Annual Three Wise Men tale

Mrs. Melchior: You want to follow a star? A star? Shouldn’t stars be faster than you – on foot?
Mr. Melchior: We have camels.
Mrs. Melchior: Oh, and they are faster than stars? Hardly.
Mr Melchior: This goes beyond your understanding, woman!
Mrs. Melchior: Whenever you can’t think of a reasonable answer, this suddenly goes beyond my understanding. Beyond my understanding my foot! Be reasonable! Stars wander all across the sky in one night. Can your camel do that?
Mr. Melchior: You don’t know anything about camels either.
Mrs. Melchior: You don’t say! I run this caravanserai here – while you only look at the stars at night and sleep during the day. Melchior’s caravanserai it is called! And who does all the work? I do!
Mr. Melchior: Astronomy is essential. Something important is going to happen surely ! [exit Melchior]
Mrs. Kaspar [enters]: Now who has come up with this stupid idea again?
Mrs. Melchior: Not me. You may be sure of that.
Mrs. Kaspar: My oh so wise husband wants to follow a star. An effing star!
Mrs. Melchior: So does mine.
Mrs. Kaspar: Then I’m sure we’ll soon see …
Mrs. Balthasar [enters]: An important child is born, he says. [points to her round belly]. That didn’t go unnoticed, I tell him. And what does he say? He is not talking about our child! Not our baby! Can anyone just be more important right now?
Mrs. Melchior: Sit down, love.
Mrs Kaspar: What a stupid idea!
Mrs Melchior: Anybody for cookies?
Mrs Balthasar: Yes, please. And would  you have some pickled dates?
Mrs Kaspar: He wants to pay homage, he says. He doesn’t know yet to whom, when or where, but he definitely wants to pay homage.
Mrs. Balthasar: Mine too. Quite adamant about this homage thing. As if he couldn’t pay homage here, too. We have enough gods. And stars.
Mrs. Melchior: And wives.
Mrs. Kaspar: He wants to take presents with him! As if we had something to give away!
Mrs. Balthasar: Mine too. I could not get him to see sense. You don’t even know to whom you want to give presents, I said. And what does he say? A little child! I beg you! A little child! We already have five, and soon the sixth will be born!
Mrs Melchior: Mine said, a king. That means it can’t be ours. Since the last tax audit, my husband would not voluntarily pay anything to the king. Not even homage, if he can avoid it.
Mrs Kaspar: Mine said that it is about the Prophesied One. Don’t read so much fantasy, I told him. In bad fantasy there is always a Prophesied One. Who prophesied the guy?, I asked him. He did not know. And what’s he prophesied for, I asked. He didn’t know either.
Mrs. Balthasar: They don’t know anything.
Mrs. Melchior: They want to go west. Now, the road to India would certainly be more lucrative. Normally you can’t them to move their lazy asses from their divans, and now they want to go west. That’s where the Romans are, I said. You do not want to meet them! Nobody voluntarily messes with the Romans! Military sponges.
Mrs Kaspar: Mine wants to take his sword along.
Mrs. Balthasar: Does he know how to wield it?
Mrs Kaspar: When he took it off the wall, I first dusted it off. And he cut his finger. And whined loudly.
Mrs. Melchior: Mine wanted to take gold, incense and myrrh! For a child?, I asked him. Wouldn’t it make more sense to give him a set of good nappies, something to wear and something to eat? He could take some date porridge preseve! Children like that! Gold! He must be off his mind.
Mrs. Balthasar: They want to split it up. One brings gold, one myrrh, one incense.
Mrs. Melchior:Well, it certainly couldn’t get any more expensive! He could take free vouchers for this caravanserai with him! The Prophesied One would then have something to look forward to when he grows up. Maybe he will like travelling.
Mrs. Balthasar: Men! Spending a fortune for this homage thingy! But whenever I want to get a new caftan …
Mrs Kaspar: I had a terrible dream.
Mrs. Melchior: Don’t you start with prophecies now!
Mrs. Balthasar: What did you dream?
Mrs. Kaspar: I dreamt that they had been kidnapped and caught in a golden shrine far, far northwest.
Mrs. Melchior: With the barbarians?
Mrs. Balthasar: Or with the Romans?
Mrs Kaspar: I don’t know. Could be both.
Mrs. Melchior: You really think our husbands will get a golden shrine? Will it be valuable?
Mrs. Kaspar: Anyway, I will certainly not pay homage to them in Barbaria!
Mrs Melchior: We will have to organise this – if we cannot make them see sense. So: we’ll pack some sensible baby presents. And I put some of the men together as a protective posse. In a caravanserai there are always a few hardened would-be warriors looking for a job. We shall also tell them to avoid the Romans at all costs. And that goes for this Herod, too. You don’t hear anything good from him either. And we should make sure they don’t take anything along that the next band of robbers would not steal from them at the first oportunity.
Mrs. Balthasar: Do you hear that? I think they’re riding off right now.
Mrs. Melchior: Oh, dear. And without a plan or a map, I bet you.
Mrs. Kaspar: And without a protection posse.
Mrs. Melchior: Without joining a westbound caravan.
Mrs. Balthasar: It should surprise me if they had packed as much as a change of underwear.
Mrs. Melchior: I’ll make some tea.
Mrs. Melchior + Mrs. Kaspar + Mrs. Balthasar: Men!

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