Let me tell you about the king instead, about one of the kings I've known.  He is dead now, but some time ago he was a real king – maybe the most real of all the kings I have known.

            One morning the king called the heralds and ordered to announce for all to hear: all roses in the kingdom had to be destroyed that day.  A petty tyrant, you will say?  No, darling, no!  The thing is that the queen had died – she pricked her finger with a rose thorn and died.  All of her blood ran out, and no one could do anything.  Why are you grinning?  You think it can't be?  It can, too, believe me!  It had happened the day before.  And in the morning the king gave that order.  I almost said: woke up and gave the order – but it's not right, he hadn't slept that night.

            The king didn't love the queen anymore.  He loved the duenna.  She was a young duenna.  You think it's immoral?  Do you really know such terrible words?  Well, you are wrong!  Believe me or not: not every one of us knows how to love his duenna¼

            You think that dreams never come true, and every love goes away, and happiness is short-lived?  You do think so, don't you?  Well, I don't know¼But the duenna was wonderful: the sun danced in her eyes even at night, and her lips were like roses, like those roses that were to perish that day.  And the king loved her.

            Sometime before he had loved the queen, but she was young then, and later she got old, and learned to grumble, and sniffled loudly, and hated the king's Cat Tamer.  What kind of position is that, you will ask – a Cat Tamer?  And I'll tell you: it's not important at all, but what is important is that the queen didn't like the Tamer, and he was a kind person, and he would get very upset because she didn't like him¼

            The king – he didn't know how to grow old.  He even died like that, young.  But I'll save this for later.  So, on the day the queen died he remembered the times when she was young, and very much resembled the duenna.  Or, to be precise, the duenna resembled her, and this is another prove that the king was not¼What do you call it?  Immoral?  Yuck, what a bad word!

            And he didn't sleep all night.  And in the morning he issued that order.  In his kingdom people loved roses, and they grew in every garden.  The population was concerned about the fruit of many years of labor, and their representatives appeared before the king, begging him to change his mind.  But the king was gloomy, and didn't say a word in reply to their requests.  And still, no one touched the roses: all were waiting for the last moment, the last moment before midnight – what if something was to happen, and the king reconsidered¼

            And only Naphanail attended to work.  He took a pair of huge garden clippers, and started by biting off the blossoms of his roses – so that no one would suspect him of insufficient diligence.  Then, trying not to prick himself the way the queen had, he cut down each bush, one after another, leaving only short trunks sticking out of the ground.  Bushes don't have trunks, you say?  Well, it's not so important: you understand what I mean, don't you?  Then Naphanail had some wine – sweet rose wine made from the last year's harvest – and grabbed a shovel.  He started digging out the roots – unhurriedly and persistently, like a person accustomed to hard work.  And then he threw it all into a hole, and covered it with ground.  "I'll plant tomatoes here," he said to himself, looking at the space that was now empty.  Indeed, that country's climate is very warm, and you can grow tomatoes without a greenhouse.

            The people liked the king's duenna, and in this tough hour they approached her, seeking help.

            "But what can I do?" She said.  "The king is gloomy, he won't talk to anyone.  I'm afraid of him."

            "You are the only one who can save the roses," the people replied.

            "I'll do whatever I can," the duenna said, anticipating the king's ire.  But she did go to see the king, and her face was sad, because she felt sorry for the queen, although the queen had been her rival – but a defeated one – and even more did she feel sorry for the king.  And still, her lips were like roses, and the sun danced in her eyes, but in the daytime it was not as striking.

            The king was sitting at his desk, doing nothing.  He put the Book of the Records of State Affairs before him, but it was only an appearance, since he couldn't really concentrate.  The duenna approached him, and didn't say anything.  And so the king called his heralds and instructed them to cancel his order, and then smiled sadly to the duenna, for he saw how sad and how frightened she was, and he understood why she couldn't say a word; and also because he loved her, although some time long before he had loved the queen.  Or maybe he still did love the queen?  But I have already said this.

            You are not tired of this story yet, are you?  No?  Don't worry, it’s almost over.  So, the king cancelled his decision, and the people were grateful, and on any other day a celebration would have started, but on that day it was impossible, since the queen had died.  And so, all citizens went home and stayed there, softly chatting about this and that.

            But Naphanail did not know that the order had been cancelled, because all the citizens had gathered on the Central Square, awaiting the news, and he stayed home and destroyed all his roses.  And when people were passing by on their way home, no one would say hello to him, and he couldn't understand why.  But after a while he was forgiven: he really didn't know what he had done wrong, and he couldn't be guilty of the way he was, just as nobody is guilty of anything.  You didn't understand this?  Don't worry, even I don't quite understand¼

            In a few days the queen's funeral took place (thrushes were singing at the cemetery), and for the king she was the same as all those years before, and wrinkles on her face could do nothing about it.  And even later she must have stayed the way she had been all those years before, as if she had immediately grown thirty years younger; and in this respect she couldn't have thought of anything better than death.

            The king asked the duenna not to come to the funeral, and she didn't.  She was sad, because she also thought that the king loved the queen, the memories of the queen, and not her.  But then she realized that it wasn't all that important, and what was important is that the king knew how to love – and not everyone does.  But I have already said this.  And thrushes were singing at the cemetery, although I have already mentioned them too, and for the first time in his life the king heard thrushes sing, and then he knew he would die soon.

            But he didn't die very soon, and managed to do many more good things.  Still, he always considered saving the roses the most noble of his actions.  You think he didn't do anything at all, and so there is nothing to be proud of?  No, my little girl, he did a very difficult thing: he pitied others when he himself was feeling worse than ever.  And not everyone can do that – this is why I am saying that he was a real king; even if he didn't wear a crown nothing would have changed, but he did wear one sometimes.

            He lived for quite a while longer, and he never fought with his duenna, and when he did, he never forgot what she meant to him; he could see that light in her eyes, inaccessible to others; and her lips were like a photograph on the wall, like a certificate of honor reminding of a dignified act; and her face – like a locket, storing the portrait of the queen.

            And then the king did die – perhaps because he didn't want to stand out so much – but he didn't lie there, breathless, like we usually do.  He just melted in the air, like all who were once in love¼