A man was carrying a large and teetering stack of objects on his back. It looked heavy, but more striking was the precariousness of it. He had it arranged so he could hoist it up to waist-level using his legs and arms, then somehow manage, through a twisting shift, to bring it around to his back. He succeeded in at least half of his attempts. Whenever he failed to pull it off, the load would collapse around him. Then he would have to painstakingly restack the whole collection and repeat his signature hoisting maneuver.
Obviously, then, he set it down as rarely as possible. He’d learned to sleep with the load balanced on his back. He could keep it all going for years at a time.
When he was younger and his body was stronger and his load was lighter he actively hunted out new objects for his amazing back-mounted collection. Now, he knew he could not accommodate a single new thing, no matter how light.
His life was now spent trudging from place to place, displaying his towering exhibit to the people. The people, however, were less impressed with the collection per se, than with the sheer immensity of it and the fact that the man could keep the whole crazy Dr. Seussian heap aloft and balanced. He was aware that for the majority who came to see him he was a mere spectacle, but he consoled himself with the belief that among the gaping crowd that there had to be a few genuine appreciators.
The only other person he ever encountered who ever obviously loved his collection, though, was a younger man he called the Pest.
The Pest followed the man around, talking incessantly and gesticulating enthusiastically. Within five minutes of meeting him the man realized with alarm that the Pest’s limbs were not entirely under his control, and his control diminished as his excitement increased. The man lived in constant fear that his collection would be upset in an especially spastic outburst of ideation.
The Pest constantly badgered the man about putting new objects on his already fully-loaded back. The man tried to be patient. He spent an inordinate amount of time explaining to the Pest that although the Pest’s objects (being empty) were relatively light, and despite their beauty and aesthetic compatibility with the collection, even the lightest and most exquisite addition would be one too many for a man with a burden as heavy and complicated as his.
Finally, one day in a fit of frustration the Pest attempted, without permission, to throw his objects (ornate boxes and cases and gold-embroidered sacks) to the top of the stack, and of course the whole thing tumbled to the ground. The last words the man said to the Pest were quiet and cold: “If you love your objects so much, stack them up on your own back and start your own collection. At any rate, get away from mine.”