The Wanderer
Spurts
of dust were visible over the hill before the ’67 Mustang came barreling up
over it, loudly gunning its way down the 303. The hot sun bore down on the
washed out landscape of barren red rock and desert brush. The faded sky blue paint job on the car spoke
of better days. The driver, hidden
behind darkly tinted windows rushed from somewhere, or to somewhere. Long and
sinuous, the silver ribbon of road stretched out before the vehicle as it
roared down the highway.
A
vulture picking at a day old armadillo corpse hurried away as the Mustang beat
its staccato call, passing by the bird’s meal.
The dark bird’s large wings flapped slowly and gracefully, kicking up
some of the endless dust as well.
Moments after the bird’s departure, and only a breath after the car had
ripped around the next curve, tires shrieking, a cool, gentle breeze wafted
down from the rocky hills where the car had arrived from. As the breeze blew by the side of the road,
the indigenous life of the
Not
a cloud in the deep blue sky, the relentless sun drying the earth all around, a
small plant pushed itself out from the cracked ground as the breeze went
by. A small rose bush emerged in
moments, as if time had suddenly decided to speed by. In the dry heat, the green petals bore drops
of moisture, which ran down the stems as if teasing the adjacent dry sagebrush
and earth. A small bloom opened. A pink, fragrant blossom emerged and
expanded.
Just
as quickly, as if someone had crushed the rose in anger, the petals wilted away
in the blink of an eye. The leaves curled and wilted, black mold spreading
across them. Before it had enjoyed a moment’s
peace on this earth, the rose bush had died and left nothing but a few
scentless ashes to be swept across the desert plains by the slow wind. As if the cool breeze had created and angrily
destroyed the bush, it swept away again, following the vehicle.
He
pulled the old Mustang up in front of the diner. An old, faded neon sign that looked as if it
hadn’t worked in years tried to tell him that it was Joe’s or Moe’s or some
other fellow’s diner. Stepping out of
the car, shifting the worn denim jacket on his shoulders, he just shook his
head and adjusted the big aviator sunglasses he wore. What did it matter? Another diner, another podunk, worthless town in the
middle of this sweltering, useless desert.
He walked across the dry, cracked earth, his boots crunching on the
small chunks of dry earth and bits of tumbleweed nature had strewn across the
parking area in front of the diner.
Everything
about the diner he took in in moments, little as
there was to acknowledge. Faded grey
planking covered the sides of the building, warping up at the ends. The porch boards creaked as he strode across
them. A few rusty, bent license plates
from
Opening
the porch door, wincing at the painful creak the door emitted, he hesitated
with one hand on the door knob of the wooden door to the diner. Leaning back on one foot, he turned and
surveyed the distant horizon, the hills miles away, and the few other buildings
of the town, looking for something. The
other buildings, like this one, were worn out, faded, paint peeling. One had a second story façade and had once
been bright red with yellow lettering.
The Starlight Theatre, the sign seemed to read, nearly faded into
obscurity now, much like the town and its inhabitants. Taking a deep breath, he
tried to assure himself he was safe.
He’d left her far behind. She, nor any of her
kind would catch him. For a while. Hopefully.
Shaking
his head to clear his mind before he went back down that path, he turned the
knob and stepped indoors. The light was
dim inside, yellowed shades were pulled on the diner’s two small windows and
the only other light came from fluorescents hanging down from black chains over
the bar and the three or four tables scattered around the diner’s interior. He took off his shades and rubbed his eyes,
then ran his hand through his curly brown hair.
Fatigue suddenly seemed to wash over him as he allowed himself to relax
here. He’d been on the run a long time since they had taken Marcus. Six months? Eight? Not that that should seem like a long time to
him.
“Sit
where you like. I’ll be with you
shortly.” Came a dull, tired voice that didn’t seem to
care if he heard or obeyed what it said.
He glanced around to find its source.
A tall woman, her drab, pale orange hair up in a bun stood behind the
bar’s counter, each hand off to the side of her body, she leaned on her arms as
she looked up at him, apparently having been engaged in conversation with the
guy at the bar. He wore a camouflage
John Deere cap and a blue denim shirt.
He couldn’t see the guy’s face as the man didn’t even bother to turn
around to see who had entered. The woman
was staring at him, probably wondering if there was something wrong with him.
He’d been standing, staring around the interior of the diner for nearly a
minute. Briefly, he gazed her way. She pulled back slightly, instinctively, as
his gaze rested on her. He had that
affect often. Women thought his tanned,
rugged appearance attractive, the wavy brown locks. But his eyes. Simple green eyes, but they spoke of wisdom,
experience, and pain far beyond any measure.
She
had never been pretty, and, probably in her early forties now, never would
be. He’d long ago learned to hold such
observations to himself or suffer the consequences. But, he couldn’t help but see things the way
they were. He could also tell she
carried a deep, long sadness within her.
Most likely she had lived her whole life in these parts, longing to
break free, but never really knowing how, or having the courage to just do it.
Turning,
he sat down at one of the tables and picked up a menu from the metal pin
holding it in the center of the table. Opening it, he blew dust off the peeling
laminate to be able to read the menu.
Chicken fried steak, burger, BLT.
No surprises here. His eyes roamed over the menu, never focusing on
anything.
The
woman nearly startled him, suddenly standing at his side. “What’ll it be,
stranger?”
A
smirk nearly rose to the surface, as, momentarily he thought about asking her
if she had anything vegan on the menu.
Doubtful she’d even know what on earth he was talking about. And even
more unlikely were they to have anything like that. “I’ll have the chicken
fried steak and a beer.”
“What
kind of beer?” She asked as she scrawled down his order with a pen she had
pulled from her bun.
He
looked up at her and smiled politely.
“What kind do you have?” He asked, trying not to be condescending.
“Pearl.”
She said flatly. Not even a smile. Surely she realized the humor, intentional or
not as he paused, waiting for the list to continue.
“Pearl
it is then.”
The
woman turned and walked around the bar, through the swinging doors into the
kitchen. Apparently she was waiter and
chef.
It
was then the man at the bar turned to him.
He had a dark black mustache and must have been in his early
thirties. Dark blue eyes leered at him
from the safety of the shadows of his cap.
He spit some tobacco into a cup, glanced up and down at the newcomer,
then turned back around.
Once
his food had arrived and he’d eaten, he turned to look around the small
diner. It was only then he realized a
young boy sat a table away, watching him.
Had he been watching this whole time? His stomach did a momentary flip
as he felt a chill run down his spine.
Carefully, he looked over the boy.
Blond haired, blue eyed, a gentle smile. He wore khaki shorts that went
past his knees. Most likely
hand-me-downs from an older brother. He
had on a faded t-shirt with red sleeves that had the logo “Action Man!!!”
plastered across it, along with a graphic of a
old-fashioned super hero in tights.
Certainly didn’t look like one of them.
Calm down, he told
himself. They’re not everywhere.
Relaxing,
he smiled at the kid. The kid just
tilted his head slightly, as if surprised by this behavior, and broke into a
big grin, revealing a missing tooth.
Yeah, brave he was, alright. Here, thinking that some Tommy or Jimmy,
probably the waitress’ daft nephew or some such was one of the spirits that
haunted him.
He
just shook his head and took the last swig of his beer. As he sat the bottle down, it was as if he
turned a switch on the kid. He promptly
jumped up out of his seat and darted over to a little jukebox in the corner
he’d missed seeing earlier. The kid
chose “My Blue Suede Shoes” by Elvis and started waving his skinny, bony arms
and legs around to the beat. He nearly
busted out laughing at the absurdity of it, and even more so the fact that only
at that age did people have few enough inhibitions to do something as crazy as
that.
The
waitress and her customer (friend?) apparently saw this every day, as they
didn’t respond in the slightest. Not
even a foot tapping to the lively beat.
Sad, he thought, to be that dead to the world. His own black boot clicked against the base
of the table with the beat.
When
the song stopped, the boy walked directly over to him. “Come on.” He said
simply.
He
just smiled back at the kid and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Come
on. Let’s go for a walk.” The boy picked up his callused hand in his own much smaller
one.
“Sure
kid. Maybe later.” He started to tug his hand from
boy’s grasp.
“Come
on, Wanderer. I wanna go outside.” The kid tugged his
hand up and down for emphasis. He
stopped pulling his hand away at that point. Had he heard the emphasis or just made
it up? He just wandered in from the big outside world. This small town kid had
just happened to call him a wanderer, not the Wanderer, he told himself.
Still,
he’d learned by now to go with his gut. And strangely, it told him to go with
the kid. “Alright,
alright.” He got up, put on his shades, and took a money clip from his
pocket. The boy reluctantly let go his hand, as if unsure whether he’d get it
back or not. He unclipped a twenty from
the stack of torn, crumpled bills shoved into the clip
and started walking to the door, relenting his hand back to the grasp of this
boy.
As
they stepped back into the dry air and the hot sun, the boy took off, firmly
leading him as if he they had a specific destination. Once on the road, they started walking to the
nearest end of town. What on earth was
he doing with this kid? He must be lonely for attention. He looked around for even the slightest sign
of life, but saw none. What did a kid of
ten, eleven years of age do around here?
They
walked in silence for a moment, then the kid spoke to
him in his high, prepubescent voice “So what’s your name?”
“My name?
Well…why don’t you tell me yours first?”
“I’m
not supposed to talk to strangers, you know. You tell me yours first and then I
can talk to you.”
“I’m
Tobias. But, these days, people call me Toby.”
“Wandering Toby. Toh-bi-us.” He said, as if
feeling the sound of each syllable in his mouth. “Strange
name. I haven’t heard of anybody called that.”
“Well,
no one gives their kids names like that these days. It hasn’t been a popular
name for a while.” A long while, he
thought to himself.
“Why
are you here?” The kid stopped and looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight.
“I’m,
travelling. The last place I was at…didn’t work
out. Some, uh, people didn’t like me so
I decided to move on.”
“No.
Why are you here?” The kid asked,
confusing him with his emphasis.
“Not
sure what you mean, kiddo. You never told me your name.”
“Eric. Why are you here? Why am I?” The kid swung
his arm around, taking in everything around them.
“Whew.
Eric. For a boy your age, those are some thoughts. Why are we here on earth?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for a long
time.”
Without
the slightest hesitation the boy responded matter of factly,
in a slightly deeper more gruff voice “Well then, Wanderer, don’t you think
it’s about time you quit trying?”
“Jesus
Christ!” The Wanderer yelled as he dropped the kid’s hand like a hot poker and
jerked back. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Clever, dirty little bastard! Using
a kid’s body like that! Which one are you? Mother Nature?
Act of God? Temptation? Greed?” He started
backing away, but unwilling to take his eyes off the boy. That was close, he told himself. This one
almost lured you in.
“What?
You’re being silly!” The boy stated in his normal voice. “I’m Eric!!” At that,
finding it somehow funny, the boy put his hands around his belly and bent over
laughing. “You’re strange!!”
Tobias
paused. “Look, you know damn well you
just called me the Wanderer. Why did you do that? Hardly anyone calls me
that. Whatever you are, you’re not just
some kid named Eric!”
The
boy’s eyes hardened and looked straight at his.
“You and I both know that. But
don’t keep bringing it up, it will only confuse the boy.”
“This
is messed up. What are you?” Nervously he ran his hand through his hair,
trying to slow down his breathing.
“I
am what I told you, I am Eric. Ten years old, born here in
Silver Flats,
“Why
did you ask me to come walk with you, Eric?”
“Because.
I wanted to know if you’d figured out yet why you were here.”
Tobias
just shook his head. Eight hundred years of talking to demons and spirits, he
should be used to odd conversations like this by now, but he still wasn’t. “Well, you know. I don’t. No one really does. Question
answered. Good bye, Eric.” He turned to walk back to town and get the
hell out of here.
“If
no one does, then why bother seeking? Why not just live?”
He
turned back, half thinking he’d regret it. He should
just leave. “Because, we have to know. There’s more to it than just existing.”
“Why?
Why does there have to be?”
“Look.
I’m debating existence out here in the middle of freakin’
“ANSWER
ME!!!” A voice boomed from all around, only vaguely reminiscent of Eric’s. As
he swung back towards the kid, he could swear he saw from the corner of his eye
a giant body of light shrinking back into the boy.
“What
abomination are you!!!” His face was getting red from the anger as he strode
towards the kid, his hands shaking out in front of his face.
The
boy stepped back, visibly afraid. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. But you are so necessary. I wanted it for you. There are so few now who make it this far.”
The boy sighed and kicked at a rock, his eyes watering up.
Tobias
bent down to look the kid in the eyes.
“Look, I’ll talk to you. I’ll be
honest. But you have to be honest with me. Are you a spirit? One of those that has followed me all my life? Which kind are you? Good or
bad?”
The
boy wiped his nose and dried his eyes on his sleeve. “Yes and no.”
“Yes
and no?”
“Yes,
I’m like them. No, I’m not good, or bad. Neither are they. They just are.”
“They
torment me.”
“They
challenge you. Some, yes, do have intentions that are not necessarily for your
betterment. Do you truly believe in good
and evil, right and wrong?”
“What
kind of question is that?” Tobias asked. “You have to. What would there be if there wasn’t?”
“Fair enough.” The kid said, walking along, Tobias stood and walked with him. “There
are things, that, from your perspective, from each
person’s perspective, are good and bad, right and wrong. But there is not ALWAYS one or the
other. Life isn’t so cut and dried. It’s
not always black and white.”
“True. So I’ll give you this, those spirits aren’t
always classifiable as good or evil.
Still, why do they plague me and not all of mankind?”
“Tobias,
son of Mathias and Mildred, born in the year of our lord eleven hundred and
thirty two in the shire of Domansain, forever
wandering amongst humanity, do you wish this plague as you so call it gone from
your life?”
Tobias
stopped and stared at the kid. Ancient memories of his mother and father
surfaced with reference to their names.
The boy almost sounded like he was asking if he wanted to be relieved of
duty. Simple as a yes, it could all be
taken away. “Why, could you?”
“Answer
the question, Tobias.”
A
small voice screamed out in him Yes!!! “No. I
wouldn’t give up all those experiences. Meeting whom I’ve met, seeing what I’ve
seen. Learning what I’ve learned.”
“Loving
whom you’ve loved?” The boy prompted.
A
pang went through his heart at the thought of Nora. “Yes, loving who I’ve
loved. But why tempt me with things you
cannot deliver?”
Suddenly,
the boy exploded in size to tower over him. His voice boomed over Tobias. “Like
Job before you, like Joan of Arc, Simon Geilhatz, I
ask because I can!” With a flash, the boy was normal sized again.
“I’ve
seen those spirits do far more.” He responded acerbically.
“I
have no need of parlor tricks to impress, only trying to prove my point.”
“What,
that you’re God? And who was Simon Geilhatz?”
“Yes
and no. He could have changed the course of World War II.”
“Not
another one of your yes and no questions.
Are you some form God has taken or not? Are you making me a prophet like
those others, some of those others, or not?”
“Have
you seen snow, Tobias?”
“Yes,
of course. What does that have to do – “
“Snow
is many snowflakes. Each unique. Each
falling and existing for a different period of time. But together they
are all snow.”
“Yes…”
“I
am a snowflake. Your “God” is the snow.”
“God
isn’t a single being?” Tobias arched an eyebrow. He’d never been overly
religious, but this was a new one for him.
Eric
sighed. “You think so…I don’t know! Stop thinking so
restricted. Is everything out there”
Eric waved towards the heavens with his hand “time and space? Energy and matter? What are your spirits that haunt you?
Tell me that!” The boy’s chest heaved with frustration.
“I
don’t know.” Tobias shrugged. “There are things beyond our comprehension. So we’ve never truly perceived God
correctly? You are and are not him? You remember speaking to Joan of Arc but you
weren’t there?”
Eric
gave him a look a teacher would give a slow student who was gradually learning
the lesson. “Yes. No, not remember. Don’t think so bounded. Things in reality are not so cut and dried.
Life and the universe ebb and flow from one to the other.”
“Not
all is exact, understandable. Dividable between yes and no, right and wrong.
I’ve seen that in my years. Unfair things happen to people, but life goes on.”
“Yes!
So why are you here?” The boy seemed exuberant again, ready to get the right
answer from Tobias.
“Hold
on, not just yet. Why don’t others
experience what I do? Am I a prophet? Did you pick me?”
“So many questions!” Eric laughed a youthful, innocent chuckle. “Everyone
hears the voices of the forces at work in the universe. Temptation.
Greed. The awful power of Mother
Nature. Some walk through life
asleep and never experience them. They miss out.”
“Some
of these are good? So many I’ve come across have destroyed others like me. That temptress, she killed Marcus. She had
him trapped in this desert, believing he was in some paradise. I tried once to
pull him away and woke up in the paradise myself.”
“Was
it a wonderful experience?”
“Yes,
but that’s not the point. I saw Marcus drinking handfuls of dust thinking it
was wine. He withered away to death. How can these spirits be good?”
“Everything that pulls at you, and every other human
being in this world. Every
temptation, every desire, idea, emotion, relationship, experience. Each and every one have
no goodness or badness inherent in them. If you avoid them all you avoid life.
But to indulge in any too much is to destroy yourself,
is it not?”
“I
see your point. Nora and I did just that. Those years we had were magical,
powerful. They’re still with me. I only
wish I could have done something more when we were together.” Tobias said
wistfully.
“Why?
Why??” Eric asked. “Did you not love
her? Her you? Did you not share these feelings?”
“Yes,
yes, we did.”
“Then
there was nothing more but what you had. Cherish what you have, but move on and
look forward to each day in life.”
They
came then upon some desert wildlife. A
snake slithered through the brush as the sun moved towards the horizon, coming
out as the air began to finally cool and hunt for prey. Eric watched the animal
with great interest.
“For
all that I am, Tobias, I am still Eric and ten years old. This world fascinates
me, as it does Eric. Enjoy the beauty of this earth.”
Tobias
opened his mouth to speak, but, expecting Tobias’ words, Eric spoke. “I do not
choose you, or Marcus, or Nora, or Joan of Arc, Job, Matthew, or any of the
others. You are each challenged and
spoken to by the universe for the universe’s own reasons.”
“Wait.
You’re not in charge here? Who is then?” Tobias stopped.
Eric
took a step further, then turned back and looked up at him. “You seek too hard.
For the right and the wrong. For the
reason. The universe is. I am here for you.” Eric looked at him as he
said these last words and he knew the boy meant not him specifically, but all
mankind.
“To teach us? Protect us? Guide us?”
Eric
just looked at him, pensively, his face not giving away his thoughts.
“Yes,
I see. You’re here for us, all of us. But it’s for us to live, not you. We’re
not here to give ourselves to you or burn up our lives in seeking the answer to
it all.”
They
walked on to his car in relative silence. As he got in and turned to Eric, the
boy asked him “Why are you here, Tobias?”
“The
same reason we’re all here, I think. To live life as best and
fully as we can. Why else?” The boy just grinned and gave Tobias a high
five, then leaned in for a quick hug, surprising Tobias. “That Simon dude. Simon..Geil
something?”
“Simon
Geilhatz. Born 1932, Auschenburg,
“Why
have I never heard of him? Why did he not take the lessons life had dealt him
and share with others?”
“I
came to you and asked you if you’d like me to take it all away. I said the universe chooses you, not I. I come to those who survive and grow from it
all and ask you that question. You told me no, that you would have your life as
it was.”
“And
him?”
“He
responded yes, and asked me to take it all away.” Eric turned and walked away, back into the
diner.
He
shut the door to the car, and turned the engine over. The sun was setting to the west, a full moon
rising in the east. He backed the car
out from the diner and headed east, the Mustang rumbling as it sped down the
highway.