Thank you for tuning in to the Redacted. We're gonna do a little bit of a special segment here today and it's just something I wanted to do and I thought would be relevant with everything we do in this show about being open and vulnerable and sharing secrets and just making connections. I'm always reminded of this reading that David Rakoff did on this American life and, and he did this just awesome poem that he had written, based on the story of the Scorpion and the tortoise. So I wanted to read that and try to do it some justice and, you know, get that out there and hopefully it's something that Resonates with you and that you learn something from or gives you something to think about. So enjoy you.

Nathan, at one of the outlying tables, his feet tangled up in the disc jockeys cables, surveied the room, unseen, as a ghost, while he mold over what he might say for his toast. That the couple had asked him for his benediction seemed at odds with them parking him here by the kitchen. That he turned up at all was still a surprise, and not just to him. It was there in their eyes of the guest who had seen a mirage and drew near and then covered their shock with a Nathan, you're here, and Then silence. They had nothing to say beyond that. A few of the braver souls lingered to chat. They all knew it was neither a secret nor mystery that he and the couple had quite an odd history. Their bonds were a tangle of friendship and sex Josh, his best pal once, and Patti, his ex For a while. He could barely go out in the city without being a punchline or object of pity. Poor Nathan had virtually become his new name, and so he showed up Just to show he was game, though his invite was late. A forgotten addendum for Nate. There could be no more clear referendum that he need but endure through this evening, and then he would likely not see Josh and Patti again. Josh's sister was speaking, a princess in peach.

Nathan dug in his pocket to study his speech. He poured over Bartlett's four couplets to Phil. She stayed up until three and still came up with zilch, except for the instructions he'd underscored twice, just two words in length, and those words were Be nice, be nice. Too often he thought our emotions betray us and reason departs once we're up on the day, as he witnessed uncomfortable moments where others had lost their way quickly, where sisters and brothers had gotten too prickly and peppered their babblings with stories of benders or lesbian dabblings, or spot-on impressions of mother-in-laws which, true, nathan thought always garnered guffaws. But the price seemed too high, with the laugh, seldom cloaking hostility, masquerading as joking. No, he'd swallow his rage and vanquish his fire. He knew that in this case the bar was set higher. Folks were just waiting for him to erupt. They'd be hungry for blood. Even though they had supped, they'd want tears or some other unsightly reaction, and Nathan would not give them that satisfaction.

Though Paddy a Harlot and Josh was a Laut, at least they then knew what he'd not talk about. I won't wish them divorce, or that they wither in sicken, or tonight that they choke on their salmon or chicken. I won't mention that time when the cottage lost power in a storm on the cape, when they left for an hour and they thought it was just the cleverest ruse to pretend it took that long to switch out the fuse. Or that time that Josh advised me with so much insistence that I should grant Paddy a little more distance that the worst I could do was hamper and crowd her, that if Paddy felt stifled she'd just take a powder that a plant needs its space just as much as its water. And I shouldn't give Paddy that ring that I bought her, which in retrospect only elicits a gosh. I hardly deserved a friend like you, josh. No, I won't spill those beans or make myself foolish to satisfy appetites venal and ghoulish. I will not be the blot on this hellish affair.

And with that, nathan pushed out and rose from his chair and just by the tapping of knife against crystal, all eyes turned his way like he'd fired off a pistol. George, rob, patricia, dear family and friends, a few words, if you will, before everything ends. You've promised to honor, to love and obey, and we've quaffed our champagne and been cleansed by sorbet, all in the endorsement of your hersen hisdom. Now it's time to add my two cents worth of wisdom. I was racking my brain sitting here at this table until I remembered this suitable fable. It gets at a truth, though it may well distort us.

So here with the tale of the Scorpion and tortoise, the Scorpion was hamstrung, his tail all aquiver. Just how would he manage to get across the river, the water so deep? He observed with a sigh which pricked at the ears of the tortoise nearby. Well, why don't you swim, mess, the slow-moving fellow, unless you're afraid. I mean, what are you yellow? It isn't a matter of fear or whim, said the Scorpion, but that I don't know how to swim. Forgive me, I didn't mean to be glib, but when I said that I figured you were an amphibian, no offense taken. Scorpion replied. But how about you? Help me to reach the far side? You swim like a dream and you have what I lack. Let's say, you take me across on your back.

I'm not really sure that's the best thing to do", said the tortoise. Now that I see that it's you, you have a less than ideal reputation and I've heard talks of your victims all poisoned and bleeding. You're the scorpion, and well, how can I say this? But I just don't feel safe with you riding my shell. The scorpion replied what would killing you prove? We'd both drown. So tell me, how would that behoove me to basically die at my very own hand, when all I desire is to be on dry land?

The tortoise considered the scorpion's defense, but when he gave it some thought it made perfect sense. The niggling voice inside his mind he ignored as he swam to the bank and called Climb aboard. But just a few moments from when they set sail, the scorpion lashed out with its venomous tail. The tortoise, too late, understood that he'd blunder when he felt his flesh stabbed in, his carapace, sundered as he fought for his life, he said tell me why you have done this, for now we will both surely die. I don't know, cried the scorpion. You never should trust a creature like me, because poison I must. I'd claim some remorse or at least some compunction, but I just can't help it. My form is my function. You thought I'd behave like my cousin the crab, but unlike him, it's but my nature to stab the tortoise expired with one final quiver and then both of them sank, swallowed up by the river. The tortoise was wrong to ignore all of his doubts because in the end, friends, our natures will out.

Nathan paused, cleared his throat, took a sip of his drink. He needed these extra few seconds to think. The room had gone frosty. The tension was growing. Folks wondered precisely where Nathan was going. The prospect of skirting fiasco seemed dim. But what he said next surprised even him.

So what can we learn from their watery ends? Is there some lesson on how to be friends? I think what it means is central to living a life that is good is a life that's forgiving. We're creatures of contact, regardless of whether we kiss or wound. Still we must come together and though it may spell destruction, we still ask for more, since it beats staying dry but so lonely on shore. So we make ourselves open while knowing full well it's essentially saying please come pierce my shell. Silence doesn't paint the depth of quiet in that room. No clinking stemware toasting of the bride and groom. You could have heard a pedal hit the floor and in that silence Nathan turned and walked out the door. Such a great piece. I love reading that, I love the whole story and I hope you've enjoyed it as well and taken something away from it. Thanks for watching, thanks for listening.