the king of nowhere

Both men were dressed in official-looking clothing, including high-viz jackets and carried what looked like clipboards.

 

They stood there for a long time, rarely speaking. Several hours into the day a man approached, walking slowly up the track from the south.

 

“Morning,” he said in greeting, seemingly unaware that the time was, in fact, 12.01 pm.

 

“Afternoon,” the first official said. “Are you planning to go across the border?”

 

“Border?” the traveller said, clearly confused. “But there isn’t another country for over 200 miles.”

 

“True,” the official said, “But this,” he indicated the thin strip of land separating himself from his colleague, “Is stateless land.”

 

“Stateless land?”

 

“There was an error of the pen when the maps were drawn. This land here doesn’t belong to the state, nor to anyone else.”

 

“Can I pass through?” the traveller asked.

 

The official shook his head. “You may not tread on the stateless land. But you can pass over it.”

 

“Pass over it?”

 

“Jump. It’s only a few feet.”

 

“I’m an old man now,” the traveller said. “My leaping days are behind me.”

 

“Here then,” the official said, opening his arms. “We’ll carry you across.”

 

The two officials, without so much as touching a single toe on the stateless land, managed to lift the old man over the stateless land and pass him across the border.

 

“Thank you,” the man said, and, once he had fully regained his balance, continued on his way.

 

For a long, long time the two officials stood in silence, watching the man fade into the distance, then, when he was long out of sight, merely watching the distance.

 

Hours passed, possibly days, nobody was counting time, for there was nobody assigned to that particular task.

 

A man approached the border, strolling confidently up the beaten track from the south.

 

“Afternoon,” the first official said. “Are you planning to go across the border?”

 

“No,” the man said.

 

“You wish to stay this side?” the official asked.

 

“No,” the man said again.

 

“Then what would you do?” the official asked. “Have you really walked this way to be neither one side nor the other?”

 

“I have,” the man said.

 

“I do not understand,” the official said. His colleague, looking on from the other side of the border, said nothing.

 

“I am here to claim my land,” the man said. “I am king of the stateless soil.” He gestured to the stateless land separating the two officials.

 

“King?” the official said. “I know of no king.”

 

“Here, see,” the man said, handing over a piece of paper. “This gives me the rights to the stateless land, it proclaims me king.”

 

The official looked unconvinced. “I am not sure that this is legitimate,” he said. “Whose signature is this?”

 

“Why, it is my signature,” the man said.

 

“Your signature?” The official blocked the man’s passage to the stateless land. “How can you authorise your own kingdom?”

 

“Let me see,” the second official said. He perused the document with some care. “You say this is your signature?” he said eventually.

 

“It is.”

 

“Then we had better let him claim his land,” he said to his colleague.

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, if it’s signed by a king we can hardly challenge it. Who are we to question kings?”

 

“You’re right,” his colleague said, stepping aside to let the king pass.

 

The king walked onto his land, the land which had once been stateless, and proclaimed it truly his kingdom.

 

The day passed.  The three men stood there, saying little, and doing less. Time passed, though it was not recorded, hence we cannot tell how long.

 

The king remained standing close to the two officials, for though he was a king he did not shy away from the common man. He wasn’t that type of king.

 

Eventually another figure appeared, walking slowly from the north. It was the traveller, returning.

 

“Morning,” he said to the second official. “You want me to leap across the border?”

 

“No need,” the king said. “You have my permission to pass over my land.”

 

“Who is this?” the traveller asked the official.

 

“I am the king of nowhere,” the king said, and you may walk across my land if you so desire. In fact, you may even stay for a cup of tea.”

 

“I’d like that very much,” said the traveller. “I have been walking many days, and nobody has offered me tea.”

 

The traveller stayed with the king in nowhere land for a long time, many hours, drinking tea and talking. What they talked about over tea we shall never know, but by the time the traveller got up to continue his journey a bond had been formed between them, and they shook hands warmly before saying their farewells.

 

“Come back soon,” the king said. “We have few visitors here and you are always welcome.”

 

The traveller did not reply in words, but nodded, before turning and walking on, towards the south, to wherever he was going.