Something in My Eye: Stories (9 page)

“You humiliate me on such a grand scale,” said the son, “that I cannot help but be convinced by your insight.”

So after several days of walking, the father and his youngest son were submerged in foliage, and were it not for the passing voices of similar travelers, both would have thought they had left the city completely behind. Their days were spent walking with their heavy packs and their nights were spent cooking their meals over the little stove. One night, the father noticed that his eldest son carried a very rancorous expression on his face as he watched the chickpeas boil.

“Son,” said the father. “Tickle my old ears with gently phrased complaints. I emphasize
gently
.”

“How did my brother perish?” said the youngest son.

“He was served ill meat by a local establishment that serves fast meals,” said the father. “About a mile from here.”

“Oh, what I wouldn't give for a fast meal right now,” said the son. “Never in your ears would I ever again complain, if my belly could be full with a properly prepared fast meal.”

“Your brother felt the same,” said the father. “And that earned him death.”

“Certainly I won't be eating the same meat,” said the son. “I will gladly take that chance.”

“And you promise to stifle any future whinings before they dribble from your lips?”

“I will be the son you desired when you saw fit to impregnate our dear mother the third time.”

So the father told his youngest son about the crossroads and his disguise, and the son was filled with happiness. The next morning, they arrived at the paved road and the father once again stripped
himself of his outdoor clothes and rolled about in brambles and smeared his face all over with mud. “I will order you a different meal than your brother,” the father said, walking down the road with the affected limp.

“How appreciatively I'll eat my fast meal,” said the youngest son to himself. Very soon after, the father returned with a large paper bag that was all spotted with grease and two plastic cups full of cola. A delicious smell wafted toward the youngest son, who was seated on both backpacks.

“I was unable to discuss your brother's fate with the management,” said the father, “because my disguise might have been easily detected. However, so pathetic did I appear to them this time, the tears I have cried for your brother having surely mined new wrinkles in my face, the clerk showed extraordinary pity, sending me off with not only your meal, but a small side of beans and a drink for myself.”

Both ate their meals at the crossroads, and before they were even thirty paces back in the foliage, the son began to feel ill, for his fast meal contained old meat, which thundered through his insides, and he set to digging a hole in the forest floor with a small spade. He continued digging until he had before him a hole six by three, and then the youngest son lay down in the hole and quietly died.

Dejectedly throwing dirt upon his youngest son, the father said a lengthier prayer, which the Good Lord did not hear, for He was pondering larger matters. The same angel was keeping watch, however, and with his pen poised above his ledger, ready to record the sufferings of the father, he suddenly decided to alert the Good Lord of the father's uncommon level of suffering. He queried the Good Lord for his advice, but it was clear by His deep, musical sighs that He did not wish to be bothered.

The father, leaving the shallow grave, changed into his outdoor clothes once again and washed his face in a little stream. Then he began to wander the forest, but before long the air grew cold and
the night fell quickly over the land. After many hours of walking, the father, caught in an abrupt downpour, came to a clearing where there dwelled many people of means from the city. They reclined in padded folding chairs under a blue tarp encircled around a roaring fire. Over the rain and wind the father could faintly hear a man and woman trading verses from a song:

The father, hearing their words, rushed into the tent and began doing violence to anything near his feet. He was quickly subdued by broad-shouldered men and women and children, whose muscles had grown taut from forest living. They stripped the father of his outdoor clothes, emptied and feasted upon the contents of his backpack, dragged him through the mud, tossed him in thorny brambles, and then sent him on his way.

He walked all night until he reached the crossroads, and he then took the paved road out to the establishment that served fast meals. “I will order the fast meal and join my sons,” the father said stoically to himself. In his misery he forgot to drag one of his legs behind him as he walked.

At the counter, the father had scarcely caught his breath, when the clerk spoke.

“I know you from not long ago,” said the clerk.

“You absolutely could not, for I am destitute and insane,” said the father. “I have no home but the hearts of my fellow man, and have walked impossible distances. I have no money, yet I hunger for a fast meal.”

“I have no fast meal warming under my lamps for you,” the clerk said.

“Bad meat,” the father said. “Bad meat will suffice.”

“Neither good meat nor bad of mine shall you ever eat,” said the clerk, “for this establishment has a strict policy that does not condone charity beyond two occasions. Yours, sir, are used up.”

 

The father then wandered alone in the forest for many years, cold and impoverished, eating what he could of the berries that grew from the bushes and drinking turbid water from the little streams. On the day he was certain he would die, he spoke aloud a rambling and rather unrehearsed prayer, which the Good Lord did not hear, for He was busy feasting. The same angel, although he'd recently discarded his ledger because it had grown so overstuffed and inky, heard the prayer, and taking pity on the father in his frozen wanderings, he went straightaway to a local weaver, giving her specific instructions for the garment he had in mind. At twilight that very evening, the angel flew down to the father and wrapped him in the blanket the weaver had woven, which was embroidered in gold stitching with the words “the essence of human life.”

“Get thee to the city,” said the angel to the father. “Stand outside the outdoor store, and proclaim what you have seen.”

The father, however, was beyond admonishment, only gazing silently at the angel with unfocused and dimming eyes.

“Very well,” said the angel, who then stretched his glowing arms around the father, and lifting gently, carried him up into the night sky and beyond, into the crowded and somewhat dank bosom of the Good Lord, where the father was greeted coolly by his wife and two sons.

Expertly prepared fast meals were the featured item that night at the Great Feast, and the father consumed one after another, until he forgot that he had ever hungered at all, and then the angel took him gently by the arm and led him to his appointed room.

Not long ago in another country, a civil war raged between the governing party, who believed mankind descended from the stars, and the multitudinous poor, who believed mankind descended from oxen. One day a man and his wife, both of whom were poor, received news that their only son had been captured and subsequently beheaded after a skirmish in the south. After many nights of uninterrupted grief, the woman suddenly roused her husband and said to him, “Where might we go to avoid death ourselves, to live quietly and somewhat ambitiously?”

“Though being a vengeful man,” said the husband, “we will leave this loss behind us and move to
another
country, where we will open a little store.”

“What will we sell?” the wife said.

“We will stock our shelves with chintzy goods and sweet-tasting snacks,” said the husband.

Within a week they had sold their home and all of their possessions, save for their clothes and a few toiletries, and arrived
here
. If they had not arrived
here
, this story would have no reason for being told, for what is significant only happens within the confines of our great borders.

So after several weeks of language training, the husband and wife soon opened a little store in the downtown area of a little city. The day they opened their doors to the public, their shelves were fully stocked with plenty of chintzy goods and sweet-tasting snacks. The little store did quite well, for there was plenty of foot-traffic downtown, and no citizen of a great civilization can resist spending his pocket money on throwaway things, as long as they be properly advertised.

One very cold afternoon, during a particularly busy shift, the light from without suddenly shifted, the aisles of goods became darkened, and the wife noticed through the window an old desiccated man sitting in a wheelchair in front of the little store. The sun
hovered almost directly behind him and threw a looming shadow over the little store and all its shoppers, who quickly filed out.

For many days this was repeated, in the afternoon when the sun was low, and the little store suffered greatly in profit. When both the husband and wife realized the great harm the crippled old man was causing them, the wife opened the door and spoke to him. “Who are you?” she said.

“I am a fifth-generation resident of this town,” said the old man, “but injured in a war, without home or friend. I carry with me at all times the missed connections section of the local newspaper, and suspicious beliefs concerning outsiders. I warn you, I am a highly bigoted and vengeful man.”

“The shadow you cast is scaring away our customers,” said the wife. “Will you hurriedly come inside where it's warm? Or never pass this way again?”

“I might,” said the man. “Though I won't pretend to enjoy myself.”

“My husband and I had a son who was killed in a war. He was younger than you, and it wasn't your war.”

“I will come inside,” the man said dejectedly.

Soon enough, the old desiccated man had made himself quite comfortable next to the register, and the shadow being gone, the customers began filing back into the little store. With a twinkle in his eye, the cripple regaled the passing shoppers with stories from his history, and when in the presence of the husband, told little offensive jokes about foreigners. The customers, secretly hateful of their reliance on foreigners for disposable trifles, laughed and laughed.

“Who is this decrepit old man sitting beside you, who so deftly conjures up our basest feelings?” they asked.

“I do not know him,” replied the husband angrily. “He carries with him a terrible shadow.”

That evening, as the husband and wife began to close the shop, the husband approached the old man. “The hour is come for you to leave,” he said. “Go away and do not pass this way again.”

“I will spend the night and all future nights in your little store,” said the old cripple. “You may plug me in to one of your outlets, and I will snack from your well-stocked shelves. If you turn me out now, I will surely die in the cold, and will make a point of doing so in front of your little store, for I am a highly vengeful man. Your customers will see me slumped there in my chair, overturned in the gutter and frozen to the bone, and they will suspect foul play or at the very least a niggardliness of charity, and they will condemn your little store and you and your wife will go bankrupt and be forced to wander.”

So the old desiccated man got his way, and the husband and wife plugged his chair into their outlet and locked him in the little store. Later that evening over dinner, the wife detected her husband's misgivings about the old man. “It is a difficult situation, I know,” she said. “But we are unfamiliar with the codes and customs of this country, and it might be best to wait and see.”

“We have seen our homeland torn apart by sectarian violence,” the husband said. “The graves of our ancestors looted as if they were no more than the aisles of a lowly store. The body of our only son, I needn't remind you, has been buried apart from his head. So now we are
here
, and an old abject man wishes to deprive us of our profits. If we let this pass, we are a shame to our people.”

“What would you see done?” said the wife, who placed a hand over his.

“Tonight I will surprise him in the little store and cut off his head,” said the husband, and abruptly left the table. The husband then procured himself a blade from the garage, and kissed his wife goodbye and left for the store. All night the wife tossed and turned in her bed, for her husband had not returned. When the violet rays of dawn came falling on her window, she heard the front door open, accompanied by the noise of stamping footsteps and a high-pitched, mechanical buzzing. The wife entered the kitchen, where there kneeled her husband with the old crippled desiccated man seated in his chair. Both regarded her seriously.

“We have come to a remarkable understanding,” said the husband, passing his wife the blade, “that this problem is more ours than yours.” The old cripple began nodding solemnly, and then both men suddenly bowed their heads. “We only ask that you make it quick,” they said.

A nurse was serving on the western front of a popular war. She went out one morning into a smoking field, strewn with the dead and dying of both sides, to administer aid to those who were in need.

First, a male soldier, whose blood was seeping from the places where his eyes had once been, called to her.

“Medicine,” he said. “I need medicine.”

“I have no medicine,” said the nurse. “How about a vision?”

“A vision will do.”