Will It Arrive?
(version 2)
by
Stephen Mark Golden
Copyright
August 13, 1987
The old man awaited anxiously, nervously, as the time of dawn
approached. "Will it arrive?"
he thought to himself with a sense of fear that bordered on desperation. The old man was alone.
He was outcast by the
others. "Shriveled one," they
laughed. As in many societies, the
elderly are oftentimes left to fend for themselves;
those without living relatives, in any case.
This was an extreme society in which self-first ruled completely. As soon as one became, well . . . let's say, not as productive as one was
before, there was no more room.
The Sun was his only
contact with the outside world -- that is, outside of his own limited territory
which had been marked as his own. It was
the standard around which his whole life revolved. Sometimes he felt the Sun was his only friend. It communicated to him. It gave him assurance and hope that life
would go on. It gave him the light to
see where he would get his next harvest of food. There were many forces behind it -- great
powerful forces.
The Sun had always
come faithfully before. He depended on
it. But now, its arrival was in
question.
There had been a
terrible dispute with the "deliverers" the previous evening. Those bringers of warning had attempted to
extract an undeserved portion of the old man's sustenance. It wasn't fair! He had given their alms! Now he was being asked to give again! How many more times would it happen? How much of his sustenance would they draw?
Curses promulgated
from the mouths of these harbingers of doom.
At one point it seemed violence was inevitable, but the deliverers
departed with one final curse: "The
Sun will no longer give its blessing and light upon you! You will live the remainder of your life in darkness,
unless you pay your alms!"
It was a terrible
thing to say. What made the matter worse
-- the old man believed the deliverers were able to accomplish such a
feat! "They can stop the Sun!"
the old man trembled. "Without its
presence, I will wither and die!"
Throughout the night,
he kept vigil. Watching for any sign
which might indicate unusual activity.
He quaked with fear. With a
blanket over his shoulders, he rocked himself back and forth to stay
awake. He kept a humble fire burning all
night. The question of life itself
wearied upon his mind.
Would it arrive?
Several times during
the night, he was disturbed by what turned out to be false alarms. Unexplained noises, movements in the distance
taxed his aging senses. Sometimes just
his heightened imagination resulted in the arousal of his anxiety.
It was such a
horrible ordeal, and yet, he was willing to endure it on the principle of not
paying alms for the same service twice.
He would not -- no -- could not pay again! If he yielded this time, it would get
worse. The agreement had been made with
the providers. He had kept his part of
the bargain. The deliverers who were
sent to receive the alms had not kept close records of collection -- or they
were skimming off the excess they received by collecting from him multiple
times.
The darkness seemed
to endure longer than usual. As dawn
grew near, a heavy fog settled in, obscuring his view.
Then, there was the
sound of approaching footsteps. An
occasional "thump" was heard at various intervals. The sound became louder with each passing
moment. He cowered in a corner, still
looking intently outside his place of shelter to see whether it would arrive.
And then, in a moment
of fury, the fog parted long enough to reveal a cylindrical object being hurled
at his dwelling.
"Aaaaaaaaaghh!" he screamed, and
hid his face. It landed with the same
loud "thump" he had heard intermittently in the minutes before. Then there was silence.
Slowly gaining
courage, he looked out from his hiding place.
It had arrived!
The old man was
overjoyed! The deliverers had either
recanted on their threats, or re-counted their
collection tickets. The providers of The
Daily Sun had come through! The morning
paper had arrived!