Academy

Davion woke with a start. He’d fallen asleep at his desk again. He raised his head and looked around. This was not his home.

He sat in an opulent-but-tasteful office. The desk before him was huge. A pile of scrolls covered most of it.

Then he noticed his hands. They were gnarled and wrinkled, as if he were old. He looked at them in wonder.

A knock at the door. Davion said, "Yes?"

A young man walked in. He was brown-skinned and handsome, with dark hair and eyes. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen. He held a scroll in his hand.

"I have the scroll you asked for, sir," said the youth.

Davion looked up at him in surprise. The youth held out the scroll. Davion took it and unrolled it; it was a treatise on knots. It had his name on it.

"Why does this bear my name?" asked Davion.

The youth shifted uncomfortably. "Isn’t this the one you wanted? You asked me to scribe a copy of your work on knots."

"I did?" asked Davion.

"Uh," said the youth, "are you feeling okay, sir?"

"I feel old," said Davion. "There’s strange pains in my back and knees I’ve never felt before." He stood and stretched, then looked at the youth and asked, "What’s your name?"

The kid looked upset. "I’m Malachi. I’m your student. Are you okay?"

Davion looked around the office, then looked at Malachi and smiled. "I’m sorry. I’m fine. I think I’ve traded places with my younger self for a moment."

"I see," said Malachi.

"Will you do me a favor?" asked Davion.

"Anything, sir," said Malachi.

"Pretend I’m a newcomer," said Davion. "Pretend I’ve never been to this place before. Show me around and tell me all about it."

Malachi looked confused, but agreed.

He took Davion to the library. Davion marveled at the massive collection of scrolls and the thirty-foot ladders needed to retrieve the ones highest up. He stood staring, in awe, for some time.

"Marvelous," he said. "Amazing. To think of so much wisdom collected in one place…​"

Malachi took him next to the lecture hall. There was a dais for the lecturer and enough seats for a hundred students. Davion stood at the podium and looked out over the hall, imagining it full of students eager for knowledge.

"This is something," said Davion, his eyes far away. "Who created this place?"

Malachi looked uncomfortable again. "You did, sir. You built this academy."

Davion looked at Malachi with raised eyebrows. "I did this?"

"Yes."

Davion looked out over the empty seats. He imagined himself speaking before a crowd, something that would normally strike terror into his heart. He imagined a crowd of eager learners, and felt somehow less afraid.

He looked at Malachi with soft eyes. "I never imagined doing anything like this. I’ve always been a solitary man. I’ve always been afraid of people."

"But," he said, "now that I see it? It makes so much sense. Life isn’t just about mastering philosophy. It’s about sharing it with others."

"Yes, sir," said Malachi.

"Thank you, Malachi," said Davion. "Thank you for showing me this."

"Sure thing," said Malachi, a look of incredulity on his face.