I DO WHAT I DO
There was a man standing against the north wall, barely visible. He was twisted in the light, as if caught in a wind, stooped and hunched, half-seen. He was wiry and tall. His hair was long, pulled back into a ponytail, and his beard was a full, bushy thing.
“Mister, you got the wrong place.”
The man stepped into the light. He wore a pale, loose shirt and baggy pants, the pants held up by a wide black belt, the belt studded with turquoise. His boots were floppy, high-topped, and made of black leather, the laces loose and trailing in the dust. His eyes caught the light and glowed, the irises a pale yellow.
“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”
She stared at him, afraid to speak.
“I couldn’t resist. You were singing so beautifully, I had to step in to listen. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m just a man.”
“You ain’t from around here.”
“No. I’m from the desert. I live in a cave. I come out at night, to listen to the world wake up.”
“That’s nice.”
“I heard you singing and had to come listen. But I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s all right.”
“You were singing very beautifully.”
“Thanks.”
“What were you singing?”
“My mother’s song.”
“May I hear it?”
She felt a chill, but she nodded. She sang. She sang it all. The song of the girl who ran away. The song of the girl who came back. The song of the girl who had lost everything, and found something infinitely more precious.
The desert man listened, his eyes wide, his head cocked to one side. When she was finished, he said, “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died. When I was nine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. I miss her, but I know she’s in a better place.”
“I don’t know about better places. I know about places that are different. But I don’t know about better.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right.”
“Do you really live in a cave, mister?”
“I do.”
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t need a name. I’m just a man.”
“What do you do in the cave?”
“I think. I listen. I wait. I watch. I do what I do.”
“Is it lonely?”
“I have my dreams.”
“What do you dream about?”
“For a long time I dreamed about the end of the world. It was the only thing that made sense. I dreamed about it for a long time. But then that changed. I dreamed about the beginning of the world. I dreamed about the first rose, and the first man, and the first woman. I dreamed of the first song, and the first kiss, and the first child. I still dream of the end, but no one can stay in the end forever. The end is a place you pass through, to get to the beginning.”
“You are the strangest man I have ever met.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you eat?”
“I eat snakes and lizards, and some berries, and the meat of an occasional rabbit. I don’t need much.”
“Where do you go to the bathroom?”
“In the desert. I dig a hole and cover it up so the coyotes won’t smell it.”
“Just like a cat.”
“Just like a cat. I’ve heard that before.”
“I don’t want to be rude, but I have things to do.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks for listening to me sing. It’s nice to know there are people who aren’t just waiting around for their TV shows.”
“I watch television.”
“Oh. Well, you’re still different.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll be in the cave if you need me.”
She nodded, and slipped back inside, rubbing her neck where she could feel his eyes on her back.
The next day she decided to take a walk into town. She didn’t much like it there, but there were things she needed. She wore black jeans and a heavy jacket over a white t-shirt that said “RADIOHEAD” in blue letters. She didn’t know what it meant. She just liked the sound of it.
She bought bread and peanut butter and canned peaches, a big bag of beef jerky, and some candy bars. She also got some drawing paper and colored pencils. She didn’t know why she was getting the drawing paper, but that’s what she did.
A car pulled up beside her as she was walking home. It was a black Cadillac, with darkened windows and a bodyguard in the front seat. The back window rolled down, and a lean young man, maybe twenty-five, said, “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You’re new here.”
“Not really.”
“Where you from?”
“Around.”
“You got a name?”
“I do.”
“What is it?”
She was silent. He waited. Finally she said, “I don’t have to tell you my name if I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to make you mad, sweetheart. I’m just trying to be friendly. I’m the mayor here.”
“You don’t look like the mayor.”
“I worked hard to get this job. People are pleased with my performance.”
She didn’t say anything.
He said, “Maybe you’d like to come by my office and we could talk about it. Over a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“I could make you a cup of tea?”
“I don’t drink tea either.”
“How about some milk and cookies? I’ve got Oreos. Have you ever had an Oreo?”
“I’ve had cookies.”
“You’ll have to come by and try an Oreo. I could teach you how to dunk ’em. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Maybe another time.”
“There may not be another time.”
She looked at him. He was smiling like he’d made a joke, but she didn’t think there was anything funny.
“I guess I’ve missed out on something then,” she said.
“You better believe it.”
His window slid back up, and the car drove away.
That night, she thought of things to draw. A bird, and a flower, and the ocean. The sand dunes at twilight, with red-winged birds rising from them like flames. A pack of coyotes and their prey, a hare that struggled in the jaws of one of them as another circled behind. A crow flying low over the desert, searching for something to feed on.
He said he came out at night, to listen to the world wake up.
She fell asleep and dreamed of the first man and the first woman, naked under a huge tree in the middle of an endless plain of grass. She dreamed of their children, growing up and multiplying, until there were hundreds of them, until there was a tribe. She dreamed of them standing up straight for the first time, and walking, and seeing the stars in the night sky.
She dreamed of them finding language, and learning to tell stories. Singing, and dancing, and giving thanks. She dreamed of them finding fire and cooking food. She dreamed of them painting the walls of caves with pictures of their world, the animals in it, themselves and the things they knew.
She dreamed of them meeting other people, other peoples, who came from the South and the East and the West, bringing their own stories and songs and prayers. She dreamed of them living in harmony for a time, before fighting over food and land, killing each other with spears and arrows.
She dreamed of them walking out of forests, and finding the land burned and poisoned by a great war that had ended long ago. She dreamed of them seeing the ruins of cities, dead machines that they could not understand. She dreamed of them dying, one by one, until there were no humans left at all.
She dreamed of the land being silent for ages, and then, slowly, life returning. Plants growing on the plains again. Animals running across the grass. Birds nesting in the trees. She dreamed of the first man and the first woman, walking together in a field in a place far away, a place that had not yet been born.
The man saw a shadow pass the mouth of his cave. He sat up and watched.
The girl entered, wearing a backpack. She had on black jeans and a white t-shirt that said “NIRVANA” in red letters.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“It’s nice in here. You have a lot of things. I’ve never seen so many books before.”
“I get them from time to time. Books and clothes and such. People bring them to me sometimes.”
“Why do they do that?”
“I don’t always know.”
She set down her backpack and walked over to the shelves, taking in the row upon row of books. She read the titles out loud.
“The Catcher in the Rye. The Hobbit. Watership Down. The Grapes of Wrath. Animal Farm. The Stand. The Da Vinci Code.”
One book was unmarked. She pulled it off the shelf and read from it. “‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’” She looked at him. “That makes no sense.”
He shrugged. “Some people like to think it does.”
She sat down on the ground, cross-legged.
“Have you ever dunked an Oreo?” she said.
“It’s been a while.”
She stared down at the dirt.
“Do you know what’s going to happen?”
“No,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“Everything. I just don’t know what’s coming. There are so many things I can’t control and I’m sick of feeling helpless all the time.” She took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “I know it’s stupid and selfish of me, but I just want to know that things will be okay. That they won’t all die.” She felt tears in her eyes. “It’s not fair that I should have to feel like this.”
He said nothing.
“You know so much, and you’ve seen so much more than I have, but even you don’t know what’s going to happen. You can’t tell me everything will be all right.”
“No,” he said, “I can’t.”
They were both silent again.
“There is one thing I know,” said the man.
“What?”
“The Earth will keep turning.”
She looked at him. “That’s not much of a comfort,” she said.
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
The girl woke up late in the morning. She felt stiff from sleeping on the ground. She looked around, remembering where she was.
The man was sitting in his chair, his feet up on the table. The fire had gone out, but there was a pot of soup beside it with a couple of pieces of bread.
She sat down and ate. It was the best soup she’d ever tasted.
“I dreamed again,” she said, when she was finished. There was no need to say what it had been about.
She stood up and walked over to him and he smiled at her.
“I’m not ready to die,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “Neither am I.”
“Let’s go find out what we can do about that, okay?”
He nodded. Together they walked out of the cave and into the sunlight and down the hillside toward the fields and the trees and the river beyond.