As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  So, that was why he could not let it continue. The foolishness had to end. He was near the end of his days and felt it was the final gift he could bestow upon his village. A great cleansing. A way to rid the land of the people who made it a source of contention and strife. A way to stop the perpetual agony of conflict, even if it meant a sudden death.

  The rain continued to beat down on his frail frame and he shook with the onset of hypothermia. His task was nearly done, though, and he would not need his flawed body any longer. He would join those he doomed. So, he pulled loose the bindings that held the dam in place against the gigantic reservoir of water poised anxiously behind, and he heard the rush of the waters spring forth. He felt the wind as the waves pushed the air ahead of them, and he smelled the spray of mist as rocks fought impotently against the tide.

  And he saw, in that last moment before the water took him under and crushed him. He saw his village as he did when he was a boy - serene, peaceful, and full of color and light.

  Insight

  This story is derived from two sources. First and most predominantly, I gained inspiration from the political intrigues of the Korean and Japanese dispute over a cluster of tiny, rocky islands in the Sea of Japan (refuted to be the East Sea by Koreans) named Dokdo in Korean and Takeshima in Japanese. There are ample justifications for both sides on why the territory should be their own, but it is an issue blown out of proportion, fueled by pride, and pure evidence of the sinful nature of us pitiful human beings. I am not often driven to write in a political vein, but it is an issue that is always right in front of me - on t-shirts, restaurants named after the island, people willing to go to war over it. I see it from the perspective of an outsider and this helps give me a lens to view some of the issues in my own country/culture. It helps me step back and ask if we are really following reason, really taking a stand on the right issues, really displaying the attitude and wisdom Christ demands of us. The setting was inspired by a paper lantern sitting on my desk. My wife bought it for me on a trip to Korea. It has a landscape of each of the seasons painted on its four sides, and the spring season caught my attention. Hence, the setting.

  ABSORBING LITTLE ALICE

  "Excuse me," an elderly gentleman said as he approached Jeff sitting on a bench in the air terminal.

  "Yes?" he said glancing up from his book.

  "Are you flying to Detroit," the stranger asked.

  "Yes, I am," Jeff confirmed.

  "Well, I hope I'm not being a nuisance, but you look like a responsible young man and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind making sure my sister gets on the flight."

  Jeff looked over at the short, spindly old woman leaning on her brother's arm. She was clearly the older sibling, but seemed capable of taking care of herself.

  "No, I wouldn't mind," Jeff offered. He always wanted to view himself as someone willing to lend a helping hand to others, so there was no hesitation. As her brother helped her into the seat beside him, though, it struck him he might wind up engaged in polite conversation until the plane boarded. No matter, there was less than an hour left until they would be called onboard.

  "Thank you so much," the brother said. "She once missed her flight and wandered around the airport for over an hour before someone was able to help her."

  "Oh, ok. Well don't worry. I'll make sure she gets on the plane with me," Jeff assured.

  The siblings said their goodbyes and the younger was off. Jeff sat quietly for a moment, not sure if it would be ok to crack his book open again, or if proper decorum dictated he should say something to the woman. Fortunately, she solved the problem for him.

  "So, why are you going to Detroit?" the woman asked with a kind smile.

  "Just a short business trip," Jeff replied, sticking his finger in the book to hold his place. He waited for the next question, probably something about his line of work, which would be problematic since Jeff was involved in somewhat secretive government business. However, the follow-on question never came.

  "I live in Detroit," the woman explained. "I have family in Maryland because that is where I grew up when I was a little girl."

  "Oh, really?" Jeff replied with mock interest. A few more statements later, he realized he was roped into a full engagement with this sweet yet talkative senior citizen. He should have guessed as much from the beginning. The funny thing was, though, the woman never asked him questions about his life. She was perfectly happy to do all the talking and divulging of information. A couple times, Jeff attempted to insert an opinion or bit of information, not because he was really engaged in the conversation, but because he instinctively felt that is how a conversation should work - give and take, mutually share information and stories. Whenever he tried, though, the woman just nodded her head or said "that's nice" and continued with another nugget from her own experiences.

  "Oh, by the way, my name is Alice," the woman explained as Jeff gazed over her shoulder at the rush of water cascading down the tall windows as a storm hit the airport hard. An announcement soon followed - they would be delayed two hours due to the rain. "You know, I was part of a drum and bugle corps and they all called me Little Alice," she explained as Jeff shifted to face her. His neck was starting to cramp. He gave up on his book, folded the page and put it back in his bag.

  The next two hours encompassed seventy-six years of family drama, children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and tales of a husband long deceased. Jeff tolerated it surprisingly well. He finally gave up on trying to share any of his life and shifted to full reception mode - Alice had won that fight.

  Finally, the announcement for boarding echoed through the hall and Jeff pointed Alice toward the gateway to the air bridge. It was only about twenty feet away, and she couldn't miss it. He was tempted to bid her farewell and board alone, but he felt an obligation of duty and a sliver of genuine concern for the woman he now knew as Little Alice of Detroit who was once the majorette for a drum and bugle corps and, in her mind, might as well have never left the role. So, Jeff offered to help her carry her bag onto the airplane fully aware that the action would likely lead to them sitting near each other on the flight.

  Sure enough, Alice thanked him graciously for his assistance and then plumped down into the seat right next to him. She rambled on in her oratory about old friends from the corps until the plane lifted off the runway, when she paused momentarily. Jeff had planned to get some work done on the flight, but was skeptical about the prospect now. Maybe Alice would read a magazine or take a nap. After all, she had reiterated the same stories several times and had to realize she was becoming redundant.

  Jeff's hopes were dashed, though, as the kind but persistent woman turned and began to launch into a description of her house followed by biographies of her neighbors and family. At least this was something new. The sun set beautifully over a field of dark clouds and he regretted missing the opportunity to watch the event from this rare vantage point, but at the same time, Alice was not really annoying him either. The woman seemed to grow on him bit by bit, story by story. Jeff began to feel as if he was absorbing little bits of this normal yet interesting woman with each passing minute. The stories she told were not exotic or unusual. She did not have a special gift for bringing them to life. And yet, the more Jeff learned about her many mundane experiences, the more he felt like he knew her. Even more than that, she was like a living book open to him to teach history and life lessons. The tales of trying out for majorette at age fourteen made him envision quaint town life in the fifties, and her yarns about the many fathers her mother abandoned made him feel a sense of loss and longing and sparked a bit of anger against a woman long dead.

  "Now you make sure you call me if you are ever in Detroit and would like to drop by for supper," Alice told him firmly as the plane touched down and she handed him a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. "I would be glad to have you and your family over."

  Jeff thanked her and felt a subtle wave of loss as he realized they would soon part. Once again, th
ough, it seemed not quite right to just walk away. Though Alice could surely take care of herself at this point and her daughter was going to meet her at the baggage claim, he still felt the weight of her brother's charge. The fact that he chose Jeff to watch over his sister hung around his neck like a medal of honor and a bridle of obligation.

  He helped her pull her bag out of the overhead and carried it into the terminal. It only seemed right to carry it for her then to the baggage claim. Along the way, she continued to throw out brief comments, though they were short and less frequent. She too must have been feeling the awkwardness of the pending parting.

  Once they came into the baggage claim area, a middle-aged woman older than Jeff suddenly approached.

  "Hi, mom," she said with mild enthusiasm and glanced at Jeff.

  "Oh, honey, this is Jeff," she introduced. "He has taken care of me during the flight. He is such a nice young man."

  The woman acknowledged Jeff, but her body language communicated this kind of meeting was commonplace and a nuisance for her. Jeff was surprised to feel protective of Alice. One of her stories on the airplane explained how this daughter had attempted to persuade her mother to sell her house so she could get her hands on the money. Alice seemed very forgiving about the whole ordeal, but trust had certainly been lost. For a brief moment, Jeff felt as if he was closer family than this flesh and blood daughter. He would not take advantage of this unassuming, kind woman. She had such a simple past, simple life and simple pleasures. How could this treacherous woman manipulate her own mother? She did not deserve to be her daughter.

  James caught himself, though, as the daughter watched him with an odd expression. He realized she expected him to leave and he was still standing there silently - another poor stranger her mother had sunk her hooks into. She probably pitied him.

  "Well, goodbye then, Alice. It was a pleasure," he said with a smile to her and turned without making eye contact with the daughter. It was an abrupt ending to what had been a lengthy marination in the life of another person. Although Jeff realized he did not get anything done over the last couple hours, he felt in retrospect it was worth it. He had grown a little bit, learned a little more, and absorbed a Little Alice.

  Insight

  This one is easy. It actually happened - pretty much word for word as written above. It is not an imaginative story, but I feel it is a human story and speaks to an experience many have likely had. I remember reading "Leader of the People" by John Steinbeck and being impressed at how he made a touching story I really could identify with simply about an older man passed his glory days who would constantly tell the same stories. This happens often in older folks and I have begun to see this phenomenon as something interesting and even enjoyable because I think it tells you a lot about someone. People grow more simple when they age. They remember the stories that really had an impact on them, things that in some way defined who they became and who they now are, even if it is just a story about a great roast once cooked (one of my grandfather's favorites). When you care about someone, it's like watching a great TV show in reruns or reading a favorite story again - you can always enjoy it the next time around and you might even catch something you missed the first time. I was planning to write stories on the flight, so about halfway through when I realized I would not get a chance to write a thing, I decided I would make the best of the situation and use it to inspire a story akin to Steinbeck's simple masterpiece.

  A VISITOR FROM THE FOREST

  Matt gazed out the window between the mini blinds at the swaying shadows outside. Giant branches full with summer leaves lashed about giving the appearance of a crazed audience at a rock concert. A lone light on a wooden pole cast a ghostly glow across the grass where the backyard met the forest.

  "Casey, would you look at this?" he requested without taking his eyes from the window. "It's quite a wind storm."

  "Mmmm," his wife replied, feigning interest while texting on her phone.

  "They said there might be some pretty big hail." An eerie alarm sounded, like a European police siren, followed by a voice warning of violent winds and the need to take shelter. "I'll go out and move the car into the carport."

  Walking away from the window, Matt couldn't even tell there was a storm outside. The house was bright and comfortable, his wife continued to punch away with her thumbs and soft music streamed from the speakers on the kitchen counter. He slipped on some old sandals and opened the door to the carport. Rain belted the yard in sheets that came from one angle and then immediately from another. The gusts of wind raced into the open carport and circled around violently, rushing through his hair and tossing his loose clothes. Matt ran to the car and jumped inside. It took only a few seconds, but he was already halfway soaked. He turned the key in the ignition and rolled the car into the shelter. As he stepped out to return to the house, lighting flashed followed immediately by a loud peel of thunder. The sound brought back memories of his days serving on tanks and camping out at the practice ranges.

  After closing the door safely behind him and locking it, he walked over to the fridge and opened the door. Just as he did, there was a sudden sound of descent as the lights went out and everything running in the house - the refrigerator, the music, the washing machine - all came quickly to a static state.

  "Oh no," Casey moaned from the living room. "Is the power out?"

  It was an obvious question, but Matt replied. "Yep, I think so. Shouldn't be for too long though, I hope."

  "Dad!" a child's voice called from down the dark hallway. It was slightly tinged with fear.

  "Don't worry, Brad," Matt called to him. The power just went out. I'll come get you in a minute." He turned on his phone and used the dim light to illuminate his path down the hallway. Brad was sitting on his bed. He had just lain down to sleep and the sudden loss of the fish tank light near his bed caused him alarm.

  "It will be ok," Matt assured. "Why don't you come with us until we can get a flashlight or something for you?"

  Father and son walked slowly out to the living room by the light of the cell phone. With all the background noises of the house gone, it was much easier to hear the howling of the wind threatening like an army of banshees assaulting the house. Thunder continued to boom unexpectedly and Brad jumped each time.

  "What was that?" Casey asked. She was standing by the window where Matt had initially watched the storm.

  "What?" he said walking over to her side.

  "I don't know. I thought I saw something move."

  "Well yeah," Matt said incredulously. "Those are hurricane force winds. There's a lot of stuff moving out there."

  "No, I mean something big, on the ground," she explained.

  "Mommy, I'm scared," Brad said clenching his father's leg.

  "No, don't be worried," Matt assured him. "Mommy probably just saw an animal or something pushed along by the wind." Then in a hushed voice he whispered harshly to his wife, "Don't scare him!"

  Casey just gave him an offended look. "Look, there it is again!" she pointed to the wood line beyond their chain link fence.

  "Where? Where?" Brad demanded.

  Matt strained to see what his wife was talking about. The pale light in the back continued to glow - it must be a solar powered emergency light, he guessed. In the shadowy light he could only see bushes and branches swaying just as they had before.

  "You're probably just seeing a bush or something," he dismissed.

  "Maybe," she replied skeptically, "it does just look like a bush, but I'm sure it was over there and now it's near the fence."

  "Mommy, bushes don't move," Brad said with authority mustered to ensure himself rather than his mother there was no need to worry.

  Matt cast her another critical look, then lightning struck again. For a second, he saw the bush out of the corner of his eye fully illumined by the electric bolt. It didn't move, but a pang of panic shot through his gut - why did that bush seem to so closely resemble a human form? It was just his imagination spurred on by h
is wife and son's wild conjectures, for sure.

  "Ok, why don't we go to Brad's room and see if we can find his flashlight." As he was turning away from the window, he froze and nearly stumbled on top of his son.

  "Hey!" his son complained, but Matt was silent.

  In the cast of the yellow light from the emergency lamp, he saw the bush move across the yard. There was no explaining it away this time. Perhaps the wind just blew an uprooted bush, but why did it seem to move with a gait like a man striding intently toward an objective?

  "Look, you guys go to the room to find Brad's flashlight," he said with a bit of shakiness in his voice. "I'm going to grab my good light and I'll meet you there."

  His heart was pounding, but there was no need to alarm his family. At the very worst, someone might be trying to come around the back to enter their house. Not likely, but just in case, he better make sure all the doors were locked.

  He walked into the kitchen without taking his eyes off the dark windows. He couldn't see anything, but he seemed to sense a menacing presence. Of course, that was just his mind playing tricks. He forced himself to be calm and rummaged for his flashlight. He found the military-grade mini-light and clicked it on. It cast a brilliant white beam far stronger than one would expect from such a tiny flashlight.

  He cautiously approached the door leading into the house from the carport and shined the light outside. The car sat safe against the storm and shadows danced against the wall, but there was no sign of a bush or any other object that would be out of place. He checked the lock and observed it was secure. Feeling better, he walked through the house toward his son's room.

  Passing the front door, he saw that it too was secure. Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the house. It was not thunder. It sounded like wood breaking followed by a deafening clap. Matt spun around from his position in the hallway and shined his powerful beam toward the source of the startling sound. In the bright white light, the kitchen door was a gaping hole, rain creeping in as the wind tossed it about. The frame was torn and jagged and the door itself lay on the kitchen floor five feet from its proper place. The glass window had shattered and spewed fragments across the floor that reflected Matt's light like a hundred tiny eyes watching him.