New Optina

 

It was the pitch dark of night, but the full moon gave the slight feeling of dusk. The late hour had arrived and no one but Carl was out. Sitting in his shopping car with the back of his knees creased over the front edge, Carl sat whistling and staring at the giant orb of off-white moon. He didn’t know what time it was and frankly he couldn’t care less. He slept when he was tired and stayed awake when not, wandering around or sitting and watching the goings-on.

The shopping cart had slowly drifted into the large hydrangea bush that partially hid the telephone exchange box at the edge of town and Carl sat whistling and staring at the moon. But it was the crunching of gravel that stirred him from his lunar observation. Redirecting his gaze toward the long straight road that lay off to his left, he struggled to focus on what appeared to be a small group of people. The rhythmic crunching and the slight bobbing of their heads had him mesmerized. Grabbing hold of a branch, he tipped himself over and rolled under the bush, watching as the small group walked past, perfectly silent save the crunching of gravel.

“I wonder who they are?” he thought to himself. Carl knew pretty much everyone in town and kept a keen eye on most everything that was happening. As the town had less than a thousand people, he was busy but not overwhelmed. Laying in the dirt under the hydrangea bush, he waited until the night was once again silent. Standing up, he left the dirt and leaves on his clothes and started walking back toward his camper.

In the immediate center of town, his small camper stood alone in front of his parent’s home. It was his own private space in which no one was welcome. Sure, Carl was friendly with everyone, but he needed his privacy. Sitting down on the small stool that sat immediately in front of his door, he stared out across the open field directly across from his camper and wondered about the small group that interrupted his moonlit ruminations.

Finally climbing into bed, he slept in his clothes and faded to sleep as he watched his goldfish Frank swim in endless circles. He often wondered if he was more goldfish than man. Waking up as the sunlight crawled over the distant hills, he sat up and rubbed his face. Grabbing a donut from the partially open box on his counter, he stumbled out the door and stood in the bright morning sunshine, watching Farmer Butler’s cows graze in the field across the road. Finishing his donut, he started walking toward town, releasing a number of large yawns.

It wasn’t until he reached the steps of the grocery store that he saw a small crowd that had gathered in front of the library. Changing his path, he walked back down the steps and approached the small crowd but kept his distance as well.

“I have no idea who they are,” one man said. “Agnes says they showed up in the middle of the night and rented a room. One room for five people.”

“So, five people just showed up in our little town in the middle of the night,” another said. “Why in the sam hill would anyone come here? Especially in the dead of night. Something weird is going on.”

Just then the front door of the hotel across the street opened up and five men, all dressed in black and wearing long beards, all exited the building and walked in the opposite direction.

“Well, there’s our answer,” a third man said. “Five weird looking guys, probably hippies. Who knows what kind of drugs these sorts are on? We need to keep an eye on them. The last thing we need is having a bunch of stuff stolen. I don’t trust them at all.”

The crowd of men remained standing on the steps of the library and watched the five men in black walk silently down the street towards the edge of town. The men stopped with the sidewalk and stood motionless and in silence.

“Now what are they doing,” someone said.

“Looks like they're waiting for something,” another answered. “I’m telling you, they’re up to no good.”

Within moments, a bright red SUV pulled up in front of the five men and a middle-aged man in an expensive suit climbed out and greeted them. All shaking hands, the group climbed into the SUV and continued onward out of town.

Later that day, Carl sat on a bench in front of Al’s Diner, swinging his feet. He watched as the red SUV parked, nearly directly in front of him. The driver had barely exited the vehicle when two men hurried out of the diner and started talking to him.

“Jack, hey, Jack,” what’s with the bearded weirdo’s,” one of them asked. “Since you’re the only realtor in town, I’m guessing you were showing them a property?”

“Yes, Bob,” Jack answered, “but more than that. They already bought a property. The twenty acres of the Hollisfield farm just outside of town. Paid cash. Nice enough bunch of guys, pretty quiet though. I dropped them off out there with a map. They said they didn’t need anything else.”

“Paid cash? Seriously?” one of the men said. “So, who are they? Do you think it’s drug money?”

“Pfft, no,” Jack answered. “They’re some sort of religious group, saint something or other. I guess they’re going to start building right away. Honestly, they seem pretty harmless. I hope people don’t bother them. I don’t think they mean any harm and really seem to just want to be left alone.”

The months passed and Carl paid careful attention to the number of flatbed trucks that repeatedly passed through town up toward the hippie commune, as the locals had come to all it. Eventually, the trucks stopped coming and he began to notice a lot of hushed conversations and whispered suspicions about what could be taking place “up there”.

It was the beginning of a very warm summer and Carl was laying under the porch of the grocery store with just his feet sticking out into the sunshine. Laying in silence, he could hear the footsteps of each customer and with relative ease could identify to whom the steps belonged. After ten or twelve familiar footsteps, a set of steps passed over that he did not recognize. The mystery got the better of him and he slid out of the darkness and walked into the store.

“Ah, should’ve known,” he thought to himself. “One of the strangers from the farm.” As he followed the man around the store, always at a distance, he rounded the corner into the produce department and saw the two Jenkins brothers had the older, bearded man backed up against a large pyramid of unshucked corn.

“I don’t know what you freaks are doing up there,” one of the brothers growled into his face, “but I’m thinking I don’t like it.”

“Well, you are free to come up and visit any time,” the man said, a look of kindness and serenity in his face. “We aren’t hiding anything. Even better, you should come up on Sunday around eight o’clock. I think you’ll like it.”

“No, I don’t think so,” the other brother said. “I think we’ll come up whenever we want.” Giving the man a shove into the corn, the man caught himself but not before knocking a few ears onto the floor. “And pick that up, freak,” the brother yelled back at him as the two walked away.

Carl hurried over and helped the older man pick up the corn.

“Oh, thank you young man,” he said. “Sometimes people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” Saying nothing but only laughing a little, Carl placed the corn back onto the display and quickly left the store, crawling back under the porch.

As the sun began to set, Carl crawled out from under the porch and began walking down the middle of street, his arms stretched out straight to both sides of his body. Cars raced past both sides of him, honking as they approached.

Two middle aged men sat on the bench just inside the city park, watching the oddball walking in the street. “I swear that fool is going to get himself killed,” said the one. “Somebody needs to do something about him.”

Carl walked into the park and lay face down in the grass behind the men, kicking his feet in perfect rhythm.

“The family and I were sitting at the dinner table last night,” one of the men said, “and my little boy said that one of his friends told him that the hippies were digging a lake to farm fish. Have you ever heard of anything so weird?”

“Well, I heard that they grow their own wheat and stuff and have a bakery up there too,” the other said. “That whole situation up there is just too strange. I don’t like it at all. You can’t exactly say that they aren’t friendly, but they don’t really interact with anyone at all. I think a group of us should go up there and surprise ‘em. Maybe we can see what they’re really doing.”

The summer drug on and the temperature seemed to climb each day. Carl got up that particular morning and put on his snowsuit. Walking down the center of the road with his arms outstretched, everyone outside stopped what they were doing and stared at the man.

“I’m telling you, that guy is not right in the head,” one man said to another. “It is easily over a hundred degrees and that fool is dressed like it’s winter. He’s gonna kill himself.” Just then Mr. Barnes, the grocery store owner hurried out the front door.

“Hey, Jake, can you take a look at my sink?” he asked. “I’m turning the tap but nothing is coming out.”

“Yeah, sure, I can take a look,” one of the men answered. Following the owner inside, he stepped back out a moment later. “Well, that’s really weird,” he said. “There’s no water.”

A car pulled up before he could finish his sentence. “Hey Jake,” the woman driving the car asked. “Everyone around town is saying that their plumbing ain’t working. Can you run over to the Jenkin’s place and take a look. She’s the first one to call me about it.”

“Oh, man, this isn’t good,” Jake said. “I wonder if this heat is drying the wells up.”

That evening, the mayor called a town meeting. “Thank you for coming out tonight,” he said, standing up on the stage at the school auditorium. “I’m sure you all know what this is about. It seems that this heat wave has dried out all the wells. So, we’re going to have to ask everyone to really cut back on their water usage. I don’t think we even have enough water to water the crops. This is really bad folks.”

As he finished speaking, a murmur began to build across the room. But then the back door of the room opened up and the five bearded men from the old Hollisfield farm entered. The room fell silent and one of them approached the mayor and spoke for a moment.

“Excuse me, everyone,” the mayor called out. “Seraphim here has asked to share a few words with you. Please give him your attention.”

The old, bearded man climbed onto the stage and cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you all know that you are welcome to our farm anytime. Our wells have not dried up and we have built up a large store of food, in case anyone has a need. Please come anytime. We are here for you.”

The room sat in silence as he climbed down from the stage and joined the other four men. Watching the men leave the room, the townspeople remained silent, looking at one another. Eventually, the mayor loudly cleared his throat. “Uh, folks, well, you all heard what the man had to say. It seems that we misjudged our new neighbors. In spite of their generosity, I still urge you to conserve as much water as you can. We have no way of knowing how much water their wells can provide. I think we should all go home now.”

As the crowd of people left the school auditorium, they came across Carl, lying in the school parking lot in his snowsuit. The crowd gathered around the man and stood in silence, looking down upon the prostrate form. “Is he dead?” a young child asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” a woman answered, “I can see his fingers moving.”

“Hey Carl, what are you doing?” a man in the back asked. But Carl lay, basically motionless. “Wait a minute, look at this,” the man said, pointing off to Carl’s side. The crowd focused their attention on a large collection of toys that had carefully been set up. “What the heck is all of this?” a third man asked.

“Hey, it’s a copy of our town,” a little girl said. “See, there’s the school and there’s the grocery store and there’s the road leading out to the Hollisfield farm. And it’s right where Carl is laying down.”

The crowd looked back at Carl and realized that he was soaking wet, as if he had just gotten out of a swimming pool, his hair, face and clothes leaving a stream of water flowing back toward the tiny town he had set up.