Continued from Part one:
Lawrence awoke to the sound of Burley Thom’s deep, throaty snoring in the reeds
far off to his right. The railroad tracks behind them were still, and the crickets
made nary a sound in the crisp autumn night. Lawrence rolled over onto his back
and fluffed the flannel shirt that he had been using for a pillow. He laid his
arms across his chest and hugged himself to fight the nip of the air. He gazed
up at the moon, with its harvest hallo encircling it, and he thought of a
magnificent story he was once told about a boy who climbed all the way to the
top of a mountain peak just because the village boys told him that he never
would. The boy never returned, but the entire village never spoke ill of his
great attempt; they hailed him somewhat as a martyr for all time.
The moon faded in and out as Lawrence’s eyelids fell gracefully together. When he
dreamt that night he followed the boy to the top of the mountain; only, he was
no participant, simply an unannounced onlooker. When the boy summited the peak,
far above a feathery cloud line, he turned and looked down to his village
far, far off in the great distance. Lawrence watched in suspense as the boy held
his arms out, almost questioning to the unhearing masses, “What else is it that
you shall have me do?” Lawrence’s dream of the small boy faded and dispersed
when the boy turned from his platform, traversed several meters, then
disappeared down the side of the mountain opposite from that of his village.
To Be Continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment