A Princely Little Park
To Caitlin — my fox and my rose
Any resemblance to the actual Parc du Petit Prince is entirely intentional.
I came to the park by aeroplane.
The invitation had explained how to arrive by road, by railway, and by a coach from the station. It said nothing about aeroplanes.
I am an aviator, so I came by air.
I left my machine in a field just outside the entrance. Then I walked to the gate.
A young woman there gave me a card on a ribbon. My name was printed on it. Beneath it were the words:
LEGACY STAKEHOLDER
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means you are one of our honoured participants.”
This was not quite the same thing, but there were people waiting behind me.
I had been invited because long ago I had written down what the little prince had told me of his travels. The park had invited several of those he had met as well. I knew them only from what he had told me.
I had not gone far when I heard a commanding voice.
“The balloon is to remain on the ground.”
A little way inside the park stood a large captive balloon, held by its cables. A sign announced that the wind was too strong for flights. Beside it stood an old man dressed with unmistakable magnificence.
“The ascent is forbidden,” he said.
“Because of the wind?”
“Because I have forbidden it.”
I looked at the sign.
He looked at me.
Then I understood whom the little prince had met on the first of the small planets.
“You are the King.”
He inclined his head, as though I had correctly answered a very easy question.
He considered the balloon.
“When the wind becomes suitable, I shall permit it to rise.”
“And until then?”
“Until then, it will obey me.”
The balloon tugged once at its cables and remained exactly where it was.
I went back towards the entrance and took the other path. A little farther on I came to an attraction devoted to some of the small planets.
A man stood outside the entrance. He wore an elegant hat and watched the visitors going in. Whenever one of them happened to look his way, he raised the hat and bowed.
He noticed the card around my neck.
“You wrote the book.”
“Yes.”
“The boy said those things to you. That is slander. And you wrote them down.”
“I wrote down what I was told.”
“That is libel.”
He pointed towards the attraction.
“They expect me to go in there. There are other people in it.”
I looked at the sign. Several inhabitants of the little planets were listed together. He explained that his name should be larger on the signs and no one else should share his attraction.
I considered the Conceited Man. I began to think the book had treated him kindly.
A family passed us without looking in his direction. He raised his hat to them anyway.
I went inside. The attraction ran on a short circuit. Several of its cars represented little planets. Children climbed aboard, were carried around the circuit and returned to the same platform.
Near one of the cars stood a man with a notebook. He was counting the passengers and questioning the attendant between departures.
“How many came yesterday?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how much did this attraction earn?”
“Admission is for the whole park.”
“I know that. How much did this attraction earn?”
“We don’t calculate it separately.”
The Businessman frowned.
“Then how do you know whether it is profitable?”
“The park is profitable as a whole.”
“That is a number about the park. I am asking about my asteroid.”
He opened his notebook and began making calculations of his own.
A little distance away, the Lamplighter was paying no attention to us. He was watching the attendant.
The attendant checked the restraints, closed the gate and sent the children on their way. When they returned, he opened the gate, released them, admitted another group and began again.
“How often does he do that?” asked the Lamplighter.
“Every few minutes.”
“All day?”
“While the attraction is open.”
“Does he rest?”
“He has breaks.”
The Lamplighter nodded and continued watching.
Meanwhile the Businessman had filled a page with figures.
“How much does the man earn?” he asked.
The attendant told him.
“A wage can be calculated separately,” said the Businessman, “but the revenue cannot?”
“That is simply the way the accounts are kept.”
The Businessman considered this.
“I shall need to see the accounts.”
“Why?” I asked.
He pointed with his pencil towards the car beside him.
“Because that one is mine.”
The Lamplighter turned from the attendant.
“What do you do for it?”
“I keep account of it.”
The gate opened. The children climbed out and another group climbed in.
The Businessman returned to his figures.
The Lamplighter watched the attendant begin again.
Beyond the asteroid attraction the path led to a tall tower. At its base was a circular platform with seats around a central bar. I sat beside an elderly gentleman who carried a large folded sheet of paper.
When the platform began to rise, he noticed my card.
“You are an aviator.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
He told me that the park had created an aerial attraction in his honour. According to its description, he had supplied meteorological observations for an aeronaut’s flight.
“That is the error,” he said. “I do not make observations.”
I looked at him.
“You are the Geographer.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is this attraction?”
He gestured vaguely over the park below.
“Somewhere there.”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“A geographer does not make observations.”
By then we had risen above the trees. Paths appeared between the buildings and gardens, and beyond them lay a landscape of fields.
The Geographer unfolded his paper and took out a pencil.
“You look,” he said. “I shall draw the map.”
So I pointed out the entrance and the attractions I could see. He questioned me about each turning of the paths and recorded my answers.
As we rose higher, the plan of the park became clear. The paths formed almost a circle. From the tower one path ran back towards the entrance; the other continued through the gardens before returning to the same place.
“Which is shorter?” asked the Geographer.
I showed him.
He marked it carefully.
When the platform descended, he folded the map and put it under his arm.
“Now,” he said, “I know which way back is shorter.”
“Won’t you go and see the attraction they made for you?”
“There is no need. I know where it is.”
He left by the shorter path.
The other passengers had stepped off. One man remained in his seat. I was about to follow the Geographer when I noticed him.
“Aren’t you getting off?” I asked.
“No.”
“You are going up again?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To drink.”
“Why do you drink?”
“Because I am ashamed.”
“Of what?”
He pointed above the entrance to the tower. Only then did I notice the sign:
THE DRUNKARD’S SKYBAR
I looked back at him. He lifted his glass.
“To forget,” he said.
The attendant closed the gate. The platform began to rise again.
The Drunkard went with it.
I watched him until he was above the trees.
I took the longer path. After a while I came to a place where a group of children were waiting for a fox-taming experience.
A fox sat apart from them, watching.
The experience began. The Fox watched until it was over and the children came away.
“How long does it take?” he asked the attendant.
“Ten minutes.”
“And then?”
“They say goodbye.”
“When do they come back?”
“They don’t. Another group comes for the next session.”
“And that takes ten minutes too?”
“Yes.”
The attendant smiled.
“The goodbye is the best part. The children like it most.”
The Fox said nothing.
Another group came forward and the experience began again.
After a little while, the Fox came over to me.
“Where are you going?”
“I am following the path around the park.”
He looked once more at the children.
“I will come with you.”
So we continued together.
The path led us into a rose garden. There were roses on both sides of us and beyond them still more roses. A small sign said that the garden contained about five thousand.
Near one end, however, one rose stood in a flowerpot. A park employee was setting her carefully on the ground.
“Not so hard,” said the Rose.
“I’m sorry.”
“You might have disturbed my roots.”
“We kept all your own soil,” said the employee. “Just as you asked.”
When the employee had gone, the Rose looked around her.
“They put me here because they said I would have company.”
“You have plenty,” I said.
“That is exactly the problem.”
She regarded the beds nearest her.
“How many are there?”
“About five thousand.”
“Five thousand?”
“Yes.”
The Rose was silent for a moment.
“Did he water them?”
“No.”
“He only watered me.”
The Fox sat down beside the path. The Rose continued looking at the garden. After a while she said:
“I do not wish to stay here.”
“Then come with us.”
“You will have to carry me.”
I lifted the pot. It was heavy with the soil they had brought with her.
“Carefully,” she said.
I adjusted my grip.
“That is better.”
The Fox rose, and we continued along the path together.
By the time we reached the main building, a crowd had gathered outside the doors. I set the Rose down beside the path. The Fox stopped beside her. The Businessman stood at the centre of the crowd with his notebook open. The King, the Conceited Man, the Geographer and the Lamplighter were already there. A man wearing a suit and the park’s badge was trying to answer them.
The Businessman saw me.
“I have found the shop.”
“And?”
“They sell books, pictures, toys and other things because of the little prince.”
“Yes.”
“And because of us.”
The man with the park’s badge stepped forward.
“I am the Director.”
“Excellent,” said the Businessman. “How much do you earn from all of us?”
“The park does not calculate revenue by character.”
“That is what I was told about my asteroid.”
He held up his card.
“You invited us here as stakeholders.”
“It is only a term.”
“Then you have used the term incorrectly.”
“There is also the matter of permission,” said the King.
“The park meant it as a tribute,” said the Director.
The King brightened.
“Then tribute will be acceptable.”
The Businessman made a note.
“If there is to be a division,” said the Conceited Man, “it must reflect importance.”
“You mean an equal share?” asked the Director.
“Certainly not. I shall require separate billing.”
The Businessman made another note.
The Geographer unfolded his map.
“No map, route or geographical description should be issued without my approval.”
The Businessman wrote again.
“Tribute, billing and approval,” he said. “All of that has value.”
The Director looked at them.
“This was not meant as a financial arrangement.”
The Businessman pointed towards the shop.
“But the financial arrangement already exists.”
The King, the Conceited Man and the Geographer began speaking at once. The Businessman started putting figures beside his notes.
The Lamplighter had said nothing.
“And the man who runs the asteroid attraction?” he asked.
“What about him?” said the Director.
“Does he receive a share?”
“No. He receives wages.”
The Lamplighter looked back towards it.
“He keeps it running.”
The Businessman did not look up.
“Wages are a cost.”
The Lamplighter said nothing more.
The Director glanced at the doors.
“We can discuss this inside.”
The Businessman closed his notebook. The King went in after him, followed by the Conceited Man and the Geographer. The Lamplighter hesitated, then followed them.
The doors closed.
The Fox, the Rose and I remained outside for a while. Voices could be heard within, though I could no longer distinguish the words.
We had each lost him once. That was enough.
I picked up the Rose.
“Are we going somewhere?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I had not decided.”
We passed through the gate. My aeroplane was where I had left it in the field.
The Rose regarded it carefully.
“There will be wind.”
“Yes.”
“Then you must cover me.”
“I know.”
I found a sheltered place for her and wrapped my flying coat around the pot.
“Not too tightly,” she said.
I loosened it.
“That is better.”
The Fox climbed aboard.
“How long will it take?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
I started the engine and took us up in a wide climbing turn. Below, the park opened beneath us. I could see the paths making their circle, the tower rising above them, and the captive balloon still on the ground. Near the middle I could make out the little prince’s asteroid.
For a little while I could distinguish it clearly.
Then the tower, the gardens and the paths drew closer together, until at last the whole park seemed very small.
The Fox watched until it was gone.
The Rose asked me to adjust my coat.
So I did.