A tall, fair-haired boy who looked about 20 or so (wearing a brown jacket, a long dark grey tunic and sandals) approached his bearded, 50 year-old father in the off-white farmhouse with the red tiled roof, by the dark green tree, bedecked with ripe lemons.
The older man looked concerned at the conversation, and took out three blue-covered hardback books to examine rows and rows of black and red figures, before counting out gold, silver and bronze-coloured coins and several green notes. The boy neatly stacked the money into a black bag, packed his orange jumper and some highly decorated underwear into a blue backpack and set off down the country road, which was framed with evergreens, bushes, shrubs, flowers and lush green grass verges, sparkling and beautiful in the bright Middle Eastern sunshine.
After three days’ walking, as evening approached, he encountered a busy, brash street in Dissipation City, where lights flashed white and yellow. Green, red and gold banners waved in the breeze, attracting attention to the various gambling and drinking houses.
The boy quickly became involved with consuming long sparking drinks topped with fruit and straws and sparklers and being entertained by perfect-teethed, red-lipped blondes and brunettes in miniscule black satin dresses, with plenty of darkly tanned flesh showing.
After a while, the boy’s drinks grew more pale, and the girls less attractive, until his gold and silver ran out completely. Penniless, he wondered what to do. Then the news came through that the land was now in famine. All the fields of yellowing corn had turned to grey; all the purple and black berries had withered into dull browns; all the green, red, yellow and orange fruit was enfeebled and had become unappealing and wizened.
Black, dark days followed as the land fell into the depth of famine. The boy, now without a coat of any colours, sat by a dirty trough where grey hogs sniffled among grey and brown thrown-out vegetables. The boy’s cheeks were hollow and his eyes sad as he longed to try the pale, limp food the pigs were eating. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. He had come to his senses. ‘I will return home and become a servant.’
He walked along the dirty, dusty rutted track that was bordered by greying, scorched, unwatered vegetation and tangled brambles. But while he was still a long way off, his father ran to him and hugged him by placing one hand on each of the boy’s shoulder blades and pressing his chest upon the boy’s. He called for a bright gold ring, a yellow coat, a pair of leather sandals with highly-polished metal buckles and ordered his servants to get the bonfire going.
Later, the orange and red flames danced merrily as the long, dark brown carcass of the fatted calf slowly rotated on its shiney metal spit. Smoke curled lazily past the green tree near the off-white farmhouse with the red tiled roof, and the villagers had pink gins, pale ales, lilac wine with cinnamon toast and blueberries. They had whitebait, black-eyed peas, apricots with cream, greengages, Golden Delicious and Russet apples, chocolate brownies, red salmon with purple-sprouting broccoli and greens; and there was brown toast with Golden Spread or Golden Syrup as well as mustard, plus olives, oranges, tangerines and plums.
The father smoothed his greying beard (some might say it was a sable silver’d) and said ‘My tall, handsome boy was lost but is found. He was dead, mouldering, still, grey, pallid; but now he’s fair, ruddy, healthy-looking and very much alive! Look, everyone!’
