Two nuns were walking along a wooded trail not far from the
temple, when they discovered to their mutual inconvenience
that the path ended in a sudden drop down a steep-sided
ravine. The bottom of the ravine lay over two hundred feet
below them; the cliff on the opposite side was nearly the
same distance away.
“I pray your patience, Hwídah,” said the first nun, “For my
mind has been overtaxed from memorizing too many APIs. But
was there not a rope bridge across the chasm at this point?”
“I believe you are not mistaken, Yíwen,” said the second
nun. “As I recall it was a sturdy bridge, old and
servicable, and indeed I had hoped that we would make use of
it on our walk.”
The wind whistled.
“Again, take pity on me, Hwídah, for my eyes are weak from
coding in the small hours. But does that not appear to be
the remains of the rope bridge on the far side of the chasm,
dangling down the cliffside?”
“I believe it is, Yíwen, and if you look to the two great
trees on either side of our path you will see that a portion
of the bridge dangles uselessly down our side of the chasm
as well. Notice how both halves, near and far, twist in the
wind with a few meager footplanks still trapped here and
there in the braids, banging fitfully against the rock face.
The sound calls to mind a wind chime that once hung outside
my window...”
Both nuns paused to consider the knocking and scraping of
the planks against the cliffside.
“A hundred pardons, Hwídah, for my ears are used to little
but the clattering of my keyboard. But can you not also
discern a voice upon the wind?”
“I believe I can, Yíwen. If you observe the ropes on the far
side you will realize that Zjing, a much-celebrated nun of
our own order, is clinging to the end and shouting in our
direction. My impression is that she would be waving to
attract our attention if her hands were not engaged in
arresting her fall. Let us not forget our manners.”
Hwídah waved to the imperiled nun. Yíwen did likewise.
“I hope you will not think me unkind, Hwídah, but have you
not found Zjing to be overmuch concerned with the aesthetics
of code? Members of our clan complain that she frequently
refactors their modules merely because she believes the
implementation to be insufficiently elegant.”
“I believe you are fair in your judgment, Yíwen. While her
goals are laudable, they are ever at odds with the
complexities of our problem domain. Indeed, her efforts have
occasionally done more harm than good. Still, that should
not affect our decision to come to her aid.”
Both nuns lingered at the cliff edge and reflected on how
best to help their comrade.
“Is it not bad fortune, Hwídah, that the breaking of the
bridge has left us with no means to cross the chasm and
effect a rescue?”
“I believe it is most terrible, Yíwen, but if the bridge had
truly broken then the ropes would be frayed, yet I can see
the finished ends quite clearly. As I recall there was a
lovely painted gate of red and gold at the exact midpoint of
this bridge, and each half was secured to the gate by knots
which have somehow come undone.”
Hwídah pointed to the river far below, where the remains of
the gate could be seen floating in an eddy. Yíwen nodded.
“Is it not your recollection, Hwídah, that the knots which
secured the ropes to that gate were lamentably large and
ugly, and detracted from its beauty?”
“I believe they were, Yíwen. I expect that their ugliness
would have been most tantalizing to one who cared about such
things—though it seems unlikely that anyone would be
foolhardy enough to attempt re-tying the knots while
standing at the bridge’s center. Speaking for myself, I
never found the ugliness that troubling. I was grateful
merely to be able to cross the bridge. Month in and month
out, it fulfilled its purpose most excellently.”
