her.

‘Is it a kingdom of heaven or earth?’

‘What is the difference?’

‘Am I of that kingdom?’

‘Yes.’

‘How can I be? I made you.’

‘Did you make me or discover me?’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Sometimes we make what we discover. Sometimes we discover what we make.’

The maiden was perplexed. Then she had a strange notion.

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