For Mr. Markman

((This is a short story I wrote one year ago. I thought I'd post it for old time's sake. Enjoy!))


Well, here we are at yet another V-Day. No, that’s not “Victory Day” or even “Veterans’ Day”. It’s that infamous day once a year that we celebrate the thing we call “love.” Now some of you may be thinking, “Where did this strange day come from and why are we celebrating it?” Some people might tell you it originated from the Roman “Feast of Lubercus.” Others might tell you that it’s in tribute to Saint Valentine. However, neither of these really explains the way Valentine’s Day came to be what it is. So gather round children and I’ll tell you the real story…

Many years ago there was a wealthy merchant. He wasn’t a particularly interesting person, but when you’re the one of the richest people in the land, being devoid of personality isn’t really that much of a hindrance. His business was the most important thing to him. All day long, it was “Sell This”, “Buy That”, “Enslave That”, and “Don’t Touch That, It’s Infested.” But he was certainly successful.

He could have anything he wanted. Except, of course as the case often is, love. Love is one thing that is quite difficult to buy. The merchant was even married, but over the past few years he and his wife had grown distant. He just didn’t understand it. He heaped gifts on top of her for her birthday in June and gave her everything she could desire on their anniversary in October, but still something was missing. She just didn’t laugh or smile or pay attention to him as much as she used to.

So he decided to sacrifice ten minutes from his busy schedule to figure out exactly what the problem was. He started walking around town and came upon a poet. The poet did nothing but write of the woman he was hopelessly enamored with all day. The merchant thought this was quite a waste of time, especially since the woman wasn’t much to look at in the first place. When he mentioned this, the poet said, “But sir, she is the most beautiful person I have ever seen! Every small facet of her personality and divine countenance is but a fraction of her combined magnificence!”

Obviously the man was daft. Who would waste their life on something so trivial? So the merchant continued on his search. Then he came upon a gardener. The gardener had never been very successful, probably because he always saved the choicest flowers for his wife. Also because he was a gardener, and who wanted smelly, dead sticks to rot away in a crumbling old vase? The merchant asked the gardener why he sacrificed even his slim chance at success to give a paltry offering to his wife, even when the thing crumbled and died soon anyway? The gardener replied, “She is me life’s work! Wihout ‘er, I’d be lost and alone. Coin comes an goes the same as a flower, but ‘er smiles last me forever.”

Another fool. A man can’t live off smiles. But what he could live off was food, and conveniently there was a quaint little bakery quite nearby. The baker was deep in debt, but always kept a smile on his face. The merchant went in and bought a pastry or two and was quite impressed. “These are quite delicious! Why is a man of your caliber so impoverished?” the merchant asked.

"Well, I’m afraid I don’t spend very much time baking for customers. I absolutely must make every meal for my wife and our children the best possible. It costs a bit more time and money, but one can get lost in a delicious meal. I should know, I’ve had quite a few!” the baker laughed. The merchant thought that was rather obvious by the girth of the baker and his wife, but he politely did not mention it.

The merchant sighed in disgust and headed back to work, his search in vain. When he returned, he was approached by his head scribe. The scribe said, “Sir, I’ve come to tell you that I’m taking next week off.”
The scribe did this sort of thing once a month. In most business’s it would have been preposterous, but the man practically worked himself to death the other three weeks to make up for it,. The merchant thought it was ludicrous to work one’s self to death, but as long as it made him money he didn’t object.

“By the way,” the merchant asked, “why do you always practically kill yourself with work just to gain free time?”

”Well, this way I can afford to travel home and see my wife and family every month. I simply can’t bear being away from them for long, so I make sacrifices in order to return to them. I can’t do anything fancy for my wife, God only blessed me with mathematics, but apparently time is enough of a gift for my wife. Thus I try to return as much as possible.”

”Fine, fine. Scurry home. But I expect you back here bright and early in one week.”

And the scribe hurried home, sparing no expense to get there as fast as he could. This set the merchant to thinking. These men all seemed to have rather successful relationships with their “loves.” What was it that made them work? It must be the effort they applied.

”That doesn’t help me much,” the merchant thought. “I’ve got no time to waste on trifling little things like love, but it seems that these other men have it, so I must have it as well. What to do…”

The merchant, being a fairly intelligent man, decided to combine his business and his problem to create a solution. He’d have the poet write wretchedly mushy poems onto pieces of parchment, he could buy flowers from the gardener, and buy her some delicious sweets (not too much, of course; couldn’t have her gaining any weight). Then he’d take a few hours off of work and spend some quality time with her. But then he might be seen as someone who forsook his duties and become as much a fool as the rest of them. He’d be the laughing stock of the town, especially by those young men who still hadn’t married…

Then he had it. He’d create a “Day of Love.” If placed somewhere in February, that would evenly space the three days a year he had to pay attention to his wife so that she wouldn’t notice how much time he spent away from her. The gardener could sell more flowers, the poet could make a living off poetry, and the baker could sell more food (with the merchant overseeing and promoting, of course). They’d all become wealthy and not have to live like such idiotic paupers anymore. He could even buy his wife a nice dress from the tailor and some pretty stones to stick on her ears or around her neck. She’d enjoy the gifts and they would also serve to divert his view from her unfortunate face that was becoming a bit wrinkled. Not to mention that he could trot her around and shove her in the faces of all those little brats who didn’t have wives. Everyone wins!

And indeed they did. After a few years, the merchant (who had become even more wealthy from “Love Day’s” exploits) renamed the day “Valentine’s Day” to make it seem more religiously appropriate. Thus, one day each February, people would give love, time, and heaps of gifts to their neglected loved ones. And this is how Valentine’s Day came to be.

((That's all you're getting. It's rather childish, but hopefully it gets its point across. It hasn't been proofread, because I've got to go, but I think it'll suffice anyway. Enjoy the rest of V-Day everybody))