I went out in the marches to look for beautiful photos. To me it was a glorious day. It was made even better when I spotted an old-time childhood friend sitting on a stone, dangling his long ungainly legs. Well, Hello Puddleglum! I shouted. He barely looked up. Oh, it’s you is it? I would not come closer if I were you. Why not? I said as I rushed to him and gave him a hug. You know, those cold clear day are sure to bring out a rheumatism he commented, you should stay away from the shore! Do you have rheumatism then? I countered. Not yet, not yet, any day now, he said, with a tone in his voice conveying that a spot of arthritis was all he lacked to make his suffering complete.
I sat down by his side and looked out over a small pond, reflecting reeds, flowers and trees. A frog was squeaking. I bet you are hungry, he said. Well, not really, I answered. Good, as there is no food, he sighed. Life is not all fricasseed eel and frog pie you know, even to you, who are just frolicking along, it isn’t.
I contemplated this for a while, when it suddenly struck me. But Puddleglum, why are you still so gloomy? I thought you were in Aslan’s country now! Oh, but I am, he answered. I used to be afraid of that, thought I would have to sing and dance and that sort of thing. But that’s not my way of being happy. As happy never was a word that came to mind when thinking about my true and trusted friend, I had to ask him.
Are you happy then? In every bone he said. You know Aslan said, being in his country is being the perfect me, truly fulfilling what he created me to be, so worrying is allowed. This surprised me. How could that be? You know my worrying has always been my way of telling Aslan that I trust him to take care of things, because it sure is too much for me. And now, with this bright new world, and everyone singing, it sure needs someone to keep on the look out for not perfect things. They are not allowed, you know.
So he let’s you worry? I could not grasp this. Well, he told me I had trusted him, in all adversities, never saying no, even when I thought he was giving foolish orders. So I still get to do that, you would not see the blue sky if everything was blue would you? He told me, that perfect consists of everyone as long as they trust him. In some of us the music of rejoice is trust, in some of us it is singing, as to you it is laughing. You sure you’re not hungry? Well, perhaps a little? Good, because I just made a pot of fricasseed eel, we are in Aslan’s country after all, aren’t we?