| The Wings For Flight "There was a friend of mine once," he tells me, swirling the wine in his glass. "He swore to me that someday man would be able to fly, and then he tried to show me some diagrams he'd made. I, of course, laughed at him and told him that if man were meant to fly, he would have been given wings. Naturally, I was wrong." It's late, and I'm pleasantly drunk enough to be able to nod wisely at these words from my friend, and then ask, "Luke, what the heck are you talking about?" He smiles at me. "Nothing important, old friend." He looks at my glass and clucks disapprovingly. "Just how much have you had tonight, Gabe?" "Enough," I say, shrugging and managing to retain some dignity, even as I can feel myself starting to list to one side. "I would have to agree. Really, it's a shame to see a figure such as yourself so-so-" He searches for a word tactful enough for the situation. "Luke, I'm drunk. Or very close to it." I drain the rest of my glass and reach for the bottle, only to be stopped by his hand. "Old High-and-Mighty-" That's what he calls my boss. "-would not be pleased to hear you're doing this." "Oh, come off it. He knows already. He's like that." He searches my face for a moment, and releases my wrist. "Your problem, not mine," he mutters. "There are days when I'm glad that I broke away from the old firm and started the new one." This seems to me to be enormously funny. "You were fired, Luke," I remind him. "I wasn't fired!" he protests. "I quit. There's a difference." "If you say so. I suppose it had the same end results." There's a lull in the conversation, the kind that comes only between old friends or long-established lovers. We drink, and reflect, until he says, "So-why this tonight?" He gestures, the movement of his hand encompassing the table, the wine, and us. "And why didn't you invite Mikey?" "Michael's busy. Boss has him working. But I did invite him." "I'd wondered. Anything to do with-" He doesn't need to finish the sentence. "No more so than usual, I think. Sometimes it's hard to tell." "That's the problem with Old High-and-Mighty. He doesn't clue in anyone to the plan, not even you or Mikey... His two best and brightest, I might add." "Since you left, anyway." He grins at this. "I can afford to be generous, remember?" He pauses, looks at me. "You know I can still use someone with your abilities-" "I'm not that dissatisfied," I snap. "Yet." "I'll never be that dissatisfied!" "That's what I thought, but now look at me." He smiles, showing off his even white teeth that are ever so slightly sharper than one might expect. "I'm doing a lot of good-for myself, of course." "Of course," I agree, my irritation subsiding. It's impossible to stay angry with him for very long. It's one of his many gifts. "Actually, I rather think it does the old man and his boy some good to have competition," he goes on, pensive. "Nothing's valuable that you don't have to fight to get-or keep." "I wonder if it's worth it." Oops. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. Maybe I'd better ease off the alcohol. "So, we finally get to the crux of this evening's t�te-�-t�te." He frowns at me, seeing the expression on my face before I can school it into serenity. "Gabe, tell me you haven't come here looking for advice from me, of all people." "You're hardly the most logical choice," I admit. "But here you are anyway." He swears, but under his breath, because he knows it offends me. "Okay, lay it on me. Tell Uncle Luke what the problem is, and he'll see what he can do to fix it." I open my mouth to tell him, but nothing comes out. All I can manage is "Why?" as I sweep my hand, indicating the whole of Creation, and not coincidentally the newspaper I'd been reading prior to his arrival. "Oh. I see." And he does, which is the unnerving part. He looks at the front page, which details some atrocity committed by one nation of mankind against another. "Man's inhumanity to man got you down?" He has a knack for cutting to the heart of matters. "Why bother trying to save them and lift them up when it's clear that they don't want to be elevated?" I demand. "What's the point?" "Well, I could tell you right now that Old High-and-Mighty works in mysterious ways, but you're drunk enough that you'd probably give in to the temptation to hit me." "I'd be sorry about it later." "I'm sure you would, which is odd when you consider that you are supposed to be into smiting me and mine. But I digress." He pulls the newspaper over, and opens it, scanning the articles for something. "How about this? 'Firefighter Rescues Lost Kitten for Six Year Old.' Gallant, isn't it?" He sees that I'm not impressed. "Okay, maybe not... Here's a picture of a boy scout helping a granny across the street. Wanna see?" "Luke, be serious." "I am serious." He glares at me to driving point home. "Gabe, you're looking for mammoth acts of good, and those don't exist on the scale you want to see. Evil specializes in mass production, but it's cheap and falls apart easily. Good is individually handcrafted and endures forever. The scale is smaller, but infinitely more durable." I don't think he's joking. "You really believe that, Luke?" "Can't help it." He smiles uneasily. "But if word gets out to my firm, I'll be in trouble." "If you believe that, then... why do the things you do?" He shrugs. "There's a point to all this, somewhere. Old High-and-Mighty has a plan, and who am I to let him down by not playing my part? Like I told you, it does you guys good to have competition." "That must be why no one ever stops Michael and me from having these little visits with you. You don't suppose-" He holds up his hand, stopping me. "Don't even say it. You'll ruin my reputation." I smile faintly. "Your secret is safe with me." "I know." He smiles, a wry twist of his lips. "I wouldn't be doing this otherwise. Feeling better?" "...Yes. Thank you." I raise my glass to him, with hands that only wobble a little bit with drunkenness. "You're welcome. After all, what are friends for?" This calls to mind an earlier point. "What ever happened to your friend-the one who wanted to fly?" "Oh, he painted pictures and sold them. He was quite a good artist, really, even if I didn't expect him to be right about the flying thing." "I see." "Of course," he adds, reflecting, "maybe Old High-and-Mighty and I gave man all the wings he needs?" He grins at me. "He gave them the free will and imagination, and I gave them the knowledge. The rest... they've done for themselves." And, since there's nothing to say to that, I top off our glasses, and toast mankind and its flight. "May man learn to soar to the stars before he crashes." He lifts his glass as well. "Amen." |