The Wish of a Name (Part 1)

Once upon a time there lived an ugly boy without a name. Staying in the house of a rich uncle on weekends, he remained happy those days. But on weekdays he must return to his real house with his family. It was not an ugly family, and all of the associates thereof had names.

“Who ever said I wanted a story written about me?”

You don’t have a name so you can’t sue me for putting you in a book. Technically, I could be writing about someone else.

“And you’re not going to name me?”

Not as of now. Perhaps once you have earned your way I shall title you.

“But I already have a title; you gave it to me at the beginning of the story.”

Truly? What was it?

“’…Ugly boy without a name’. That’s my title; I’d like a name much better.”

Hmm. You’re right—however, I don’t think you would be very thankful if I gave you a name just yet.

“In that case, can we get to the story so that I can be named?”

Where would you like to start?

“At the begging—where else?”

I already gave you your ‘once upon a time’ beginning. You wasted that entrance; perhaps we should try somewhere else.

“But I don’t know my story. I’m not sure if it’s happened. Couldn’t you give me a description and go from there? I think plot flows directly from the characters included in it, and I don’t have any description other than that I’m ugly and a boy.”

Sure I’ll give you a description. But you’re the one who cut in previously. Keep quiet and listen for a while.

You see, this boy without a name got so because his parents never knew whether he he’d prove to be anything particular in life; being cautious, they didn’t want to name him something that meant “Courageous” just to find out he was timid. So, whenever it was time for supper, they called “Boy without a name, your food is ready!” and he would come slowly down the stairs from his room where he sat usually all day long during the weekdays, hoping that the days would pass faster until the time when he would go to his rich uncle again.

(“I wanted my description to be about how I look like.”)

(Shush. This is good enough.)

One might ask why this ugly boy without a name liked going to his uncle’s so much, and even if the majority of you didn’t ask—well, I’ll answer whoever may have and hope that the others don’t mind me telling. The uncle—Uncle Obert—was a shy little man, and monstrously fat. He wore glasses, carried a large candy-cane to support him, and kept in his pocket one small book; just the thing that the boy without a name was so interested.

It was a leather-bound tome; neither side of it had anything written on them, and the spine was plain and without scribble or sign. Inside were only a few pages, and the Uncle Obert always read from them for hours silently or out loud, though the boy never knew how, as it seemed natural that he would run out of things to read eventually.

But the mysterious book was not the only interesting thing that Obert possessed; his house was peculiar as well. From the outside anyone could tell you there were only a room or two in the place; a kitchen, and perhaps a little space for a bedroom if it were small. However, once you stepped passed the engraved front door, you could look around and see how large the entry room was. There was a high, domed ceiling with a fresco of a giant egg carefully painted on, a crystal chandelier hanging delicately from above, and a spiral stair off to the side and twisting upwards so far that the human eye could not see its end. There was also a large kitchen with three skinny cooks, all of whom looked nothing alike; a dining room with a table fit for a king (and the king did come to dine on occasion, though no one ever knew just which king he was), and down a hall on the far side of the entry-room were many archways, though they were covered over by thick sheets of warped glass that you never could quite see through no matter how long or hard you stared.

“How many days is it until I go back there? Do you have my schedule?”

Oh. Who asked you to speak? But yes—you’re going back tomorrow. I expect things to be more different there than they are usual; you may uncover something.

“Will I uncover my name?”

I’m not sure. I was thinking something closer to a mystery…