Sculptor at Tyrrhenian coast

Down the cliff of Tyrrhenian coast was an old marble sculptor. It was the evening of the sagre food festival; everyone was at the towns centre in wait for the festival. He and his friends had decided to fish instead. He hovered the soil with his feet, slowly revealing the earth of Calabria City. He bent slightly on his knees, looking meticulously for bait. It was one of the usual evening worms hide beneath rocks. Swaying his feet from side to side, brushing the hidden tracks, he stumbled on a large natural green marble, so mundane at first to an unskilled eye. The piece like many other stones was surrounded by moist soil. He hurried down the cliff like a mad miner who had found gold and braced his shoulder like a hunter with his game. He has found something that would reveal his beautiful handwork. The days of fishing are over, he shouted. Every eye would see what he would make of this stone, he thought.

His friends were wondering why he left so hurriedly. What could make Jonny run so fast, they pondered between themselves? They found him running after six young men carrying stone. They also came to fish for the night.

Jonny ran into his dusty old shed slightly making room on his workbench. He beckoned them to drop the object on his table stone. He extended his hands and thanked them over and over, while the men wondered why he sounded so excited for a stone.

He stretched his hands on the wall shelves still amazed, looking for the choicest of tools. Whistling in excitement, knowing very soon, many will marvel at this beautiful piece, he sang his favourite song “When my work is over, I will dance again and again”. He sat closely by the fire, beginning what he taught he would never do again, sculpturing.

Hours ran into days, days walked into months. Every day beneath the cold shed, under the scotching heat, he would bend his knees and carve until his knees were shaken. It seems like an assignment with an overdue deadline, a piece everyone needed to see. Many people who saw Jonny worked through the night, wondered, what could be so urgent. Though Jonny’s hands were frail and several nights the drilling knife had sliced through, he held on still. Some nights he would dance with the wind, moving his tired feet to his husky voice singing, “Who knows tomorrow… When my work is over, I will dance again and again”.

The round sphere object has slowly started taking a new turn. Slowly he had modeled it in the fashion of a true worth and curved every side in scribbled form. Like the skillful apprentice, he had watched the mundane become elegant. I nearly taught he was done, until I found him carefully pitching off every fault. His work was not random, it was not mere artifact. Every little details you would term flaws, he carved into intricate details; husk, horn, tail, feet, eyes, nose. Sometimes, you find him brushing over a surface over and over again; it was a rhythmic smoothening process. He has wielded strength into it, passing it through hot fire. When I finally taught he had finished, he pulled out a paint brush. I nearly thought he was an artisan. He gently move the brush over the surface, layering it with colours like a beautiful palette. 

I finally heard him, saying, "Alas, my work is finished." Few days after, I heard it in the evening news that Jonny had passed away. The oldest man on earth has fashioned the world’s best sculptor. Someone would have taught, what could a frail arms do. In fact, I wasn't expecting much from the piece until I heard, it was like no other crafted stone since the history of sculpturing.  The piece has become world’s attention. I taught I had found it in the world’s best museum, but they told me, Late Jonny will not sell, he willed it to his son. Years run by, I was too curious to know, so I went after Jonny son’s to find out what his father left for him. His son welcomed me like his father did; he too was hairy like his father. I found him talking to someone; he was smiling with warm grin.  He spent hours talking to me about the fellow. Although, our subject of discussion was interesting but I was too curious that I quickly turned the subject around.  I am here to see Jonny’s handwork. He looked surprised but nodded his head in agreement and motioned me to see his ha father's handwork.

It was alluring to the eye, the best a Father could will to his son. I turned around and said, How much will this stone have costed if it were to be sold. The son smiled and said, "The stone actually worth nothing; it is like every stone, but the words on those stone are priceless. In fact, they aged wisdom. With the fear of missing the best moment of an occassion, I quickly turned to find the words. In simple words, it reads, "Made in my image, in my likeness, so that you may rule over all the creatures that move along the ground.

By Oluwamitomisin