A Question of Economics

     There once was a village beside a lavender field. On some days, if you stood at a distance and the light was just right, the houses appeared to be washed in a delicate, purple haze.  

     To the East and West of the village were fields where the villagers grew their food. To the North was a river. Beyond the river was a forest and at the edge of the forest was a hill where the vizier lived in a grand house. The vizier owned the river, the forest and the fields.

     To the South of the village, past the lavender field was an apricot orchard, and beyond the orchard was a town.  The town was not much bigger than the village, but everyone called it a town because the houses were so lovely. Each one had a courtyard with a fountain and peacocks that wandered proudly among the flowers.

     The people in the town had beautiful hands and shiny hair. The villagers, knew this was because they didn’t work in the hot sun that had turned their own faces brown with deep lines around their eyes from smiling and creases in their foreheads from worry. The towns people would often dine with the vizier in his house and the hill and when they passed by the village, they looked at  the children and the fathers and mothers living there, with pity. And sometimes with disdain. And some didn’t look at all.

     One day, the vizier woke to the news that locusts had eaten all of the crops in the fields. All the villagers had left was the lavender, which they would sell at market in a month’s time. When his secretary finished reporting the news, the vizier nodded his head and said “So be it.”

     The following weeks in the village were very difficult. Everyone had to learn to fish for one thing. This included making fishing poles. The children helped by collecting sticks from the forest. The women took apart strands of wool to create lines and bent needles into hooks. The men went out before the sun and dug up the earth from the fields to find worms for bait. As they dangled them in the moonlight, they whispered their apology to these friends of the earth that had cultivated their crops so well, season after season. One of them, while putting the last of the worms in a jar, offered the only words that could be said on such a night, “So be it.”

     The townspeople continued their visits to the viziers’ house.  Now that it was summer, most stayed hidden under umbrellas and examined their faces in small round mirrors to make sure they were still beautiful.  A lot can happen out in the world— especially in the heat— it is best to stay vigilant they thought.

     One night at dinner, the vizier asked the townspeople how they will afford to live, now that the apricot orchard had been destroyed by locusts?  The townspeople owned the orchard and all their wealth came from the sale of the tiny, sweet fruit.

     One woman coughed a little as she swallowed her steak. Her husband shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Their eldest daughter immediately took out her small mirror to make sure the words of the vizier hadn’t caused any lines to appear, or smudge her makeup.

     “We will use the money from the sale of the lavender fields,” one townsperson finally answered.

     “So be it”, said the vizier before taking another bite of his rice.

     On the way home, the townspeople reflected on the vizier’s question. “It was quite thoughtless”, one said. The others nodded in agreement. As they rolled passed the village, a few looked with mild curiosity at the houses.

     Three more weeks passed and then it was time to harvest the lavender. The women of the village tied their hair up and wore brightly coloured scarves to protect their heads from the summer sun. The men, women and children went to the fields and began cutting the fragrant purple flowers and piling them in baskets woven from leaves.

     The villagers carried the full baskets to the edge of the field and lined them up in careful rows. They stood in quiet thought. One fifth of the profits from the lavender harvest was for the village, and the rest was for the town. Each villager mentally calculated what it would sell for at market.  No one spoke, but each, except for the very young children, realized that the money would not last through the fall. The villagers were too tired from the heat and the days’ work to say any of  this out loud. It wasn’t until one of the women in a quiet voice said, “So be it” that in unison they walked in silence back to the village.

     The villagers used some of the money to buy jars of pickled beets and cabbage to change the monotony of their meals. The townspeople bought all the dresses, coats, and earrings they liked. They continued to look in mirrors and visit one another. They celebrated birthdays, took joy in their children’s accomplishments, worried over the age of their parents and generally felt most of what anyone in the world feels. The villagers felt all of this and a little bit more.

     Late in the fall, the village gathered for a meeting. The money had run out and winter was coming which meant the river would freeze and they wouldn’t even be able to have fish—a fact many of them secretly felt okay with.

     “What will we do?”, one asked, “soon we will be out of food”.

     “There is a way we can make it through the winter but it would mean everyone has to agree” offered a woman. The villagers leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear her idea. She continued, “If we cook our meals together, we can make the food last.

     “I don’t think that will work.”

     “What if some families have already eaten a lot of their food, but other families have saved theirs? The amount each family gives won’t be equal.” This was said with a glance in the direction of the bigger people and the families with many children.

     “But if you are the only one to survive the winter, how will you ever work the fields and tend the orchard in the spring when the crops come back?” asked one of the villagers.

     “You can eat your own food, but you can’t live your life without the rest of the village,” said a young woman.

     This made everyone think.

     But how will we decide what everyone gets to eat? What if some people need more food? asked a young, rather tall man.

     “If they need more food than they have to have more food. We should eat what we need but not necessarily all that we want. The amount for everyone won’t be the same but it will be fair.” said a young mother holding her baby .

     “We could start by bringing our food to the main street. Once we know what we have, we can plan”, said another.

     “I still don’t think it’s fair,”  protested one,  “If I have worked harder than you, and saved my food, why should I suffer because you weren’t as frugal? That’s not good economics.”

     “What if economics is not measured in amounts? What if  economics is measured in love?” asked the woman who had first suggested the villagers share their food.

     The room was quiet, but after she spoke, it changed. In the quiet before, there were small distractions, maybe some were thinking of dinner, or how they got that stain on their shirt, or how lovely a friend looked in the light. All these movements of thought, created a certain kind of absence. But in the quiet after, every thought became still and the silence became full again.

     “Isn’t economics just our decisions about what we want to give and what we want to take and to whom? Have you ever wondered how we make those decisions? You are looking for answers to satisfy your minds, believing the question of economics is an intellectual one.  My suggestion will never be able to do that, because it was meant to satisfy the heart. How can I let others have nothing, and feel satisfied? Maybe I could do that if I believe that economics is about material gain. In that case the decisions we make and the reasons for them come from our minds. But I think it is the heart that most influences what we see value in, and it is love that controls and moves our hearts. Therefore, the question of economics is a question of love.”

     It seemed to everyone that was all that could be said.  They left the gathering and walked home.  Each went to their cupboards where they faced their thoughts and their fears. They  took out every bag of rice, jars of beans,  pickles and beets. They wrestled with the idea of leaving behind one last jar…just in case. Each in her and his own way, consulted their conscience and made decisions. 

     Across the now shorn lavender field, the townspeople watched with curiosity and bewilderment. What on earth were the village people doing?  Why did they keep going in and out of their tiny homes without courtyards or fountains, and what could be in those jars? All of these questions and more they muttered to themselves while fanning their faces and touching shoulders just to make sure everything was as it has always been. “So be it” one of them said.  The phrase had become familiar from dinners with the vizier and they liked how it sounded. Even the teenagers could be heard saying it to one another when they went out walking together.    

     The winter passed and the villagers had food, even though on some nights the soup felt a little thin, no one was ever hungry. The townspeople had everything they thought they needed. They couldn’t understand how the villagers survived, but since they didn’t really know them, they neither wished them harm nor worried much about it. They continued their visits to the vizier who seemed to always be eating.  Once the townspeople asked him how the villagers survived with the winter with no food, but since he didn’t have an answer he said nothing.

     As for the villagers, they never returned to the economics before the locusts and the winter without crops.