kicking gray dust up with his dragging
left foot. He could not see the horizon.
His tearing eyes smeared the trees
to his right, the hayfields to his left.
He jerked a nod, then another, the
palsy pulled his puppet strings.
His hands were brown and knurled,
like oak with swollen joints. His
legs bent and bowed to carry his back
leaning forward in a curve. His hair
was thick and thatched uncombed,
unruly shock on the sides, his top
a shining pate of freckled skin.
He would not speak,
not by himself, he
had no trust for the
future, nor the past.
The path ahead grew dim with shadows.
The sun ran bloody across the sky.
The ground bred a sticky mud to suck
at his shoes. The trees crouched out
to beckon him with curling branches.
The air grew thick with the smell of
eggs. The sky turned thick with ash.
A blackened figure glided toward him,
wearing a heavy black and large cowl
that hid the face, but did nothing for
the eyes, which glowed hot like fire.
There seemed to be no feet to
kick the hem of the robe, which
dragged the ground. No mud stuck.
The old man stood
his ground and waited
like a mist over a
morning pond, very still.
"Hey, old man, where do you think
you're going? The way you travel is
fraught with danger, twists and turns.
I thinks you should go my way, for
company I be wanting to ease my
weary travel." The black cowl bent
from a height to show burning embers.
The old man looked into the face of
darkness and swallowed spit to wet
his throat. He licked tight lips and
returned the hot stare. " I go now,"
he said, "to what lies ahead for me.
Be it reward or not is left to see. But
I go with clear conscience and free."
The two figures stood
in the road, bending
toward eachother both
lean and large intent.
"Oh, no," said the robed one, "you can't
mean journey longer, for there lies
dire consequence, cruel punishment
disguised as good intention. You
would suffer cold attentions, or would
you have the human pleasures to
enjoy eternal? You must stop, stop!"
My friend, you are no friend," gasped the
old man,"to tell me stay my path. The
stars of heaven show through the murk
you have laid about me. I will walk the
way of right and lay my case before the
judge to decide what shall happen
to me." The old man straightened.
He raised his arms in
front of him to cross his
chest and tightened his
hands into rock fists.
"Well, old man," rasped the cowl, "you
play the fool to deny yourself the
wonder of paradise. All you could
could want, your youth perpetual,
women, wine and song. Feasts to
fit a king, a palace draped in gold."
The robe swelled with thunder.
"Get you gone," howled the old man,"and
never again darken my road. You are
nothing, a viper filled with vices, no
pleasure would you know. Go back
to your evil cairn and bother me no
more. What you have in you will
never pass the light of true good."
Lurching back, the cowl
fell away from a ragged skull
bare of flesh or teeth,
mottled with blood marks.
The robe melted into murky tendrils
that hugged the ground and crawled
away out of sight in the twisted trees.
A guttering scream shrilled the air to
end in a whine. Sunshine cast the
gloom away. The trees once again
graced the road. It was as before.
The old man shook his head and
laughed. "I wonder what old Nick would
say if he knew I expected him. Yes,
I know myself well after all these years.
But I also know the agony of poor
decisions. No, I will not play tunes
with the devil who cannot sing glory."
� 1999 David P. McClellan
