TALES OF THE OLD MAN

THE OLD MAN’S YARD

There once was a kindly old man who lived in a big house, on a big yard in a town named after him. His yard faced a very busy road, a road that he had laid out himself a long time ago. Back then it was a quiet country lane that meandered through green farmland.

Now this street was so busy that there was hardly any room for all the cars, trucks and buses that zoomed back and forth all day and all night. The air was thick with smoke and noise. In order to make more room for more traffic the street had been widened, leaving no sidewalk for pedestrians. This made travel very dangerous, especially for the poor street children of the town, who could not drive cars. Many of them had been terribly hurt.

The old man watched this happening and it made him sad. So one day he walked down to his white picket fence and hollered to the kids, “Hey, kids! C’mon, get in my yard. It’s safe in here.” The children on this side of the road dashed through the gate. The noise of the traffic was so bad that he had to yell a few more times before those children across the street heard his voice. They were clinging to the Jersey wall and were so scared that they could not move.

The old man opened the gate wider but still the petrified children would not come. From the other side of the street things looked too dangerous, and with good reason, thought the old man. Cars and trucks continued to rush on by. So the old man called for his son, who was working out back in the garden, to come and help. As soon as his son saw the terrible situation he ran out into the middle of the road and held up his hands. “STOP!” he screamed.

There was a screeching of tires and a loud honking of horns and then a sickening thud. The traffic had come to a halt, the first time in years. The young man was lying on the ground, his body broken. Blood was everywhere.

The children ran over to him. They were crying because they knew what he had done for them. He tried to talk but he kept choking on the blood filling his throat and mouth. They leaned closer to hear him.

“Quickly, children!” he said, coughing. “Run for my father’s house. The gate is open. The yard is safe – the house is yours. But remember your brothers and sisters.” And with that he died. Just then hundreds of horns started blaring, engines revving impatiently. A siren wailed in the distance. The traffic was tired of standing still.

Sobbing, the children quickly dashed into the yard. There the old man stood with the other children, tears streaming down his face. They ran to him and he put his arms around them. They all cried together, sad because he lost his son.

After a while, the old man spoke to them. “Now, now my children. Don’t be too sad. My son died for you but he died happy, because you are all safe with me in my yard. If any of you had died in that traffic he would have been very, very sad. But now you must carry on, in his memory. There are other children to be saved. You must help them cross the street and show them this yard. If you do this, his spirit will live on in you. Meanwhile, rest awhile in the garden.” And then he went up into the house.

The children looked around and they saw how beautiful the garden was, full of bright flowers and all kinds of fruits and vegetables to eat. The old man was so kind, so cheerful and hospitable that they decided to stay. For the first time in their lives they felt safe. Safe and loved. The old man was happy that they loved him and loved his garden.

The children remembered what the son had told them before he died and right away they ran to the garden fence and began hollering for the children across the street to run for the open gate. They yelled unto their voices were ragged. Some of the street children heard them and those on this side of the street were able to come through the gate easily. A few on the other side tried to make it through the traffic towards the open gate. One or two of them made it but many more of them were struck by the speeding vehicles. Most ran back, afraid of being hit.

Eventually some of the children got tired of calling to the kids outside and began to spend more of their time on the green lawn, laughing and playing with each other, singing songs and making up poems about the young man, his father and the beautiful garden. One day, a few of them, after looking nervously at all the traffic on the other side of the fence, suggested shutting the gate. They were afraid some of the more dangerous cars or trucks might make it through and that would just ruin everything. The gate looked way too small for even a little car, much less a big truck, but the majority agreed. Just to be safe.

“But what about the other kids out there?” one of them asked.

“We been calling ‘em and calling ‘em and they just don’t listen. If they wanted to come in they would have. Besides, mos’ everyone on this side of the street is inside already” they said.

“But what if they’re scared? Remember, we were scared once, too. And how can they get in if the gate’s closed?”

“The big kids’ll keep callin’ and if they see ‘em crossing the street they’ll hold the gate open.”

“Maybe we should go out and help them?” she asked.

“What, are you nuts! Look at that traffic, it’s busier than ever!” They were getting tired of his questions. “Dontcha see? They gotta wanna come in. We can’t make ‘em. Besides, if the old man really wanted ‘em he’d come down outta his house and grab ‘em. Like he did with us.”

Time went by. Soon the bigger kids got tired of calling and watching and wandered away from the fence. Sometimes the gate would inch open and a shy little face would peer in. Usually the children were so busy playing with each other they didn’t notice and the new visitor would slip quietly back out. Once and awhile a kid might make it all the way in and eventually, after some time watching, might be noticed and invited to join in the games. Most of the time they just sat down and watched.

Eventually they locked the gate, to make sure that no one came in unannounced. It was important that all the children knew who was in the yard with them. Some could be allowed in, under strict supervision, but there was a simple catch; To get in, they all had to ask politely and humbly for someone to open the gate. No one should be allowed to come in on their own. This way, someone who didn’t appreciate the old man’s generosity and the son’s sacrifice couldn’t just wander in by themselves and start using the garden in the wrong way. In fact, if someone wouldn’t ask in just the right way they probably didn’t really want to be in the garden in the first pace. They were probably trouble makers and would be happier outside with all the others. Now, everyone in the yard understood the importance of proper behavior.

It had been so long since any of the children had seen the old man come down out of his house. He probably had all the kids that he wanted. After all, his garden wasn’t for just anyone.

BRIDGES

Things had been going very well in the old man’s yard. There were plenty of fruits and vegetables, a large grassy lawn for games and big shade trees for when the sun got too hot. The Old Man’s house still sat high up on the hill and every once in a while someone said that they caught a glimpse of him.

The kids got along nicely. Some of them became team captains and they worked hard at coming up with rules for the games and making sure that everyone followed them. This was important because many kids wanted to play (although a quite a few of them just sat and watched).

There were lots of things to do besides playing games. The fence always needed mending. The sound of the traffic on the busy street was noisy and distracting and and there were some kids who still had bad memories. So they decided to plug up all the holes that let in the noise. They made mud out of the dirt in the garden and used it to fill in all the gaps. When they were finished they could hardly hear any of the traffic at all.

They still guarded the gate, looking for kids that needed to be saved and also watching closely for any threats to the community. They needed to be very careful and take care of this wonderful gift that the Old Man and his son had given them. It wouldn’t do well to take any chances with the yard. It needed to be protected.

After a while some of the kids began to notice that there were some very different looking people in the yard. Most of these newcomers were watching the games but a few were playing. Some of them had different colored skin and all of them were wearing funny looking clothes. Intrigued, the curious children checked with the gate keepers and discovered that more of these strange kids could be seen marching along the other side of the busy highway. They rarely took advantage of the shouted invitations to come into the yard. Besides, being on the other side, it was too dangerous to cross. No one knew where these strange children went but it was assumed that they ended up unfortunate victims of the brutal traffic. It was sad, but it was their choice not to come in.

But how were they getting into the yard? There must be a hole in the fence somewhere, but where? A couple of the braver kids decided to go right up to one of the newcomers and ask him. He was wearing white flowing robes with a cloth wound tightly around the top of his head. He also had some sort of tiny bright stone stuck to the side of nose and his skin was very dark.

Three or four kids confronted him; “We think that it’s great that you’re here in the garden, but….how did you get in? You didn’t come through the gate – we were watching.”

“Oh, we just came over the sun bridge” he said, smiling. His voice sounded strange but kind of cool at the same time, sort of like he was singing.

“The sun bridge? What bridge? We’ve been here for a long time and there is only one way in, through the garden gate.”

“Oh no, you can come in by walking over on one of the sun bridges. There are many of them in the back yard, behind the house. Come, I will show you.”

With his long robes flapping behind him, he took off quickly, heading over the shoulder of the hill and towards the back of the old man’s house. He led them to a thick hedge row that separated the front from the back, to a place where numerous paths snaked through the leafy branches. After winding their way through to the other side they entered a big yard very much like the one out front. It too was surrounded by a white picket fence, but there was no gate. On the other side of the fence was another busy highway, except the speeding cars and trucks looked very different from what the children were used to seeing. Most of them were very small and they all were very fast.

Standing a little higher up on the hill they could see over the fence as well as over the road. On the far side was another white picket fence and what looked like some more yards. Inside the yards children could be seen playing and wandering through the gardens. Each of these yards had a gate and all kinds of children wearing all kinds of funny looking clothes could be seen trying to escape the vicious traffic by rushing through the different gates. There also seemed to be a few ‘regular’ looking kids mixed in with them.

There were some more kids, mostly ‘regular’ ones, on the closer side of the road but still outside the fence. Sometimes one or two would dare to cross the busy highway to safety. Most of them, though, clung closely to the picket fence and kept moving onward. If they could avoid the traffic they might make it around front to where the main gate was.

But the most amazing thing was the vision towering over their heads. Shining bright in the sun and climbing high from each garden was a series of light and airy looking bridges. Though no two looked the same they all shared the same elements of grace, beauty and strength evident in good designs. One end of each bridge was anchored in the Old Man’s back yard. Venturing slowly across the bridges, safe above the roaring traffic, could be seen streams of the exotic foreign children, their bright colorful clothing shining in the sun. Once over, these ‘new’ children walked around dazedly, staring wide eyed at the novel surroundings. Then they slowly made their way up the hillside towards the hedge. Amazed, the ‘older’ children were taking all of this in when suddenly their young turbaned guide began to wave happily at some of the people. He ran swiftly down to meet them.

“My son finished building those bridges just before he died.”

The children jumped in surprise. Standing right behind them and looking over their shoulders stood the Old Man. There were some tears in his eyes but he was smiling.

“You see, children,” he said. “My son and I understood that not all of you live close to the front gate. And the traffic became so bad that it was very hard for anyone to make it there safely. So we laid out some more yards, just like yours, on their side of the highway. We put up picket fences for safety and each one has its own gate. They have all the fruits and vegetables and trees and games that you children enjoy. It is so much easier for them to make it to safety, since the gates are on their side of the street. So many more are being saved. Sadly, though, some still choose to remain outside.”

“But what about the bridges?” the children asked.

“Well, even though their yards are safe and I provide them with all they need to live comfortably, my house is way over here, in this yard. When they look up, they can see my house and many of them want to come over. I do very much want them to come stay with me so there needed to be some way for them to reach me. They can’t do it on their own. So my son built these bridges, from their yard to mine. It can be scary for them but when they learn to trust in the bridge’s strength it becomes easier.”

“But what will happen when all those other kids come in? Will there be enough room in the yard for the rest of us?” The children looked very nervous.

“Don’t you worry about that. And don’t you worry about them, either. I’ll make sure that there is plenty for everyone. Later, when it gets dark, we can all go up to my house. I have comfy rooms waiting for everyone. I also have a great surprise for you. Though you will remember my son giving up his life to save you – He still lives! Yes, right now he is up in my big house, busy building additional rooms for all of you. My son, you see, is quite the carpenter.”

“So, children, go and greet your new friends. And try to play nice.”

THE OLD MAN’S RULES

“Why do you have so many different rules, anyway?”

The young girl looked up at the old man, frowning.

“I do?” he asked, smiling down on her.

“You sure do. Dozens, maybe hundreds of ‘em” she said.

“Well, actually, I really only have one rule. Some people have trouble with this one so they turned it into two rules, to make it easier to understand”.

“Two! What about all those rules about no fightin’ and no cussin’, no lyin’, no cheatin’and no stealin’? And that’s only a couple of ‘em. No eatin’ too much, no dancin’, no watchin’ TV. No fun!” She folded her little arms across her chest and stamped her foot.

“Those aren’t my rules, dear. I didn’t make them. You did.”

“What? We did? What are you talkin’ about?” she cried. “ Those are you’re rules. It’s what we hafta do to make you happy”.

“No, my rule is only this; Love me with all your heart, mind and soul. It’s not too hard, really”

“Huh? What does that mean? I already love you a lot. Infinity! I can’t love you any more that that” she cried.

“Really? And what about that little girl that just moved into your part of the garden? The one with dark hair and pretty eyes? Do you love her?” he asked.

“Her?! You must be kidding. Didn’t you hear what she said to me? And her friends are mean, real mean. And they’ve been mean to my friends. If her friends hurt my friends then there is no way that I can be her friend. I hate her!” she said.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t feel that way. You see, I love her and her friends, as much as I love you and your friends. I think of all of you as my children.” With that he looked up from the little girl to watch the other children playing in the garden.

“But she isn’t nice! She doesn’t deserve my love. Or yours.” she insisted.

“Are you being nice by saying you hate her? Does this deserve my love? But I forgive you and love you just as much as ever. This is why some people find it easier if they turn my first and only rule into two parts. To love me you must also love all my other children as well. Even those you don’t like. Do you understand this?”

“I can’t do it. It’s too hard.” she said, looking down at her feet.

“But it’s what I want. If you love me then this is what you will do. Don’t you love me?” he asked.

“Yes of course I do.” She was quiet for a moment. Slowly her eyes opened wider. “I get it now! That’s what all those other rules are for. Us kids who can’t figure out how to love the losers have come up with a bunch of rules to keep us from bein’ mean to ‘em. “

“Well, that’s the idea” he sighed. “I wish you didn’t think you need these rules so much. I wish you could just try doing it my way. Just once. It gets much easier with practice. It’s a lot harder to keep track of 1000 or 100 or even 10 rules than it is to obey just one or two. So many of your rules are so foolish, so many people waste their time trying to please me by obeying them. They can’t really. All I want is for you to love me by loving each other. I know you can do it.”

“But how? I don’t even know what it looks like. No one is doing it” she said.

“Remember my son? The one who died to save your life? Just remember him and how he acted. Let him be your model.”

“Him? Oh no. He was your son, he was special. I can’t do that. I’m not your son!” she said.

“You could be” he said. “You could be.”

DUELING SCRIPTURES

There was a soft knocking at my front door. I opened it and there stood a man, leaning against the jam. His right hand clutched his left side. It was very late at night.

“You gotta help me, doc.” His voice was a raspy whisper.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I’ve been hit. I think it’s bad.”

I didn’t bother to ask him why he wasn’t at the local emergency room. He wasn’t the first law breaker to come here with with questionable wounds. Quickly, I ushered him to my examining room at the back of the house. I told him to take off his coat and lie back on the table while I washed up.

The lower part of his shirt was all bloody and had started to stick to his skin. I picked up some bandage scissors and began to gently cut the fabric away. Soon I could see the wound. It was immediately apparent what this man had been up to. Just barely protruding from his flesh was the number 4, a colon and then the number 16.

“Scripture dueling, eh?” It was a rhetorical question – the evidence spoke for itself.

“Yeah, doc….high stakes….we were…. fightin’….fightin’ over… the nature… of… God.” His breathing was ragged as he struggled to get the words out.

“For God’s sake man! When will you people learn? How many more must end up like you before this stops?” I was exasperated. I had seen too much suffering, too much anger, too much bloodshed on both sides. Sides that both claimed exclusive ownership of the truth. Taking a clamp I gingerly tried to work the verse out of his side. It was in deep.

“Ouch! I was doin’-ouch!- okay. Got…off a couple a good ones. Thought I had him nailed when…dammit –ouch!… I shot a Jeremiah 13:14 right in his face. You know….the one that goes “And I will dash them one against another,…. even the fathers and the sons together, ….saith the LORD: I will not pity, nor spare, nor have…. mercy, but destroy …them” ? He suddenly began to cough violently.

“Yes I know it, of course. But context man, what about context?!” I lifted him up so he could drink from a cup of water.I gave him a strong sedative.

“Thanks. Yeah, yeah, you’re right. That’s what he said too. Right after he…blocked my shot with James 5:11. I was confused for a second….that’s when he hit me in the gut with 1 John 4:16. That was it. That was all she wrote.”

It wasn’t too long before he fell asleep and I was finally able to remove the scripture verse. It was dug in pretty good and he lost a fair amount of blood. It clanged loudly as I dropped it into the enamel bucket beside the table. Not bad work, I thought. He should be out of the woods by morning. Pouring myself a healthy slug of bourbon over ice I sat down to relax. Just then the phone rang.

“Doc? It’s Jackson down at the precinct. We’ve got a bad situation here and we need someone who has experience with verse extractions. Don’t bother denying it – everyone knows what you do. But this is real bad and we’re willing to overlook a couple of things. We need your help.”

“What happened? Why can’t the hospital handle this?”

“Doc, it’s a nightmare. It’s Jack van Impe. He’s gotten loose downtown and he’s spraying everything in sight with scripture verses. He’s like a .50 caliber verbal machine gun. He’s got his wife spotting for him and people are down all over the place. It’s mass confusion – a real mess. No one can make sense of all this.”

My God, I thought. Will this madness never end?

THE HELPER

(High above the Earth)

A lone spectral figure races against the dark backdrop of the heavens, relentlessly scanning the planet. Suddenly up ahead a beam of light shoots up from the depths of Middle America, piercing the clouds and fading into the ionosphere. Instantly accelerating to blinding speed, the ghostly entity dives towards the light’s source, a long, glowing, meteoric tail stretching brightly behind him.

(Meanwhile, somewhere in the American Midwest)

“Call on him! Call on him! That’s all you need to do. He will help us.” The young girl was breathless with excitement.

The boy knelt on the floor, his head bowed, hands clasped together with fingers pointing skyward. His eyes were closed and his lips moved in a fast and urgent whisper.

There suddenly came the sound of a roaring wind, rising louder and louder, like a fast approaching freight train. The window curtains began to wave about crazily and a pile of papers on a nearby desk fluttered around the room like moths in a whirlwind. A blinding light filled the space and both teenagers threw themselves down on the carpet, hands over their eyes. Instantly in the middle of the room there appeared a man of light, hands on hip, cape swirling about his shoulders. On his chest were written the bright glowing letters; H.G.

The girl peeked up through her fingers. “He’s here! He’s here! He has come to help us!”

(Later, at the dining room table)

“So now you see why we called for you. We need your help” said the girl. “If we don’t pass this exam then we won’t be accepted to Canon College next fall.”

“The temptation to cheat is so strong. Can you please help us!” His eyes wide in panic, desperation filled the boy’s voice.

The figure seated across from the two children was so bright with light that it was impossible to look directly at him. No visible features were discernible and he seemed to lack material substance. There was a soft filminess about him, a somewhat translucent quality to his presence, like he was there yet also somehow not there. The stranger spoke in a deep, low voice.

“You were right to call on me, children. With my help you will be able to accomplish your task. Here, take this and keep it someplace safe.” He reached across and placed something in the girl’s hand. “Now that my work here is finished, I must be going.”

“But why can’t you stay with us? When will you be back?” the girl cried.

“I can’t stay; others need my help. But remember; I am always there for people of righteousness. Just call on me and I will come!“ At that moment he rocketed out of his chair and in a rush of blinding light and energy shot through up through the ceiling, leaving behind a swirling mist of shimmering particles.

The room began to settle back to normal. “Holy smokes! He’s gone!” said the boy breathlessly. “What was that he gave you?”

Slowly opening her hand they saw a square of folded paper. Carefully she opened it up and, reading what was on it, she began to smile, tears of joy running down her cheeks. “The answers! He gave us the answers to the exam! Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

They both ran to the window and looking up they saw a blazing comet streaking towards space, and a voice crying “Up, Up and Awaaay!”

CURTAINS

“No, I’m telling you this is the last show. When the curtain comes down tonight that’ll be it. Kaput. Finito. Finished.” Victor was dabbing rouge onto his powdered cheeks. He glanced up, taking in the reflection of the young woman in the doorway.

“But, Victor. That’s not true at all. There will be another show. And another after that. Who knows how long this will run? Perhaps forever.”

“I wish I had your faith Muriel. But with no director, I don’t see how that’s possible. We’ll just play our parts and that will be it. After tonight the company will break up and, well….”

“Victor, we have a director. The Producer is our director. When Josh was directing he told us that he was just following the Producer’s wishes, to the letter. His stage directions are perfect – we all know precisely what we have to do. “

“I see no producer, Muriel. No director anymore, either. We are doing this thing by the seat of our pants. You need to open your eyes, sweetheart. Take a look around. This chaos can’t last for ever and we need to be prepared for the end. That’s why I’m going to make the most of my last performance.” He took a napkin and began to remove some of the excess rouge.

“That’s swell Victor. Tonight, after the show, during the party, we’ll get to meet the Producer. I’m sure he’ll love your performance and will tell you so.”

“The producer again! Muriel, I’ve never seen hide nor hair of this guy. I keep hearing about him, how great he is, such a sport, keeping us going for all these years. Well, the way I see it is that if there ever was such a fellow he hit the road a long time ago. Or else he kicked the bucket. We’ve been keepin’ this gig alive, with our talent, our hard work. There ain’t no producer. Just leave me out of your fantasies, will ya? I don’t want any part of this ‘new’ show of yours. Sorry to disappoint you.” He threw the wadded up napkin onto the floor.

“Oh, Victor. Don’t say that. Please!“

“TEN MINUTES TO CURTAIN!” the best boy sang out.

>//<

That night the company put on their finest show ever. A standing ovation. Victor and Muriel took two curtain calls and dozens of floral bouquets littered the stage floor.

Afterward in the dressing room, Paul, one of the grips came up to Victor. “You goin’ to the party Mr. French?” Victor was the last one in the dressing room, lingering as he removed his makeup one final time.

“What party, Paul? That fabled “last show” party all the suckers have been waiting for? Well, I hate to burst your bubble kid, but there ain’t gonna be no party because there ain’t no producer to throw us one.”

“Gosh, no Mr. French. Not a last show party. The New Show party. It’s already started, out on stage. C’mon, everyone’s askin’ for ya.”

Wearily Victor finished wiping the cold cream off his face and, still wearing his robe, followed Paul out into the wings. By golly, was that the sound of a party coming from beyond the curtains? As Paul parted the the heavy drapes, Victor’s expression changed from one of disdain, to curiosity, to confusion and finally to disbelief.

Lit up by the stage lights, the entire cast and crew could be seen gaily partaking in one humdinger of a soirée. Champagne glasses were waving about with abandon, large platters of roast meats and vegetables were on display, bowls of exotic fruits, caviar, canapes, smoked salmon….and isn’t that Joshua standing over by the bar?

“Victor! Finally, you are here!” Muriel threw her arms around him. “Here, take this.” She thrust a glass of champagne into his hand. He looked down at it as if he had never seen one before.

“Come Victor, you must meet the Producer. He is tremendous. Fantastic. He is so much more than I ever imagined. You will just love him. Come along – quickly!” She dragged the dazed actor by his free hand. He stumbled awkwardly behind her, sloshing his champagne, suddenly afraid to meet this Producer that he had so flippantly dismissed for all these years.

They approached a dense knot of people clustered about a well dressed man, everyone intent on getting his attention. Muriel pushed her way through. “Let me in, let me in! I’ve got Victor. The Producer asked to see Victor!” The crowd parted, people pulling back, their attention now on Victor.

He wants to see ME? thought Victor. Why me? What have I gotten myself into? He tried to pull back but Muriel would have none of it; she gave a great tug and Victor stumbled forward, right into the arms of the Producer!

“Whoa!” the man said, laughing. He clutched Victor by his shoulders and held him out at arms length. “I didn’t think you would be that eager to meet me, Victor” His smile was bright and it seemed to be quite genuine.

Suddenly Victor began to feel more at ease and even began to smile a bit himself. “I guess, I tripped…ah…er, sir. Sorry”

“Nothing to be sorry for lad. I am so glad to see you! ” He gave Victor a great bear hug. “I was beginning to think you were never coming out of that dressing room. Whatever kept you?”

“Well” stammered Victor. “You see, I wasn’t aware that there was a…I didn’t think that anyone would be….It was the last show and I thought…..”

“That’s alright” the Producer said, chuckling. “I understand everything. That’s all in the past. The important thing is that you are here with all of us. Now, have you seen the script for the new show yet? “

“A new show? I thought…oh.”

I guess there really is going to be a new show, thought Victor. And I guess I blew it, big time. He remembered telling Muriel that he wanted no part of it. He looked down into his glass of champagne. It was empty, everything had spilled out.

“You’re going to love your part in it”

“What?” Victor looked up.

“I said you are going to love your part in the new show.” The Producer was smiling broadly.

“But, but I didn’t….”

“Believe in me? Yes, I know about that. But you’re not the only cast member who didn’t believe. It’s hard for some people, with me staying behind the scenes. But you all have such hard parts to play, I know the script is not an easy one. I just didn’t want to be too much of a distraction to you all. I don’t want you to be so obsessed with trying to please me that you’ll forget your lines or even worse, try to upstage your cast members.”

“So you’re going to keep me in the new show?” Victor was astonished.

“Absolutely. You did a great job in the last show. Sure there were times that you missed your mark, occasionally stepped on someone else’s lines. I can forgive that. Even those times that you decided to ad lib a little bit, hoping to jazz up the show just a touch. But you realized how badly that went off and you came right back to the script. You’re a real trooper, Victor. You rarely thought of yourself – the play always came first.”

“Thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“You’r welcome and forgiven. Now, want to take a look at the new script?”

“Sure! This is great, getting to keep on working with the old cast and crew” said Victor.

“Oh, and a much, much bigger cast and crew. It’s a much bigger show. But not everyone is staying on board. Sadly a few have decided not to stick with the company. Take Maya, for example. She was hoping that she would be able to put on her own one-woman show. You know, one of those performance art things, going on and on about chocolate brassiers while standing on a commode or something like that. I told her that there were no one actor productions in our repertoire, so she’s going to try going it alone. I wish her well but….”

A newspaper shutterbug jumped in front of them. “Hey, Mr. Producer! How about sharin’ those pearly whites with the Good News’ readers?

“Oh, well sure! Anything for you boys.” And with that the great Producer put his arm around Victor and both of them faced the cameras, big grins brightly lit by popping flash bulbs.

THE END OF HAUTE CUISINE

Alain is the chef at La Manière, one of the oldest and most prestigious dining establishments in town. Since the restaurant’s opening day his fare has been lauded as the only authentic continental cuisine being served in the region.

People would come from miles around, having made reservations months in advance. In order to reserve a table at La Manière one must first have been invited by one of the regulars. After dinner, if the meal was to the guest’s liking (and how could it not be?!) then his or her name would be entered in Le Grand Livre, allowing them to join the ennobled ranks of La Manière’s regular clientèle.

For many years business had been booming. The pages of Le Grand Livre continued to fill up with the names of those who desired to be part of Alain’s gustatory world. His menu (written entirely in French of course – the language of l’Escoffier) never changed. La Manière’s customers soon learned every nuance of the menu’s language and came to love it’s comforting, yet delicious, predictability. No unwanted surprises at La Manière. In fact the food was so undeniably perfect that Alain removed all salt and pepper shakers from the tables. To suggest that Alain’s food needed additional seasoning was heresy.

Amazing as it may seem, on occasion an invited guest did not appreciate Alain’s offerings. Whenever a trembling waitress would return the rare dish that some unsophisticated trouble maker deemed inedible, Alain’s massive pride would erupt in fury;

“What? They do not like Alain’s food? Who are these people? What are they doing in my restaurant? They do not know Espanole from ketchup! What little taste they possess has been corrupted by the likes of MacDonald’s and Pizza Hut. They have been led astray by poseurs. Send them away before they corrupt La Manière and her clientèle.”

Fortunately this happened so infrequently, and La Manière was so busy, that rarely did the seat of any misguided guest stay empty for long.

One day though, on a Tuesday evening, something unspeakable happened; in the dining room there was an empty table! A fluke, an aberration.

But by Tuesday of the following week there were six empty tables. Now there was talk among the staff. They noticed that, although the old guard were still dining at La Manière religiously, there were fewer and fewer new guests coming back. It was rumored that tastes were changing, that people wanted something different, maybe with a bit more spice – a cuisine that was not so…’stuffy’.

When Alain heard these rumors he became indignant; “Absurde! Where can people go for good food, real authentic food? La Manière is the only place. Only we serve the freshest ingredients. Only we have the knowledge, the training, the skills to prepare food in the time honored ways of history’s first master chef’s. My brigade have all been rigorously trained in the authentic, traditional ways- modèle classique - the only true way to cook! Do you think just anyone can cook? If these lost souls want to eat fast food garbage, then let them!”

But the people were not going to MacDonalds or Pizza Hut or even Outback. They were going to new restaurants; restaurants that were more casual, more lively, more chaotic and colorful, but restaurants that also served great food. Using fresh and exciting ingredients from around the world these young chef’s were creating a brand new cuisine. Aside from devotion to the guest experience, there were no culinary rules that must be followed.

Rather than boxing themselves into one particular way of preparing food and adopting labels like “Italian”, “French”, “Mexican” or “Chinese”, they combined the world’s best techniques and it’s best recipes and produced foods that were new, unique and exciting. In many ways they were following in the footsteps of the original master chefs, the ones who were the first to understand the subtle nuances of this rather mundane art. Those early masters blazed the first culinary trails among a people, who up until then, had only looked at food as a means of maintaining their meager existence. The ancestral cooks had one thing in common with these new young chefs – they had spirit. A passion for creating new and wonderful taste sensations. And a love of people, and the pleasure found in feeding hungry people. The celebration of the meal. Joie de la vie!

Alain stood in his quiet, half empty dining room, (on a Friday night!) staring out of La Manière’s front windows. He could see at least a half dozen of these busy new restaurants, happy people lined up outside their doors, yearning to partake of the festive atmospheres within. He could see that none were dressed in evening attire, that there was little dignity to be seen among their ranks.

“Infidèles!”

SURFACE TENSION

Far away, in different galaxy, a small blue watery planet called Thera revolved slowly around its sun, the white star Deios. Beneath the endless seas of Thera thrived an intelligent race of aquatic beings. They once lived above the waves, in the bright warm sunshine of Deios, but eventually moved deeper, for that was where the food was most plentiful.

Their lives were perilous, as the oceans were full of treacherous currents and vicious sea creatures lurking in the shadows. If they weren’t careful they could be sucked away in an instant, never to be seen again. It was said that these lost souls, if they were “lucky” enough to make it past the ravenous sea monsters, would end up in the crushing, frozen and lifeless deeps of Thera’s ocean trenches.

Some of these people discovered long ago that the currents closest to the bottom were much less fierce. They learned how to place heavy weights around their waists and shoulders so they could walk along the bottom of the shallower seas. Seeing this, the others soon followed them, gratefully making them their rulers and calling them the Stripes, which means “the ones who know”. The people called themselves the Gouliries, the “grounded ones”.

In the warm shallows, Deios’ watery light provided for an abundance of their primary food, called drabe. It grew in immense waving green beds along the floor of the sea. There was plenty to eat and the water was mild and warm, so the Gouliries prospered. Grateful for Thera’s bounty, they allowed themselves to be led by the Stripes in daily thanksgiving worship to Deios.

But as they prospered they also multiplied and it became more and more difficult to find drabe in the shallows. So the Stripes directed them to delve deeper. This meant adding more weight onto the Gouliries, so that they would stay firmly grounded to the seabed. The deeper they went, the darker and colder it became. As often as they could they would look upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of Deios, glowing faintly through the murky deep. It became more and more difficult to communicate with each other, the world’s darkness and pressure had become so great. The Stripes took to carrying lamps so the Gouliries might be able to follow them in the gloom as well as to remind them of their beloved Deios.

For over 2,000 Theran years the Gouliries lived on the ocean floor, clumsily wandering about in their daily search for drabe. They were weary of carrying their heavy weights but dared not put them down, at the risk of being stolen away by the ocean currents. Even so, there were stories of those who did just that.

There were some who said they had witnessed these rare events and that it looked as if these unshackled ones had been pulled upwards, toward the luminescent surface. The Stripes told them that this was impossible. The lost were now consigned forever to the frigid black deep, where Deios never shined.

But…. this is not what really happened at all. The truth was that the unburdened Gouliries soon found that the ocean currents led them not to peril and bleak darkness, but up to the warm and bright water near the surface. At first they splashed and thrashed about frantically, alarmed that their newly buoyant bodies were taking them so far from the safety of the seabed. They quickly learned that this thrashing and splashing propelled them even closer to the surface, where Deios was shining so brightly they could barely open their eyes. Eventually, when they became adjusted to the brightness, they were astonished to see that there were other creatures among them.

They looked much like the Gouliries but they were swiftly darting to and fro, laughing and frolicking among the waves. Swimming with ease, they would at times dash to the surface, breaking through the watery boundary, leaping through the warm air, wet bodies glistening in the light of Deios. They called themselves the Devas, which meant ‘emerging from the deep’ and they were very friendly. They taught the the new arrivals how to swim, and how to live near the surface. There was plenty of food here, similar to drabe but much, much smaller. They called it creag. Unlike drabe, you didn’t have to work at finding it because creag was floating everywhere near the surface.

The Gouliries discovered that they could safely breath the sweet air above the surface. They were in awe of the blue skies, white clouds, warm breezes, spectacular sunsets and starry nights. Riding the waves, they basked in Deios warm rays, talking, laughing and at times crying with the Devas. Even though they were now free, thy were saddened because so many Gouliries were trapped at the bottom of the sea.

Some of the Gouliries (now calling themselves Devas) would swim back down to their friends on the sea floor and try to tell them of the bright, shining world full of creag and fresh air. But the Goularies ran and hid from them. They did not recognize them and called them monsters, for only sea monsters could swim freely against the currents. The Stripes warned the Gouliries to drive them away, saying that these swimmers were only trying to lead them to certain doom. It was the Gouliries’ nature to walk the ocean bottom and if they were ever exposed to the full force of Deios they would surely burn.

But every now and then, some of the Gouliries, seeing the way the smiling Devas moved so fearlessly and effortlessly through the water, chose not to listen to the Stripes. They took a risk and, letting go of their burdens, were swept upwards, to the light.

JUST KNOCK ON THE DOOR

In the big city there is a cozy pub that caters to the international community. On the door these words are written:

“ENTREE”

“ENTRADA”

“INGANG”

“ENTRATA”

” вход”

“입구 ”

“ENTRANCE”

Behind this door you will find a comfortable place, where people are enjoying each other’s company and there is plenty of food and drink. Every person who walks through the door has been personally invited by the host, with each invitation having been written in his or her own unique language. The host understands that it is unrealistic to expect everyone to know just one language, yet the message contained within each invitation is the same:

“Come to me, if you are weary and burdened;

I will give you rest.

Come! If you are thirsty;

Take my free gift of the water of life.

When you come to the the door…

Just knock.”

WALKING WITH FRANKIE AND LEO

This is the story of Frankie and Leo, two good altar boys who, one cold winter morning, stepped out of an orphanage on the West Side and began the long walk to St. Joseph’s.

It was very windy and Frankie was freezing as he walked along beside Leo. They were both bent to the wind, gloved hands deep in their pockets, as they hurried down the empty street. “Hey, Leo, I’ve been thinking.” he said. “You know, what if when we get to church Father Bill tells us that, because we had the two highest scores on our catechism exams, we would never have to do early morning Mass again. Wouldn’t that be great? ”

“Well, it would be all right by me. But that ain’t gonna happen. So?” Leo was used to these little games of Frankie’s.

“So just this; even if it did happen it’d be no big deal. And if we both won the Lottery today and got a million bucks apiece for the rest of our lives, that wouldn’t be the most fantastic thing that could happen to us. Not really.” said Frankie.

“You’re nuts.” Leo said, not even bothering to look over at his best friend.

“No, Leo, I mean it. Let’s say that God decided to make you and me into prophets, where we can see the future and know all the answers to test questions and read girl’s minds and everything. Maybe he even made it possible for us to see where our fathers are and what happened to ‘em– even that wouldn’t be the best thing that could happen to us” said Frankie. He was breathing rapidly and his face was rosy in the morning light, with the cold or the exertion or excitement – Leo couldn’t tell. Anyway, Frankie wasn’t making sense and Leo was starting to lose patience with him.

A couple a blocks later Frankie said “Hey Leo. If Father Mike were able to perform a miracle and bring our mothers back to life, even that wouldn’t be the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to us.”

“What?” Leo stopped cold and looked over at Frankie. “Are you crazy? That would be the greatest thing -ever!! For anybody. Can’t you just shut up for five minutes?” He shook his head angrily and tucking his head back in his collar hurried on ahead of Frankie. The cold wind began to make his eyes water.

Frankie ran to catch up. He grabbed Leo’s shoulders and pulled him around so he could look him in the face. “Leo, listen to me. Even if we knew for sure that when we died that we would go straight to heaven, no purgatory, no nothing- just right through the pearly gates, even that wouldn’t be the best thing!”

They had stopped less than a block from the church. “All right Frankie, get to the point. What would be the greatest thing that could ever happen to us?”

“I just got it, Leo. This is it- it’s this simple. Let’s say when we get to church this morning the sanctuary doors are locked, we can’t get in and it starts to rain. And we bang and we bang and we bang and finally someone comes to the door. And it’s Father Mike. And instead of giving us his big smile and some hot tea he’s really mad at us! And he starts calling us all kind of names and accuses us of trespassing. And it’s not like he’s nuts – he knows who we are. For some reason he just starts to hate us. And not only won’t he let us come inside and get warm he calls the cops on us – accuses us of trespassing. Says he’s gonna kick us out of the boy’s home. Says the director has been looking for an excuse, they need the beds. And the whole time sweet old Sister Paul is standing right behind him and she’s frowning and nodding her head like she agrees with him. Before we can figure out what to do the cops show up and are all set to throw us in the paddy wagon and take us away to juvey hall. This time for good.”

“This is supposed to be the best thing that could happen to us? Did you bum some squeeze off a wino or somethin’?” Leo’s arms were folded and he was stamping his feet back and forth to keep them from freezing up.

“But it is! Don’t you see? Even with everyone else against us we can know for sure that he is for us. He’s already given up everything for us! No matter how bad it might get for you or me, we can handle it. Because he taught us how and he will never leave us.”

Leo stared into his friend’s face.”Who? Who is this you’re talking about? You just said Father Mike and Sister Paul hated us? Even the director of the boy’s home turned against us. Who else is there for a couple of guys like us?”

Leo spun around and looked up to the roof of the old church. He brought his arm up and pointing a gloved finger, said excitedly “See Leo, there it is; the Cross. No matter what life throws at us we can get through it, with joy even. Because of that. Because of what He did on that cross.”