Elephant in a Golden Cage

Dear Tobias, 

I am writing this letter to let you know that I am fine. My brother, you know me better than I know myself. Honesty even of the brutish kind is far more important than comfort in my eyes. I won’t tell you that everything is alright and caution you from worrying. I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I’ve been abducted by men; all disguised and brought to this palace. A habitat of extreme wealth even my years as a writer couldn’t bestow onto me.

 After my journey with these men they held, almost like a prisoner so tight around my arms and neck I felt the circulation of these parts all but disappear. Even worse, I stand before a boy sitting at a desk in a military uniform. I almost lost my sanity at that moment. I was taken from my slumber, my journey completely in tethers, and the world not knowing where I am, at the demand of a child not too much older than your son. I could feel the anger welling up inside of me, it wasn’t helping his peering at me. I noticed his exhibitory gaze; he was a fan. Maybe I thought he would ask for an autograph and release me. 

He finally spoke and revealed himself in this light soulless voice. His name, Jeremiah Siziba, stood out. I was dumbfounded. The boy had the audacity to tell me in the most calm voice ever: “You are one of the greatest minds of our time. Once you serve my people I will return you to the world.” I asked the young president what exactly he wanted me to serve his people with. He looked at me and smiled, replying “a song, a painting and some ideas on a new project for the youth of this country.” 

The boy moved directly into his next point almost as if my millisecond of silence was my approval at his plan. He told me that I will receive at least 3 hours of down time to do whatever it is I desire to help make my work truly special. I could be outside, in the town, or wherever in the country I pleased, as long as I am in my cell by the time the three hours are up.

I don’t know Toby. Part of me still needs to remember that this “boy’ is probably one of the most well armed and dangerous persons in the world. With the stroke of a pen he can decide the future of generations. All these questions keep swirling around in my mind. What if the work I make he doesn’t like? What if he changes his mind and lets me go tonight, who would I call to take me home? Part of me is so terrified, no artist in history has had to endure this much strife to make a great work. I need you to promise not to tell the public, media, or even your family about my whereabouts. This is already a high stakes situation and we need not make it worse. If you don’t get a letter from me in 3 weeks time frame you have every liberty to assume the worst and share all that I have told you with the world. I love you Toby, you're the only one I have. 

Love Your Brother,

Arlo

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Arlo, 

This is ridiculous! What business does this wanna be Idi Amin have in abducting random celebrities to be his entertainment! I can’t even imagine how perplexing, haunting, and provoking this situation must be. You always were the more rational one out of the seven of us. If it were me I would have been dead already with my manhood being bruised by knowing my life was in the uncalloused hands of this goon who is barely old enough to operate a vehicle. It’s times like these where I feel so utterly sympathetic to the people of that nation. They are being led by a tyrant who has no regard for human life and dignity of any kind. 

Brother, I as much as it torments my soul I guess I will have to comply with your promise. The news is running head over heels trying to be the first to break this story. Headlines like: “Artist Arlo commits suicide and disintegrated his own body”, “Arlo disappears and ran to Cuba.” Or something like: “Arlo Marshall has cancer and flew to Bhutan for some holy treatment.” T I wasn’t sure what to believe. I’m happy to hear you decently well but saddened by the circumstances you find yourself in. The news has the story all wrong, but this? I’m not sure if it is any less insane or unproblematic. Please keep in touch, and don’t let your mind wander. If you can survive all the pain you have experienced then you can and will survive this. 

Love, 

Tobias

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Dear Tobias,

I understand that it is definitely hard for everyone back home as well not knowing exactly where I am and what is exactly happening. But it is honestly for the best, I believe. The boy has told me and reiterated the sooner I finish his tasks the sooner I can return home. Maybe it’s the charm he used to seduce the masses into believing him. But something in his eyes tells me he is speaking the utter and complete truth.

In my moment of release he decided the first day he would walk with me and show me around the capital where he resides. I couldn’t lie to you Toby. The city was beautiful, it wasn’t massively intimidating like New York or Tokyo. But it had its own superiority to the others that my mind couldn’t truly put a finger on. What made it special were the people,. Young and old ran to us wanting to shake hands with the boy and just bask in his presents. He accepted them almost as it was his own family. A father of a nation, who was fatherless himself. Little boys and girls wanted to be held by this president.

 Before long some of the shine was placed on me, he introduced me as a good friend of his. In the corners of my mind, in the parts not consumed by the joy of seeing happy people; I questioned his use of the term “friend". I was obtained in the middle of the night like a criminal and he can smile in the faces of these people and speak of me so familiarly. It puzzled me. My trance was broken by a small boy whose front teeth were growing in, tugging on my shirt sleeve. He looked up at me in wonder, he began to reiterate a paragraph and a half from one of my earliest novels. He stuttered in fear and embarrassment as the whole town came around us watching as the young child tried to articulate the piece of literature that resonated the most with him. In an act that I didn’t even think about, I knelt down on his level and helped him complete the sample of the story. Almost like an incantation word for word, two souls linked together in the utter and complete love of literature that reaches the soul. The crowd clapped in approval and awe, within the scours of noise I felt a glance strike me. I looked over and saw the proud smile of the President looking on from a distance at the exchange that took place. The crowd began to disperse and we continued on our journey. 

We stopped at a plot of land, the skeleton of it seemed like nothing but a park with adjacent buildings going to be built around it. What he showed me was a new concept he and members of his staff came up with. “The Scholastic Village”, a place that students and scholars alike could come and formulate new ideas to revolutionize the world they live in. A place where the arts, technology and science flourish together. No one subject needs to take precedents and overpower the other. A place where the young boy who happened to be named Arlo as well couldn’t become the man he wanted to be. He asked what my thoughts were on it. I told him it was a magnificent idea, my only suggestion is it would be great to have courses taught by those same captains of those fields so children and students could see a real world example of what they want to become. He looked at me and asked if that was something I would be interested in. I didn't have to wait for him to finish the word “interested” before I jumped and said yes. Suddenly one of the guards came to him and spoke softly in his ear. And we made our way back to the palace. 

After I had eaten, used the restroom, and obtained the canvas and paper for my work, I became situated in my cell. The president came to my cell once more to talk. He stated he had something he wanted to show me. He takes out his phone, as I wait patiently, fearfully having traces in my heart. He plays a video. A video with me being interviewed. I was asked by the interviewer why I didn’t also work with the other artists in drafting a statement about the supposed grievances many African countries had with European businesses. I blankly replied I just didn’t feel like it was for me, laughing afterwards. The interviewer pushed back listing how many of these companies exploit these people, and even employ small children between the ages of three and seven to do their work. My response: “Hey, I make art, write stories, and make music. I leave the work of politicians to politicians. They’ll figure something out.” I was embarrassed, and remorseful of my statement at that very moment. Though it was decades ago, that very way of thinking was the ethos of my life in a lot of ways. This idea of my greatness and body of work alone needing to be charity for the masses. Now I was confronted by my own legacy today with little Arlo. 

He looked at me, the bars disappearing for just the moments we were talking: “Mr. Marshall, I could’ve shown you this video before we left. But, I don’t think it would have resonated with you the way it did. seeing the people made the situation more real. The West sees me in a particular fashion, maybe even you did before you came to this nation. But, I never want to distance myself from my people so much that issues that are so real to them are fables to me.” 

I felt so elitist, so out of touch with the very society at one point in my life I was so critical of. Maybe if I am being very honest with myself Toby, maybe that is why my career has been on a downward spiral. My work wasn’t real anymore. I replaced my pain, my drive to push boundaries and not be afraid to stir up controversy with a need to protect my funds at all costs. I even remember the clothes I was wearing once I got to this continent. Even now I can’t help but feel as though to shake my head. I bathed myself in the most expensive fragrance, clothed myself in the most luxurious attire. But I had nothing within to stand on anymore. I define myself by my hardships and now that pain doesn’t align with my lifestyle anymore I never found a greater calling than to shake up the system and to be a rebel. Now the rebellion left me and I’m left with past accolades and achievements to hold some form of content with. 

President Siziba realized my shortcomings and instead of exposing me, he corrected my behavior in private the way a real leader should. I may have been wrong. There is real wisdom in this young man, far beyond perhaps even I possess. 

Love,

Arlo

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Arlo, Mr Brother

I'm happy you are doing well. But, I want to caution you from falling prey to the political vanity of this child. He is a dictator. I cannot reiterate this enough, they are men who use they’re words to grow an empire off of the emotions of an angry people. Don’t be fooled, this is what they were born to do.

As far as this school or educational facility. Arlo, why would you agree to work with this boy? How do you know that whatever it is that you will teach or any artist for that matter will be free of any form of indoctrination. As young as this kid is, his type isn’t too sympathetic to rebel rousers or those that speak a different tune to the regime. What if your agreement suddenly means you have to stay in that country longer and serve this man? And your statements were pretty much twenty years ago uttered on tv. Of course your stances have changed so his somehow using that information to try and guilt trip you is exactly what I am talking about. 

Your work has shifted the minds of two generations and will continue for generations more. And that is far more powerful than any monetary aid or letter you could have written to the United Nations. The same man that created all of those works is the same man that is being held captive. By God’s grace the minute you are released and on the shores of the United States you will return to the top of the literary world. I promise you that. 

There isn’t a day when me and our family pray for your return. Hopefully this megalomaniac keeps his word releases so you can come home. 

Stay safe,

Tobias

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Tobias, My Brother,

I am on my way home. Not on terms I would have hoped for to be perfectly honest with you. My heart is heavy. And I truly love you but President Siziba is truly a great man. And a leader that will change the course of history for his country, his continent, and the world at large. Hopefully this letter reaches you before I get home but my leaving honestly feels bittersweet.

As stated in my first letter, I completed the song. I called it the 'Dreams of the Arlos’ dedicated to the Arlo I met in the capital on my first day. A song about discovery and realizing there is another soul out in the great world we inhabit, that shares the same aspirations as us. And one can count themselves as lucky if they meet this individual. The crowd gathered at the palace loved the very concept of the song. When I brought out a little Arlo to sing it with me, it only added to the joy and amazement of the people. The President as well was very impressed with the first piece of my work. 

Finally it was time for my final project. The last act of service to these beautiful people and their leader who only matched if not exceeded their personal greatness. My painting is covered in a shawl similar to a bride who is to be presented to her groom. I ripped the shawl off to show a painting, a painting of an elephant held back by the bars of a golden cage. Shimmering gold that juxtaposed the sad, dark, and melancholy world it inhabited. It's dark gray trunk trying desperately to regain the grasp of a balloon, it held onto its only form of joy. The crowd after a thorough inspection got up with a roar of applause at the beauty of it. I looked at all the faces astonished by what they saw in front of them. President Siziba clapped as well. But it was one to save face. He smiled as well but his pain was clear. The art struck a chord with him, one that was unintentional. I wasn’t afraid of whatever it was he would do to me. I was afraid he was offended and hurt by my work. We began to build somewhat of a friendship while I was there. So much so as the finish line of my projects began to be more visible. Part of me felt a bit saddened as if I knew something bad would occur to this man once I left. 

The president came up to the front of the room: he gave me a hug. Then went to the podium and spoke: 

‘Mr. Marshall has provided our people with great works to remember and fill the history books with. As much as it pains me to say I believe it is time for Mr. Marshall to say goodbye and return to his family and his people. Mr. Marshall from the bottom of our heart we wanna thank you for what you have made for us.” Immediately he left the podium and began to walk back. The guards escorted me back to my cell to obtain my things. I asked them if it was possible for me to at least say goodbye to the president before my departure. They merely told me: Mr. President is very tired right now and his guards believe it would be in his best interest to rest for the day tomorrow.” I couldn’t argue all that I came with I took and placed in my backpack that was given to me. All that was left behind was a note and a book I wrote just for the president. A gift if you will.

As of writing this I am on my way to the airport. Tobias hopefully I will see you once I land in New York. Hopefully I reach you before my letter. I know we have a lot to talk about and I look forward to discussing every one of these things with you upon my arrival. 

Love, 

Arlo