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The Voyage
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He kicked the can, which skittered across the sidewalk. Shards of glass bounced off, their razor sharp edges gleaming in the light. Jason sat down on a park bench, and glared at the old man sitting on the other end. He looked decrepit and stupid, with a moronic smile. The man was feeding pigeons. The geezer probably didn't even own a TV. A boring man doing a boring thing in a boring place on a boring day.
Jason liked to verbally spar with people. He liked to free them from their deceptions, their illusions. "The unexamined life is not worth living," and he would rather be hated as a gadfly than loved as a demagogue.
As Jason sat thinking, the old man said, "It's a beautiful, sunny day, isn't it?"
"The Poet Wordsworth aptly called it 'the dreary light of common day.' It is a dull surface, under which ferments a world of evil. Did you know, for instance, that Hitler's Holocaust was only one of many massive genocides this century that killed over a million people? Did you know that even Hitler's Jews are dwarfed by the fifty million who died in Stalin's purges?"
The smile disappeared from the old man's face. "No, I did not."
"You who say that it's a beautiful day -- what do you know about suffering?"
The old man's face quivered, ever so slightly, for a moment. "My best friend, when I was a boy, was named Abraham. He died at Auschwitz. My eldest brother, on the other hand, was swept up by the Nazi propaganda and became a concentration camp guard. He was never convicted of war crimes, but he hanged himself a week after I was married. I am now a widower."
Jason was silent for a moment. He was struck with respect at this man's suffering -- and watched as a tear gathered in his eyes, and slowly trickled down his wrinkled cheek. As he looked, he saw part of why the old man looked so ugly to him -- his face bore scars of chemical burns.
A sense of discomfort and unease began to fill the young man. He shifted slightly, and began to talk about something else.
"I have read many books about knights and ladies, about wizards and dragons. In those stories, there is magic and wonder; there are fairies who grant wishes. The hero wins, and the story is beautiful. This world is so bleak and desolate and gray next to those worlds. If only there were another world. If only there were a way to get in."
"How do you know that there isn't?"
The young man looked with puzzlement. "What do you mean?"
"How do you know that this fantasy isn't true?"
"I have never had any reason to believe in it."
"When you were a little boy, did you believe in the Holocaust?"
"I hadn't even heard of it, let alone having reason to believe in it."
"But was it true?"
The young man looked as if he was about to answer, and then said, "Do you really believe in another world, in magic and wonder?"
"I might."
"Tell me about it."
"I cannot now explain it in any words that would make sense to you. I could try, but it would sound like complete nonsense."
"Try."
"Pretend that I am blind. Explain to me the colors."
Jason opened his mouth, paused for a second, and then closed it.
"Am I to believe that you are some sort of great wizard, and that you have a gift of seeing into and travelling to another world?"
"Maybe."
The old man spoke in enigmas and riddles, and yet there was something about him... He did not seem to be lying -- and if he was, he was a far better liar than most. He was a puzzle, and Jason liked puzzles. He had been tricked and manipulated many times, and it might at least break the tedium to be tricked and manipulated by someone who was more interesting than he looked. So he decided to play along.
"Do you think that I could make my way into another world?"
"Maybe."
"Is it hard?"
"It is very hard, and very easy. How much do you want to do it?"
"Very much."
"If I send you on great and difficult tests, to meet many trials, will you do it?"
"I will."
"If I tell you to spend long hours studying spell books and grimoires, finding potions and amulets, are you ready for that?"
"I am."
"And if I set before you tasks more difficult and strange, and send you to do battles against monsters more evil than assassins and more deadly than dragons, can you do that?"
"I will try."
"Can you trust me?"
For a moment, Jason's mask slipped. He stalled. A minute passed -- a minute that seemed like a year. Finally, he croaked, "I don't know."
The old man nodded, and said, "I understand." He looked at the young man; there was something in his eyes that the young man could not identify.
"The way is difficult, with many trials, and the last one is the most difficult of them all. I cannot tell you what they will all be like, or even their number. When we next meet, I will be ready to give you the first."
"When do you want to meet next?"
"No matter when; we will meet."
"Can you help me?"
"I cannot do your tasks for you. But I give you this."
The old man placed his hand on the young man's head, his palm atop the skull, fingers and thumb spreading out across his scalp. He closed his eyes -- and Jason felt that it would be proper to do the same. He sat in absolute silence and stillness. A moment passed.
Finally the old man removed his hand. Picking up his cane, he stood up, and slowly began to walk away, leaving Jason sitting and pondering.
The next day, doubts filled Jason's mind. Had he dreamed the encounter? Why would there be such a bizarre old man? If he really had the powers and knew the wonders he hinted at, why on earth would he be sitting in a park and feeding pigeons? Each city had its share of eccentrics, but still...
As he went about his studies and activities for the next few days, he was nagged by thoughts about the man. He loved fantasy, from childhood games of make-believe to reading books and watching movies -- but all of his yearning would not make it com true. He felt that he could neither believe nor trust the old man. Yet their interaction had excited, not quite a hope, but at least a desire that it could be true. He believed in fairies as a child, and he wondered if there might be a time to believe in fairies again.
He didn't talk with anyone about it; others would probably think him a fool. He was sitting in a diner, sipping a cup of coffee and pondering, when a familiar voice said, "May I join you?"
He looked up, startled, and then said, "Please." As the old man sat down, Jason asked, "I forgot to ask your name."
"Senex. And yours?"
"Jason."
"The name of a hero, if I am remembering my mythology correctly," Senex said.
Jason had been thinking of how dull and common his name sounded next to 'Senex', and was again slightly startled. The man still looked old, wrinkled, and ugly -- and yet there now seemed to be the faintest hint of something regal about his appearance. After a time, Jason asked, "Do you really have quests for me?"
"Yes, I do. They will help prepare you to enter, and receive the gift and the power."
"And what is the first?"
Senex reached, with both hands, into his pocket. He moved his hands for a little while, as if grasping something slippery, and then brought forth a loosely closed hand. He held his hand over the table, and opened it.
"What do you see?"
"I see nothing. Your hand is empty."
"Do you really see nothing in my hand?"
"Nothing."
"Look closer."
"I still see nothing."
"Wait."
Senex turned his hand, slowly, slightly, from side to side. At last, a tiny gleam of light caught Jason's eye. He immediately bent over to look more closely.
"What do you see?"
"I see a tiny grain of sand."
"Take it."
Jason picked up the grain of sand, and looked at it for a second. "What is my first quest?"
"You have already embarked on your first quest."
"When will I be done?"
"I don't know."
The old man stood up, and walked out of the diner.
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The Voyage
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