di Antonio Napoli

THE DEN

The village elder had spoken at length to the young people sitting in a circle around a pile of ashes, now rekindled with new flames. The last light of day slipped away from the entrances of the houses, and darkness expanded, creeping everywhere with its silent army.

Among those listening, the eldest of them stood up and said in a firm voice:
“Your stories are like the finely carved wooden doors I saw in Sijilmassa. They are marvelous, but we have lost the key. You do not provide us with one—how can we open them and see if they hide other wonders behind them?”

Another stood up to reply:
“And yet, we do have a key, because we understand something while you speak. But we do not dare to try opening the door at the end of the tale: we are held back by the fear of understanding too much. Which means giving up our habits and way of life.”

A third laughed and said:
“We who listen to your parables are nothing but dreamers standing before a painted door. We remain there, motionless in our stubborn waiting, as if the voice that narrates could one day transform deception into passage, shadow into threshold, dream into reality.”

A fourth approached the preacher, tugging at his robe with unease:
“Who among them is right? Come, explain to us, for the hunters are already returning, and it is time for all of us to retreat into our dens, safe from the ominous Night.”

The elder replied:
“Beware of dens: they may be traps. One who retreats may find himself poised to strike. And one who pursues may discover himself defenseless.”

And he told a parable:

“The hunter, chasing a difficult prey, said with confidence:
‘Oh prey, you may run, you may even delude yourself into thinking you have found a safe refuge where you can calm your fear. But know this—determination is everything for a hunter. There is no den that can withstand the law of the hunt: every shelter is but an illusion. You are merely postponing your end.’

And with these words, he entered a cave, where the prey had hidden.

‘Your idea of a den,’ the prey said from the deep shadows, ‘has deceived and betrayed only you.’

And with a leap, it tore the life from him.”

“So I too, within the den of my stories, am the prey that unexpectedly captures you. I strip you of your old life to give you a more conscious one so that you may understand that hunter and prey, key and door, are nothing but reflections of each other. There is no hand that turns the lock without also being the threshold that opens.

This is my explanation: you believe you are listening to me, standing outside the door, but in truth, my voice from within has already swallowed you.”

This parable teaches that knowledge is not merely a gateway to be crossed but an experience that devours those who seek it.