Constancy

Everything was moving. Everything was in motion. Galaxy, universe, multiverse; all were turning and falling over each other into fractals like the rolling waves of an endless ocean. Nothing stopped. Nothing was still. Some things were dying while others were being born, and nothing cared because that is how it has always been and how it will always be. Everything in a cycle: everything in motion. A tree stood on the earth and looked at the stars, connecting them with one another in order to make them into something they were not. ‘And maybe…’ the tree said to itself, ‘perhaps there’s someone else, something else, looking at me…distorting and misunderstanding me…connecting me to someone else. What are the stars anyway? Compared to everything, what are they?' The great Betelgeuse was a spec, and even it would die and be forgotten. Another star, brighter and larger, would come into existence, but then…even it will die, and then he will die, and then she. ‘And so…what does that make me,’ said the oak to itself as it stared from the edge of the valley where it stood. ‘What does that make me?’

Its branches extended outward, drooping and sagging close to the ground.The valley oak was alone as it watched the galaxies fade away into the light of its own star rising over the eastern horizon.The afternoon sky was vast from atop the hill, and the cloudless atmosphere pushed the oak into the foreground of the landscape.The roots clawed deep into the earth, touching the granite, clay, and ancient triolobites buried deep beneath the soil.It was fall, and the oak was bare, a skeletal relic sitting on its thrown, soon to become a fossil itself.

Several hawks took shelter in the oaks highest branches, keeping a watchful eye over the entire valley, while California quails scuffled below, near the middle of the clearing. Their voices would come together in a soft and gentle chorus perpetuating, ever so slightly, the subtle and terrible truth of the beauty of life. Purple three-awn grass brushed the hilltop around the base of the tree, and sedges and rushes were scattered throughout the meadow at the bottom of the valley. The wind swept through all the tall grass, and the trees, whispering words of wisdom, ‘Let it be…let it be.’The soft words made everything dance, fading the grasses in and out of each other in waves like a gradient of paint being pushed to and fro by a palette knife.It was places like this that poets wrote about.

There was a pastor lying on his back, his hands tied tight behind him.He wore a dark green jacket and thick jeans.The scruff of a beard formed around his face.He lay at the base of the valley oak, looking his oppressor in the eye.

“My wallet’s inside my right jacket pocket,” said Tom calmly as he shifted his eyes into the afternoon sky.“There’s not much in it, though.”

Tom had a straight and serious look on his face.

Richard knelt down to tie a rope around Tom’s ankles, then stood and examined his victim.

“What do you want?” Tom asked.

“I don’t want your money,” Richard said.

“I know…what do you want?”

“I...I want to be done.”

“What do you mean?Done with what?”

“I want someone to take my place.”

“You want to die?”

“Yes.I’m ready.”

“Are you afraid?” Tom asked.

“No…just ready.I’m ready for it to be my turn…to be where you are.”

“Well, we can switch now if you’d like,” Tom said looking at the rope around his ankles.

Richard laughed at the idea.“I want to be killed…I don’t want to commit suicide.There is a difference.I want someone to take my life, and before they do, I want to look them face to face…so I can thank them.”

“What do you think will happen when you die?”

“The same thing that will happen to you…I’ll forget everything.”

Richard gazed out down the valley at the beautiful weather.He listened to the birds singing and smelled the ferns at the base of the oak as he took in a deep breath.

“You can’t be complete without Jesus Christ,” Tom said as he watched Richard search the landscape.

“Jesus won’t matter anymore.You’ll forget him too.”

“No, I will go to Him.I’ll go home to my Father.”

“You’re entire conception of God is an idea.You can’t take ideas with you where you’re going.I’m sorry friend.”

“Only repentance and a complete surrender to God can make you feel–”

“Tell Him I’ll pass.”

“He can still forgive you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.I’m simply doing my part.I heard a pastor say that once…back when I was younger…that we’re all given a part to play...in the song of life.Someone might be a trumpet, a clarinet, or violin.I think the point was that no one person mattered more than another, but that together, we made something beautiful…we became one thing.”

“And what part are you?”

“Me?I’m the percussionist.I’m keeping everything in time…on track.”

Richard looked down at Tom again and then back at the horizon.Tom looked at Richard and began to weep.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Richard said kindly, keeping his gaze fixed on the treetops.

“No.I weep for you,” Tom said through his tears.

“Don’t.”

“You are a lost, lost soul.”

“I know exactly where I am.”

A faint line of black smoke began to curl above the trees off in the distance.Richard armed himself with the pistol he had used to kill David a few weeks earlier.He cocked it and sunk down next to Tom, resting his elbows on his knees.

“This forest is going to burn soon.From the looks of it, I’d say they started about five minutes ago,” Richard said to Tom, pointing to the black fog rising in the distance.Tom looked above him at the upside-down landscape, and they both observed the smoke.“They won’t find your body…just ash.Maybe some kid will come out here...pick up a burnt stick and draw a picture with you…render your charcoal remains into a work of art.”Richard laughed to himself.“I doubt it, though.No one does that anymore.”He kept his eyes fixated on the horizon and said; “You know, my dad and I would always drive out here to watch the fires.There’s a lookout about a couple miles west of here that’s perfect for it.We’d go there sometimes…maybe take a picnic or something.We started doing this when I was about four or five, and even then…even at that age…I wondered what it must have been like for the fire…consuming all of that life, just eating it up like that.My dad said it was just a part of life and that neither the fire nor the forest really liked it, but that they were content…that they accepted it.I told him that I wanted to be a fire when I grew up.God, I loved my dad.”

Richard looked down shaking his head. The black smoke rolled over itself, gaining momentum and size like an avalanche. The faint flicker of orange light licked the underbelly of the fumes.

“Where’s your father now?” asked Tom.

“He’s dead.”

“How’d he die?”

“He fell down the stairs in our house when I was ten. Broke his neck.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tom said.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry that you lost your dad.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. It’s how things are. Death came for my father just as it comes for everyone, and today it comes for you. This is nothing special, nothing different or unique…it’s just your time." Richard looked into the cool blue sky. "Even the stars have to die.”

The dark cloud was now upon them, reaching upward toward the heavens in an attempt to consume the sky. The field was dark, save the unseen flames that were rushing toward them.

“You can’t hurt me,” Tom said hurriedly.“The soul’s eternal. You can’t hurt my soul. To die is gain.”

“It’s okay,” Richard said as he rose to his feet.“You can be afraid.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Tom said with doubt on his face.

“It’s okay,” Richard said calmly, placing the cold barrel of the gun against the pastor’s forehead. “It’s okay.”

The blast of a gunshot rippled through the thick air. Richard heard it before he felt it. The rifle round pierced through the back of his neck, slipping cleanly out the front of his throat. Richard fell forward to the ground.His pistol went off, glancing the pastor’s leg. Tom screamed. A flock of quail was forced to flee from the shelter of the purple three-awn, the sedges and rushes, taking flight toward the darkness above them. The wind began to bellow, and an unearthly roar swept through the valley, shaking the oak to its core. The dirt on Richard’s face turned to a thick mud as the blood began to seep from the hole in his throat. A small pool formed around his head while a thin red stream escaped, rolling smoothly down the valley hill, in between the stiff blades of grass. Richard tried to move, but his entire body was limp. He turned his head toward Tom in an attempt to look behind him, with his eyes opened wide, but he was paralyzed. Tom looked at Richard.

“What–,” Richard gargled through his throat. “What does he look like?”

“What?” Tom asked.The wind was so loud they could hardly hear one another.

“I want–,” Richard coughed, “I want to see him.I want to look him in the eye.”

The sky was almost completely black, and they could hear the cracking and popping of burning wood carried on the furious wind. The smell was beautiful.

“I–,” Tom lifted his head and looked around,“I don’t see anyone.”

“I want to see him!”Richard tried to yell. “I need to see him!”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said honestly. “I can’t see anything.”

“I need to see him,” Richard whispered, as his voice grew quieter. “I need to see him…I need…”

Aden walked slowly out of the forest and into the clearing toward the oak that shook as if in a craze. He kept his rifle at the ready and approached the two men.

“I see him,” Tom said.

With his eyes still opened wide, Richard exhaled.

“It’s a man.”

Aden reached Richard and Tom.

“You all right?” he asked Tom.

“Yeah.His gun grazed my leg, but I think I’ll be fine.If you hadn’t come, I...I would have–.”

“Is he dead?” Aden pointed at Richard with his rifle.

“I think so. His eyes are still open, but I think he’s dead.”

Aden slung his rifle on his back and knelt down to help untie the pastor. Aden looked at Richard, the blood on his face, and the sense of wonder still locked in his eyes.

“I heard you yellin’ when I walked up.What’d he say?”

Tom took Aden’s hand and stood up, adjusting his weight for his hurt leg.

“He wanted to know who you were,” Tom said. “He asked me if I could see who shot him.”

Aden just stared at Richard’s body.

“Who are you anyway?” Tom asked.

“No one. I live out here.”

“Here? There’s nothing here. There aren’t any roads for a couple of miles.”

“My house is out here, back in the woods. I don’t have a car, so being far from the road don’t matter much.”

Aden walked over to Richard and felt through his pockets.

“You shouldn’t steal from the dead,” Tom said.

“You want to get back to where you came from, right? Here.”

Aden threw Tom a set of car keys.

“His truck is back ‘round those trees, but I’m guessin’ you know that already.”

Tom caught the keys with both hands and then looked at Richard.

“Thank you,” the pastor said. “What are you going to do about him?”

“Let the fire take ‘im,” Aden said, getting back to his feet.

“And what about you?” Tom asked, “What about your house?”

“I’ve been livin’ here for twenty years. You know how many times this place has been torched since then?”

Tom looked at Aden but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be fine. I always have been,” Aden said as he leaned back down to grab Richard’s wrists. He began to drag Richard away. Tom watched him. “You should leave now.”

Tom limped down the hill with the car keys dangling from his hand. He saw Richard’s truck next to some trees at the base of the hill. Tom got into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. The engine fluttered, then roared, and the radio read 1:10pm. The sky was now completely black. Tom turned on the headlights, but before he left, he looked out the back window. The black sky and roaring flames silhouetted the valley oak and a man dragging Richard’s body into the woods.

Tom put the pick-up truck into gear and began to drive away from the flames and the destruction. He checked his rear-view mirror but could hardly see anything but the oak tree and the fire. ‘Surely they will both burn,’ Tom said to himself but then a whistle came sifting through the passenger window that was rolled down an inch. The whistling wind began to pulsate, almost speaking as it entered the automobile.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me.Shine until tomorrow, let it be.”