Page 21 of The Little Liar
The story concerned the majestic White Tower, a fortress constructed in the fifteenth century to protect Salonika from attack. It was a proud landmark for everyone in the city, and Nico’s grandfather Lazarre had taken Nico, Sebastian, and Fannie there to celebrate Nico’s eighth birthday. After a special lunch of beef stew, rice with pine nuts, and Turkish pudding for dessert, Lazarre and the children walked the promenade by the gulf. They passed the old hotels and the outdoor cafés with their small tables and colorful awnings shielding patrons from the sun. Soon they reached the tower, and saw the pavilion, restaurant, and grassy park that encircled it.
“I have a surprise,” Lazarre said. “Wait here.”
Nico, Fannie, and Sebastian watched as Lazarre approached a guard, and the two of them spoke under a pine tree. Lazarre slipped the man some money. Then he nodded for the kids to hurry over.
“Where are we going, Nano?” Nico asked.
Lazarre grinned. “Up.”
Nico slapped his brother’s arm, and Sebastian smiled back. Fannie actually jumped in the air. Soon the three of them were ascending the many steps that wound inside the fortress, peeking out through the occasional tiny window covered with metal grates. It felt, to the youngsters, as if they were climbing for hours. Finally, they passed through an arched doorway and stepped out to the roof, where the blue sky smacked their faces and the whole of Salonika was laid out beneath them.
The view was unlike anything they had ever seen. To the west were the city’s rooftops and the harbor, to the north the hillside and the ancient citadel, to the east the rich mansions with their manicured gardens, and to the south the gulf and the North Aegean Sea, with snowcapped Mount Olympus as clear as a painting.
“Now, I want to tell you all a story,” Lazarre said. “Do you know why they call this the White Tower?”
The children shrugged.
“This used to be a prison. It was dirty and dark and there were bloodstains on the outside from inmates who had been killed. There were so many executions here, they called it the Blood Tower.
“One day, the people in charge decided to clean it up. But it was expensive and difficult. No one wanted the job.
“Finally, a prisoner spoke up. He volunteered to paint the entire tower white, all by himself, on one condition: they forgive his crime and let him go free.”
“The whole tower?” Nico asked.
“The whole tower,” Lazarre said.
“Did he do it?”
“Yes. It took a long time, more than a year, but he finished the job, all by himself. And, as promised, they let him go. From then on, we called it the White Tower.”
“Do you know who the man was?” Sebastian asked.
“Not many remember,” Lazarre said, “but I do. His name was Nathan Guidili.” He paused. “He was a Jew, just like us.”
The children looked at one another. The sun was setting and the horizon was turning orange. Lazarre took his grandsons’ hands.
“There is a lesson in that story,” he said. “Do you know what it is?”
The boys waited as Lazarre looked out to sea.
“A man, to be forgiven, will do anything,” he said.
Another Parable
Once, in earlier times, the Angel of Truth decided to walk among the people and share its message of positive power. Alas, the people turned away whenever Truth got close. They covered their eyes. They ran in the other direction.
Truth grew despondent and went to hide in an alley. That’s when Parable, who had been watching all this unfold, came to Truth’s side.
“What’s wrong?” Parable asked.
“Everyone hates me. They turn away as soon as they see me coming.”
“Well, look at you,” Parable said. “You’re stark naked. Of course, they run. They’re scared of you.”
Parable, who was decked in many colorful robes, removed one and handed it over.
“Here. Put this on and try again.”
