The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs

by Michael Ciardi

I soon emerged in a region that flourished with promising verdure. In fact, the fecund vegetation grew so densely around me that I had to unpeel the greenery away from my eyes to fully inspect the area. Fresh signs and scents of life abounded in fields that appeared recently tilled. A good portion of this earth was laden with an assortment of herbaceous plants. Obviously, an immoderate amount of care went into the cultivation of this farmland. Redolent tomatoes dangled before my eyes like fiery globes along the tapered pathways. Fig and citrus trees aligned the grounds, too, which eventually ceded to cucumber and lettuce patches draping across the landscape like an emerald veil.

  I gathered that many hands had toiled diligently in order to produce such a splendid yield. My estimation proved accurate after I observed the first of many peasants tending to their garden plots. They seemed too busy to complain about the sweltering summer temperatures, and though a few of them observed my approach, not a single one stopped hoeing to intercept my advance. I was content to bypass their labor, as I deemed it unlikely that any of these farmers would’ve suspended their duties to speak to me for even a three-minute break. Besides, despite the rigor of their chores, they looked inordinately fulfilled with the business at hand.

  Farther along the groomed countryside, these pleasantries eventually gave way to unkempt premises. Any trace of management that ornamented the trail beforehand gradually transformed into a sparsely sowed section of dirt. Few seedlings fought their way into sunlight here, and spiky weeds entangled those that thrived. The random vegetables visible had already rotted on their stems. I wondered what prompted the field men to work so assiduously on one side of the landscape, while intentionally neglecting this segment.

  My quandary may have gone unsolved had it not been for the appearance of a single character standing aloof among the blemished undergrowth. From afar, the elderly figure looked rather stately, almost as if he had been wrongly assigned to serve as sort of a sentinel to a task he had no talent to supervise. Keeping to my former practices, I moved toward the shriveled fellow with hesitancy in my stride. In this instance, the enfeebled man’s stature didn’t intimidate me, but I presumed he acquired some knack for staying alive for as long as had done. Although he vainly tried to appear regal in a robe that looked borrowed from a wizard’s wardrobe, he was noticeably deformed by a fearsome contagion.

  I discerned that a portion of his facial features were either missing or in a secondary state of decay. A trace of senility seemed apparent too, for I surveyed nothing within his immediate surroundings that revealed any purpose or sense of achievement. Yet in spite of his hardship, the oldster seemed perfectly acquiescent when nibbling on a chocolate wafer. As peculiar as I rated this pastime, I inched toward him with a slim expectation of being rewarded for my curiosity. Before introducing myself, I stalled until he gobbled the last crumbs of his treat. Without any measurable distance between us, I confirmed my earlier suspicion by observing the details of his misshapen countenance. This gentleman had suffered considerably, but displayed not even the slightest expression of anguish.

  If the sickly man witnessed my advance, he only had one eye to do so, and if he hoped to track my approach by listening for my footsteps, he lacked one ear as well. Perhaps the most distracting malformation, however, was his nose. The tip looked as if had simply crumbled away like hardened putty, leaving only a crusty nub where his nostrils once had been situated. Leprosy was not an uncommon disease within ancient villages, and so I kept a safe distance from any spittle that he might’ve projected.

  He stood on rows of sour cucumbers in his sandaled feet, and I couldn’t prevent my own eyes from scanning the ground for snakes while in his domain. A scent of rotten fruit and vegetables cleaved the air with an odiferous chop. After finally noticing me, the man might’ve been as perplexed by my presence here as I was to his, but it only required a two-syllable greeting from him to initiate our discourse.

  “Welcome,” the elder spouted merrily. Oddly, I discerned no sarcasm in his voice. “I was beginning to suspect that no one recognized this terrain for how marvelous it truly is.” I reexamined the heaps of putrefying plant life that we both literally stood amidst, and therefore couldn’t relate to his optimistic disposition.

  “You see this place as good?” I questioned in disbelief.

  The elder chortled at my question as if the answer was as obvious as the nose that wasn’t any longer on his face. “I must call it as it is,” he exclaimed. “All here is for the best, as it must be in a world that has no rival.”

  Based on his buoyant response, I now determined the identity of this person. He may have once been recognized as a sage to those whom he tutored. After all, his philosophical teachings of pre-established harmony impacted those with far less education, but knowing the unfortunate history of Dr. Pangloss caused me to wonder about the relevancy of my position beside him.

  “In respect,” I told Pangloss, “I’ve already traveled past several gardens before stepping upon this soil. It’s no exaggeration to say that this land is uncared for.” I then motioned to the withered plants crushed beneath the mentor’s feet. In spite of my effort to enlighten Pangloss, he casually drew forth another square of chocolate from a pocket within his robe. He then proceeded to eat the delicacy as if he had no other burdens to consider. After indulging in the sweet, he cleared his throat and addressed me according to his erudite principles.

  “I’ll assume you’ve ventured beyond the Turk’s farm,” he noted. “But you needn’t inform me on how pleased they appear with such menial undertakings. I’ve already lost one pupil to this allurement of cultivation. You should realize, of course, that such fads never endure.”

  Being somewhat acquainted with the calamities that had befallen both Pangloss and his pupil Candide, I assumed this teacher felt slighted by desertion. It was no secret that older men proved stubborn when conceding to misjudgments, especially in their life’s work. I, of course, had no expectation of Pangloss surrendering his Leibnizian theory, but I still hoped to salvage something useful from our interaction. My opinion of Pangloss was mixed between two contrasting images. On one side, few human beings had encountered as much agony as him while still purporting the mantra that no other world was supreme to this one. Whether this was a high-minded belief or merely the sophomoric ravings of a pathetically stupid man remained open for debate.

  As Pangloss ambled across the mashed cucumbers, I found it almost amusing that he remained oblivious to the fetid odors mingling with the chocolate he devoured. After following him for a few additional yards, however, I couldn’t contain my frustration with his insensibleness a moment longer. “I don’t wish to insult you, sir,” I stated, “but I’m familiar with the sorrows that you’ve endured, and yet you still walk in this garden as if all is as it should be. How could you accept such a grotesque display of neglect without any complaint or desire to improve it?”

  “Does it serve me in the slightest fashion to bemoan what cannot be changed?” Pangloss questioned sprightly.

  “But some things can be changed for the better,” I insisted, referencing the fermenting piles of untended vegetables on all sides of us. “There’s nothing but deliberate waste here. This garden could’ve been kept as productive as the others, and yet its been allowed to perish.” As I might’ve expected, Pangloss’s reaction was subdued.

  “Tell me something,” the philosopher then asked. “When you passed the others in your excursion, did any of them mention where my expertise is most optimal?”

  “They said nothing to me. But I know you’re a doctor to an impractical theory. Had it been my choice to cultivate this garden, I would’ve followed Candide’s example.”

  “Alas, it’s predictable that you’d confess as much, but I therefore will assume that you haven’t earned a degree in metaphysico-theologo-cosomlo-nigology as I have achieved.”

  “I’m certain that no other man than you holds such a sheepskin, Dr. Pangloss.”

  “Then you’ve already established my advantag
e in our exchange,” he returned pompously. Rather than debate the obstinate oldster, I assumed the role of a listener as he expounded upon his hypothesis. “Since philosophers never recant, please don’t gaze upon me as a victim. Unlike Candide, you appear seasoned by years, and therefore less likely to fall prey to the pessimistic teachings of Martin. I’ve lived through some of the most unsettling circumstances known to mankind. Who would deny the horrible sights I’ve witnessed at Lisbon? But despite such disturbances, it is our limited knowledge of the finest notion that prevents most men from recognizing how fortunate we are to call this world our sanctuary.”

  While staring closely at Pangloss, I wondered how much of his original thinking was articulated within the dogma. Perhaps he learned many years ago that he had been duped into embracing a flawed system, and now he felt compelled to profess such platitudes or risk being exposed as a charlatan.

  “What if there really is no divine plan at all?” I asked, playing Ol’ Nick’s advocate. “Couldn’t it be that we, like all other species who’ve lived and died beforehand, are merely creatures of chance? Did it ever occur to you that we have no point or focus beyond the moment, and that the length or brevity of our existence relies on nothing other than blind luck?”

  As cynical as I may have sounded, my logic at least caused Pangloss to delay his rebuttal. I should’ve guessed that he was too preoccupied with pulling another bit of chocolate from his clothing. Before he popped the wafer in his mouth, the Court of Baron’s royal educator offered his counter point of view.

  “My dear man, I realize that it’s not possible for you to comprehend the complexities associated with the content that has earned me the title as the greatest philosopher of the Holy Roman Empire. However, because you’ve obviously invested some energy to familiarize yourself with my methods, I feel obligated to express some additional insight to you.”

  “Again, with respect, Dr. Pangloss, I doubt you can tell me anything that will justify your obsession for chocolate while the world around you is crumbling into ruins.”

  “Well, if that be the case, then you’re surely as simpleminded as Candide. But since you’re already here to listen, I reserve hope that you’ll perceive things differently after I finish talking. Now, in regard to my consumption of chocolate, I have an explanation. Had I not practiced experimental physics with Paquette, saucy girl that she is, I might’ve never known the scrumptious joys of that particular treat.”

  “But you contracted syphilis from that chambermaid, didn’t you?”

  “Experimental physics has its inherent risks. The short lots given to us needn’t be looked upon as detriments,” Pangloss pontificated. “Some might call me a robust man for surviving such ordeals and disfigurements. My point is, sir, that whatever strife you’ve endured, it’s most likely that you simply haven’t weighted those setbacks against all the goodness you’ve encountered. Once you allow yourself to do so, I’m sure you’ll find it impossible to refute that this world, no matter how imperfect it may seem as a whole, shines above all others.”

  Although Pangloss enunciated his model for happiness admirably, I couldn’t let his foolhardy viewpoint go unchallenged. “How much heartache can a man tolerate before he turns bitter? I will never share your enthusiastic enlightenment for everything that goes wrong.”

  “I should’ve surmised that you’ve had a problematical life.”

  “In comparison to yours, it wouldn’t rate as harrowing,” I said. “I’ve neither been hanged nor disemboweled, and I haven’t been whipped repeatedly or afflicted by a communicable disease. I won’t pretend that my torment matches your own, but I’ve had my share of grief most recently.”

  “At least my curiosity has ripened better than this garden,” said Pangloss. “Tell me what crisis has delivered you here, sir.”

  “Imagine that you awakened one morning and discovered that your whole life was a big lie. In short, the one woman I love has betrayed me with my best friend. And to worsen matters, I may not have the time to find out if there’s even a chance to make things right again with either of them.”

  Pangloss didn’t appear too distraught by my announcement. He had definitely counseled men who’d undergone far more excruciating drudgeries. I certainly didn’t merit any special treatment from him. Even still, whether I was appreciative of his guidance or not, Pangloss rarely resisted an opportunity to express his rose-colored knowledge.

  “If you are ever to believe that this is the best of all possible worlds, sir, then you must resist an urge to tend to the ordinary if you expect more than a common effect.” Pangloss’s arms now extended from his body as he emphasized the festered field’s condition. “A man who is born otherwise gentle may transform into a ravening wolf unless he accepts his situation as inevitable. I sense that you’ve opted to negotiate a smoother pathway, but mind you this: a rutted road reminds us when to balance on our journeys. Never forget that you merely control choice. Whatever is meant to occur will do so regardless of your interference. I subscribe that every day is only as gray as the clouds you wish to gaze upon.”

  In my estimation, it had been many years since I felt heartened by any hopeful prospects. The truth of the matter resided in much grimmer pastures. My conclusion left me at an impasse with the sanguine-minded philosopher. Despite my dreary disposition, I couldn’t taint his perceptions. And in fairness to Pangloss’s lack of forethought, if the realm he conjured truly existed, I would’ve gladly ventured toward it. However, as it now stood, I wasn’t prepared to accept my limitations with such passivity. I also wasn’t convinced that keeping my mind distracted with idle chores held any worthwhile benefit to my contemplations. Perhaps each man needed to plow his land on his own terms. In this way, neither Dr. Pangloss nor Candide practiced the habits I wished to imitate.

  Before departing company with Pangloss, I thanked him for his futile bid to alter my perceptions. He seemed momentarily pacified by my gesture, but also visibly shocked that I didn’t share his compulsion for chocolate. I left the diseased prattler as I found him amidst this plot of spoiled plants. If he was at all disenchanted by my hasty retreat, I detected little in his expression to suggest the endurance of his sadness. It seemed conclusive that Pangloss had already relied on the fanciful notion that the best possible outcome for our encounter had inescapably occurred.

  Chapter 63

  4:23 P.M.