Ultimatum

“Oh, Hello there.”

“Hi.”

“You scared me.

“Yes.”  The man chuckled, his eyes glistening with humor, “I have a tendency to do that. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“That’s, uh, okay. I just wasn’t expecting to find anyone out this far.”

 

“Hm… Yes, it is a tad far from human existences. But far from anything else? Not really. Dare one say it is in fact more blissful without the racket of the humans. They can be so noisy sometimes!”

            Then the strange man proceeded to prod at his fire while the traveler tried to eye him up as crazy, mystic, lonely or all three. Perhaps he’s a hermit who has had too much alone time, thought the traveler.

            As the young man began to move on from this weird encounter, the old stranger looked up again with a rather toothless grin and asked him a peculiar question, or at least it seemed peculiar to the traveler. To the old stranger it was something he questioned everyday, thereby seeming a normal everyday conversational inquiry.

            “Do you Believe in anything, traveler?”

            The weary traveler turned to look at the man’s face, looking for a trace of insanity. No eye twitch. No self-muttering conversations. No drooling or malfunction of any kind. Simply a crooked smile and the wisest, most wrinkle folded eyes he had ever seen. He decided that this man must be the latter of the assumptions: lonely. A lonely, old hermit with nothing but time to waste on philosophy and nonsense.

            AS the traveler was in no hurry, he decided to pander the man for a short while. His back was sore anyways from the weight of his pack.

            He replied truthfully to the old man’s question, “That is a strange question you ask. But in all honesty, I’m uncertain as to my beliefs.  Why prey tell do you ask? Have you been here so long that you have nothing to contemplate but God himself?”

            Again the old hermit smiled. For this was the answer he had been expecting. You see, he knew all too much about the modern humans’ lack of faith. He knew that their God was one of religion, of construct, of unbreakable rules focused on redemption.  He knew that they had been following the same rules for far to long, mostly in hopes of finding peace among their chaos. Reaching for religion when it was faith they lacked. He thus asked, “Why does this handsome, brave, young traveler have no certainties? You appear to have everything: health, food, money enough to travel and own nice hiking gear; I assume you have a home too?”

            The traveler had realized this man was forward, but not so much as to pry so privately into his life so fast. In normal conversation, one would ask first where one is from, or what is one’s name, or how many years one has been breathing. Instead, this man proceeded with an almost rude inquiring as to his religious basement.

            Conversely, he also could not help but want to rest. He had been walking for days with little rest and no conversation whatsoever.  This elderly man posed no threat to him and if anything, allowed for a brief rest and interesting, though blunt, conversation. So, he sat on the stump across from the man and his fire, his pack beside him for security purposes.

            After he was settled, he answered the strange and patient man who was still grinning at him with unwavering attention. 

            “You are right, stranger, I should not question God or whatever it is that manages my luck and destiny. To Whomever, I should be quite grateful, I have been blessed in life with all that you stated and more. I also have friends and family, which are my luckiest “possessions”, if you can call them that. Not everyone “has” a family. I am indebted to the omnipotent Whomever for them.”

            As he finished his answer, the old man showed a minimal sign of cogitation. Something in what the handsome traveler said was of note.

            “I had no question of your grateful debt to God or “Whomever”. That is not belief that is guilt.  What I am inquiring is your belief in God, His existence, not his blessings. Anyone can recognize the best of their life, just as they can recognize the worst. Neither revelations are the base of belief. of faith.”

            The traveler did not know how to reply now. He had told this crazy bat that he was uncertain. What more of a reason did he want apart from this beliefs in goodness? After all, is that not reason enough to believe in God? If there was no God, then there would certainly be less goodness, less blessings, less miracles, correct? What is faith but not the belief in God and His blessings?

            The traveler was still pondering these matters when the old stranger interjected another question, a simpler question.

            “Do you believe in love?”

            “Ah! A question I can answer with certainty!  Yes. Yes, of course I believe in love. That is what keeps my family together.  It is what makes me happy when I am sad. Love is what has driven not only my life but the times of history! Yes, I believe in love. Do you mister?”

            The old man smiled, and mused, “you no longer call me stranger once you recognize a common thought, a common question with a common answer.  Naturally, you believe in love. With blessings such as yours, how could you not?”

            There was a slight pause in the old man’s speech, purely for dramatic effect. How he loved a good drama!  Then he continued, “What if, hypothetically, you were to lose all of your blessing in one hour? What then? You have no house, no money, no food, no clothes, no friends and certainly no family.  You are stripped. Bare as Dam in the Garden of Eden before his awakening. You’re wits are you only possession, but still you are naked. A re you still a believer in love?”

            What a question! Thought the traveler. He simply sat with his mouth gaped open in shock and in thought. How could he even begin to imagine a world without Colleen? Without his kids? His parents and siblings? Without home? True, he had been alone for three days, technically without all of the above. Nevertheless, he could always return to them, was going to return to them as soon as the was finished with his mountain trek across the Rockies. He could not imagine them not there, at home, his life not where he left it. He glanced up at the stranger again, the man still grinning though at the fire not him. He was palpably allowing his last question to sink in and be mulled thoroughly.  The traveler then looked up and around him and surveyed the newborn darkness with a grown.  He had not noticed its slow encroach over the past thirty minutes. The clouds had already made the day gloomy, but with the onset of dusk added to the thick canopy of trees, night had quickly encompassed the atmosphere leaving the traveler to camp with the stranger.

            Not a complete bollucks, the stranger already had a fire made, and with the traveler’s canned goods and boiling tin, they could have a splendid feast. Or rather, he could. Though, sharing his food pained him, he knew he would share, because that is how he was brought up: it’s rude not to share your food in front of company. Even if that company is insane.

            So, he broke the silence and asked the man if he would enjoy some supper, canned beans and soup, with a side of cooked carrots and cracked bread.

            “Are you certain that you wish to share food with me? You’ve obviously packed with great care, and I wouldn’t want to diminish you’re stores. You must have a few days yet of travelling haven’t you?”

            The traveler assure the man that he had more than enough food to share, and that he was certain that he wished to break bread with such a mysterious philosopher.

            “Ah! Break bread! How that phrase amuses me! Why we should be just like Jesus and His disciples! Of course, without the “last time” part, without a Jesus and as far as I know, I don’t believe neither you nor I are Judas. Hm…,” he thought, “Actually, it shan’t be anything like then but I would still very much enjoy it! You are so kind, traveler!”

            At this the traveler smiled inside himself. He was usually kind, yes, but he had questioned sharing and feared that he felt a twinge of guilt.

            “No problem,” he replied as he started to take out the cans of food.

            The old man chirped up again with the same enthusiasm he had about breaking bread, “I do have one catch though.”

            Oh no, though the traveler, what is it now? I dodged the last question with such stealth, unless he is going to bring it back up again? In vexation he retorted, “And what’s that?”

            “What’s what is that I asked you a simple yes or no question before, and in order for you to have the pleasure of giving me supper, I kindly ask for a response, Yes or No. If you have dessert, I will also ask “Why?” But doubt that you have cherry tart tucked away in that pack of yours?”

            The old man sat with his half grin and cajoling gaze again. The traveler stopped unpacking, rather astounded at this man’s audacity. He turned on his haunches to face the lunatic.

            “Pardon? I’m sorry? I’m giving you some of MY food, and you are asking me for a favor? Or rather, an ultimatum? On what grounds do you think you have to ask such things? I mean, you have nothing on which to bargain with, you have nothing I want. Do you think I WANT to give you my food? If you do you’re certainly insane.”

            “Ah, yes my grounds,” replied the stranger. “Well, I only know of the one. It is the one you and I stand and walk on, that is obvious enough. But it is also the air we breathe, the sunshine we feel, the fire before us and that also rests in our hearts. It is everything, monsieur, it is all that is or will ever be that I rest my case upon. For my ultimatum is not an ultimatum at all. If anything, it is a blessing for you in disguise. How? You are thinking.  I’ll tell you, Lord knows you’re a little too dense right now to figure it out on your own.  Firstly, you have to give me some of your food, while secondly, you must pretend that you have nothing to live for. Both are actions on your part, responses to my being here before you. Neither are to your detriment in reality as both are temporary states of being, correct?”

            The traveler nodded a slight concurrence. He was still confused as to why these actions were blessing to him.

            “And because they are temporary in sense,” the old man continued, “then they are but a learning experience, something people the world over ignorantly crave, and which you are adamantly refusing.  Will you not forever feel goodness when you recall your kindness to me?  Will you not always be ever more grateful for you family and for the love you’ve been given if you pretend they don’t exist? I believe, monsieur, that you may be a tad more blind than I am, and that is saying quite a lot if I don’t say so myself.”

            At that last line the traveler perked his ears and eyes and scanned the stranger’s face with scrutiny. “Well, all be,” he muttered. Perhaps due to the dancing fire between them, or the old man’s excessive eye wrinkles, or both circumstances, whatever the cause,  he had not noticed the whole time they had been conversing that the old man’s eyes were clouded with a soft haze.  Yet, sure enough, beneath the soft, saggy crows feet and the under and the over eye bags, the traveler could barely see the man’s eyes, let alone their color, which was a fort opaque, the pupil faint in its indolence.

            “I’m sorry,” sputtered the traveler, “I had not noticed your disability prior to your declaration. I am now wondering though, how did you know I was handsome or carried good hiking gear? You cannot see me at all can you?”

            The old man had to laugh at this, why it was all to funny! He had not spoken with another human in years, and he had forgotten how vain and superficial they are.  “Well,” laughed the old man, “thank you for your apology! And to answer your vain questions, your good looks are emanated from your confident spirit which I heard from a mile away, and your good equipment was just a guess.  I’m known to be very good at guessing games when I wish to be. What’s funny to me is that I do not see a difference in your noticing my ability or not. My blindness does not change the ultimatum, or rather, the blessing in disguise. Ion fact, it is YOUR blindness that has produced it! If you could have answered me with a light and free heart, you could have saved your food for yourself and made camp closer to your destination, all the while being glad to have answered me truthfully.”

            “But as it is,” he continued, “you were unable to answer two of my three questions. And if you don’t mind my saying so, that second one was a given. Thus you are zero for two with a gimmee, and still sitting here discussing a matter you think is ridiculous and disastrous to think about. Why don’t you know that thinking is simply an activity like all others? To think , to read, to sit, to climb. It is all just to kill time, or rather, to use it for our happiness, granted it does not hurt another’s.  Thus, what is the harm in pretending? In thinking? It is not real or lasting until you act upon your thoughts.”

            The old man appeared to be finished, but the traveler asked just in case. “Are you quite done, old man? Would you like to hear my answer or keep talking?”

            “Oh, an answer has been settled?” retorted the old man. He was not expecting the traveler to become so short with him so quickly.  Another characteristic he had forgotten about humans, that they can never listen too long, especially to suggestions which they take into their souls as personal insults, which is nearly everything. My, it is most difficult to have good conversations these days!

            “Yes, I think I have,” concluded the traveler. “Though, I’d like to say that I have a very light heart, filled with love. It’s only when I’m asked to forget all of my happiness in life and give food in exchange for it that I become a tad bitter and rude. You seem to think thought is not harmful unless turned into action, but I quite disagree.  It is bad thoughts that are the origin of bad actions, of crimes in this world. I also think that negative thoughts are the seeds of depression, despondency and indifference.  You cannot argue to me that thoughts are harmless, they are the very origin of harm!”

            After this last exclamation the traveler ceased. He realized that throughout his entire speech he head escalated in anger and frustration, his heart beating faster, breath a bit short and his face filled with blood and heat.  His counterpart merely stared in his direction with glazed eyes, seemingly unknowing as to the traveler’s enraged appearance. Though no doubt aware of it through the voice and tone of the traveler, and also this uncanny ability to sense other beings’ emotions. The old man kindly turned his attention to the fire while the traveler calmed himself with a drink of water from his canteen.

            After a few minutes, the former interceded a quiet and patient, “So, you have an answer? I may have missed it. Could you please dilute it for me?”

IT

I

“It’s funny.“           

“What’s funny?”

“The word. It’s funny.“

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. What word?”

“The word “funny”, its just funny sounding don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t think it’s funny at all. It’s just a word.”

“Yeah, it is. But the spelling even. It just looks funny.  It’s got a funny swirl to it.”

“What do you mean it’s got a funny swirl to it? You’re on crack.“

“Um… no. I’m not. But  you’re missing my point. The “f” makes the text go up on the one side and the “y” makes it go down on the other side. So its just, well, it just looks funny. HA! Funny! Funny, funny, funny, funny, funny. Funny! HA! It’s great!”

“Ah…. yeah, it’s great. I swear to God, if you don’t stop doing hash I’m going to admit you to Fairfield.” 

“Aww…come on, lighten up. What’s your deal these days?  You’re like Debbi Downer on sleep medicine.  It’s not very becoming.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be rays of fucking sunshine 24/7.  It takes energy to be as chipper as you are, and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck.”

 “Don’t give a fuck? Wow, you must love waking up in the morning.” 

“I do actually. I love waking up and seeing the sun, the trees, the sky, the everything nature. What I don’t like is the stepping outside and being lambasted by the mediocre minds of our dear earth’s population.  It’s truly unfair for such miracles to be so stupid, benign, wretched, and the worst word of all ugly.”

“Ah, gee, thanks. You know, this may explain why you don’t have any friends.  You’re so superficial.”

“Funny, but no. Not in an appearance sort of way, but inside. I’m sorry I’m not a ray of sunshine, but it’s very hard to muster sunlight when I swear every person I meet is some craphead on an ego trip. I find that the population becomes more caring and giving when their egos are not in the way.  When they just are as they are, no more no less. Just being. But, it seems that the human mind has triumphed over the human soul, and now all I see are the wanderings of benign superegos everywhere.  Humanity on a power trip. It literally makes me ill.  And so, I’m sorry, once again, but I cannot express my happiness when I feel a growing ulcer in my side.”

“Wow. That’s all I have to say.  Wow. Do feel better now with that off your chest? Er, I mean side? Since that’s where your illness is growing out of. “

“Yeah, a little bit I guess. But the more I think about it the more it grows.  I think I can feel it up to my throat. Like someone seared me with a hot iron on the inside. It’s horrible.”  There was a real pain immediately after Lester uttered these words.  A burning pain, unlike any he had ever felt.

“You realize that’s hate right?” replied Jules,  “I mean, the idea of a burning hatred. You sound like you hate the entire human race.”

“No, it’s not hate, it’s disdain. There’s a difference. And seriously, it feels like my insides are on fire.”  The fire in Lester’s side began to ache and spread to his throat.

Laughingly and unaware. Jules asks his cynical friend, “Are you honestly okay?”

“Ah…yeah I think so.  Well, actually, I don’t know. I feel sick.”

In a good humored retort, Jules answered ,“Yes, you said that. You have an ‘ulcer’ from stupid, ugly people.  I’d recommend you not look in the mirror.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.  If my side didn’t hurt so bad I’d have a comeback for you. But son-of-a-bitch! This is just incredible!”  Another jab of pain entered into side as if a phantom being had skewered him with a hot metal stake.  Lester lifted his shirt quickly, looking for any sign of foul play. His side looked fine. He could see faint blemishes of redness as if someone had pinched his skin, but no cuts or gouges.

“You mean you’re serious about the pain?”  Jules saw the blemishes in his friend’s side, but also knew Lester liked to joke around. His uncertainty, however, was uncouth.

“Ahhhhh! It’s getting worse!” This time Lester grabbed his armrests and attempted to sit up straight. Maybe it’s a side ache?  He thought.  Or maybe it really is an ulcer. But then why would it be on my side? What the hell is going on?  He could no longer find words as the sears ripped through him.  He decided to try to control his breathing, which was not altogether working.  Any reserve he had had was quickly fleeing.

“Oh my God. You’re serious.” Said an astonished Jules.

“Yes I’m serious you obtuse ass! Get me to a doctor or something! NOW!” Jesus! I thought Jules was intelligent! He’s worse than Uncle Bill! AGHH!!!!!  Just breathe! Look to the sky and breathe. Just inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Breathe! Oh my God this is unbearable!  

“SHIT! SHIT! Okay, okay, okay,…SHIT!  Can you walk?” asked Jules, trying to make up for his previous lack of judgment.

“Ahh..I don’t know.” Lester attempted to pry free his boney fingers that had latched onto the cold, metal armrests. His hands had seemed to tighten around them as the pain got worse. Now he was unsure if he could move a finger from his claw-like grip, let alone get up and walk. This is not good. Breathe! Not good! Breathe!

“I don’t think I can.”  He replied. The pain was now coursing through him in a familiar, beating pattern. I don’t have long. He thought. This is the end. Lester could feel the internal struggle of good and bad, the latter triumphing hastily, ready to conquer with all its might. I must have Jules write to Cara for me.  She must know. She MUST know how I truly feel. How I’ve always felt. She must know…

“Oh my God Lester, you’re turning red! You’re red all over! Les! Les! Do you hear me? Look at me, do you hear me?”

Yes, I hear you numbnuts!. Stop yelling!

“LES! Answer me! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“GOD! I hear you! Stop shouting in my face and get me a doctor!   Then write for me God-damnit! I need you to write for me! Fuck!”  A shot of pain ripped through his side. His breathing was becoming erratic as were his senses.  I don’t have long. I don’t have long.

Jules had whipped out his cell phone and was dialing 9-1-1.  His heart was racing too, but he could SEE the blood pulsating in his dear friends’ neck, it did not look good. His eyes were bulged and his knuckles white from squeezing the chair so hard. Lester was dying in front of him.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

“Hello? HELLO?! Hi, it’s my friend. He’s had some sort of attack. He says his side hurts but he looks like he’s going to drop now!  Get here immediately! Please! We’re at 390 Shorting Dr. The Grounds End coffee place. Please! NOW!”

He hung up on the lady as Lester convulsed his head backwards, cracking into the metal chair back. His eyes began to flutter and his mouth clench.

“I don’t have long, Jules.” Lester panted. His sweat now clinging to his skin. “I don’t have long, and you need to write for me. To Cara.”

“Sure, yes, sure. Just breathe okay? It’s going to be alright, I just called 9-1-1, they’re on their way. Just hold on. I’ll get a pen.”

“Cara. Write. Cara.” Every breath needed more support when there wasn’t any.  Lester tried to think of what to say, but the only thing that came to him was the pain.

“Cara, I love you.” He finally puffed. “I have always, always, loved you.” His eyes could no longer stay open, he could feel them squeezing shut, trying to keep out the pain. His hands still clenched around the armrests, his whole body began to convulse. Inside himself was a burning hell, the pain having traveled throughout his entire body.  I will not die in darkness! I will not die in hell!  Lester could feel the awaiting climax, he could feel the end. Outside him was the world he loved, even with people. He knew he only had moments and if there was one more thing he was to experience in life it was certainly not a hell of a death. With his head still on the chair back, Lester summoned all of his strength and forced his eyes open.

            The sky had never looked so beautiful! The light had never seemed so new! The brilliance of it was shocking to Lester, his mind and eyes squinted to see.  The world around him has perfect. The world around him was heaven.  I was wrong, thought Lester. I was completely wrong! My shell was all I could see and I was wrong! The people make the world, they groom it. Their benignity is what makes them superior! They can feel. They can think! They can be. They are equal to the world because they are in it. They are equal as I am equal. They are free and amazed to be so, love to be so! They are…they are….they are! They…

Lester’s eyes began to droop. His words disconnect. The happiness he had felt gone. The world and Cara ignorant of its existence. Lester had died.

II

The heat is unbearable! How can these people stand this place? The humidity is so stifling! The high noon sun beat down on Cara with a soft hum and harsh burn. Its irony did not sooth Cara, but only enraged her dehydrated state. She had been walking for two hours around Haifa and had not dressed for the exertion.  She could feel her jeans were damp but she could feel her shirt was soaked. Her cotton showed armpit stains from her pit to her hip and sweat beads on her forehead prepared to ruin her make-up. Embarrassed, she had thrown her shawl over herself in hopes of hiding her human characteristics. Yet having done so, she suffered an added layer of insulation. Her discomfort had become heightened with her irritation. Hours of wandering around the city and she still could not find the address! She had been so sure about the handwriting, but maybe she was mistaken? No, it’s his! I know it! Cara told herself over and over. Yet with each wrong turn her vexation grew with her uncertainty. But only HE would have written it like this, on this!  She could see the address was old, it had an Ottoman name and had been written in an odd form of Arabic.  It was even written on parchment, which was brittle and crinkled in her fingers as she ached for its meaning. Cara had only known one other person in her life who knew Arabic and had been to Ottoman Palestine. He had been dead for a month.

“Miss! Miss! Buy scarf? Ve-ery  pretty scarves! One every color! You like? You like?”

            The woman screaming at Cara looked crazed. Her face beat red from spending days upon days selling her scarves in he sun. Poor thing, thought Cara, but I don’t want a damn scarf. Silly woman, selling scarves in the desert!

“No thanks” she replied, attempting to keep her disdain under wraps, but failing miserably. The woman cringed away from Cara’s glare, obviously affected by the irritation in her voice. Cara glared a second longer at the scarf-woman then whipped her head around to check the street.

Usually Cara was a good natured human being. Kind, understanding, sensitive. But over the past month her patience had shortened to .05 seconds and her understanding to nothing past her own nose. In a word, Cara was grieving. Yet, grief was a feeling she had long chosen not to feel.  Now it consumed her without her realization of it. She simply was as she was. Angry at the world because it seemed the world was angry with her. 

Perhaps he meant Kasda not Kashda? That would mean I’m on the absolute opposite side of town! I’ll just walk a few cross streets further. If I can’t find it by then, I’ll turn back.

Cara pushed past a group of tourists discussing a map, not bothering to offer her expert knowledge of Haifa. She was on a mission, and nothing- no scarf lady, no idiot tourists, no beggar woman or lost child could impede. She had dropped all obligations to make this journey her top priority and was not about to be side tracked. 

“603 Kashda Road, you’ll find IT there.”  The note was vague, but all instincts told Cara that this cryptic message was mailed to her from no other than her once upon a time lover, Lester Everett Sanoi. The two had met while working on sabbatical in Palestine over 40 years ago. Of course, now it was no longer Palestine but Israel, and Cara was no longer an exotic beauty but a haggard mess, worn by time and stress.  Her looks that were once upon a time cherished by her and everyone who looked upon her had vanished under the waves of every year she breathed. Cara did not care of course. External beauty was something she knew was a fleeting lover. So instead of being the young woman who dwelled on her reflection and external projection, Cara focused on the things that she knew would last, such as her intellect and wisdom. It was these attributes that Lester had fallen in love with anyways and vice versa for Cara. Thus, as Cara stepped around groups of Jewish men and women and the occasional Arab so desperately out of place, she was strong in both mind and soul. She used her wits and her cunning to search without looking lost. Thereby saving herself any intrusions from curious observers, as well as any questions from police. Her appearance was not to be admired, yes, but it was her radiating will, smarts and strength that helped her with every step as she walked the stifling streets of Haifa. 

Just as she was about to give up on this eastern bazaar area of the city, she noticed something to her right. A glimpse of sparkling and a... fruited tree inside the doorway? How absolutely strange?! Cara's wits kicked in, and she ever so cooly glided over to the mysterious doorway. As she neared the portal, she read the inscription above it, "603 Kashda Road". And below it, on the actual door itself, Cara read the unmistakable old Arabic engraving, translated as: "We have It".