Southworld (part 7 of 7)

Richard sat in his study, the weight of despair lay upon him like a wet blanket.  His eyes scanned across the thousands of volumes, in dozens of languages, all of which Richard knew, lined upon his bookshelves.  Decades of study filled Richard's brain with every conceivable worldview, philosophy and religion known to man, some far more believable than others.  Some, merely the fruit of drug-induced hallucinations.  Richard understood them all.  But Richard had no answers.

He leaned back in his leather chair and rubbed his eyes.  His eyes, now swollen and red from far too many sleepless nights.  His king size bed, now only felt like a tomb with his wife long gone.  Not dead, as may be thought, but gone to India, an additional wife to some guru.
A gentle rap on the front door drew Richard from his introspection.  He was expecting no packages and had no friends that would be dropping in for a visit, so he was surprised to open the door to a small boy, no older than ten or eleven, trembling as he held out a small envelope.  "This is for you, Richard," the small boy spoke.  "Some old man asked me to give it to you."  Richard had interacted with many people in many situations, far stranger than this.  So Richard accepted the envelope and thanking the boy shut the door and returned to his study.

It was a grubby envelope, written in barely legible Greek script.  It contains no postmark or return address, but only his name, or at least a transliteration of it in upper case Greek.  Richard turned the envelope over in his hands two or three times before opening it.  He pulled a single sided card from the envelope to find, in the same blockish Greek, an invitation to accept a large amount of money, something approximately equal to a hundred thousand US dollars.  The more went on to explain that it would be delivered to his address the following day via registered mail.  Richard dropped the card on the floor and laid his head back, falling asleep and disregarding the note at the same time.

Richard bolted upright, gaping for breath.  In his dream a bare handed fight with a grizzly ended with the dead animal falling upon him, completely covering his face in warm fur.  Richard struggled to free himself, only to find himself in his bed, with his cat, Rochester, draped across his face.  The cat, easily 35 lbs, rolled from his face to his lap, with hardly a response.  Richard took a few deep breaths, centered himself and unconsciously stroked the cat. The clock read ten and Richard eased out of bed.

Richard completed his thirty minutes of meditation and slowly enjoyed a freshly made sun dried tomato and goat cheese omelet.  Another knock on the door disturbed his dishwashing labors.  Quick dying his hands, he opened the door to the expressionless face of the Fedex man.  "Sign here, please," the face said, holding out an e tablet and pen.  Richard obliged and in turn received an average size envelope.  Suddenly his mind returned to the previous door step occupant and his heart began to race.  He closed the door and sat in the stool in the entry way, his hands trembling.  He extracted the envelope's contents only to find a single photograph.  The photograph, an old, yellowing picture, featured a pile of some foreign currency, Richard guessed it was the equivalent of $100,000 US.

From that point forward, every day for an entire week, a small envelope was hand delivered each evening, to be followed the next day by a registered letter containing a photo of some valuable or rare item.  After about three days, the pattern became predictable and annoying.  Finally on the evening of the seventh day, instead of a little boy, Richard's front door revealed a little old man smiling and very kind-of-face.  The man invited himself in and seating himself on the couch, began to speak.  "Richard, do you understand what is happening?"  the old man asked.  Richard nodded a negative and spoke, no.  The little, old man sighed and muttered to himself.  "I was afraid this would be the case.  So well educated but lacking any wisdom or understanding."  Normally, Richard would have been deeply insulted.  His resume and cv were remarkable, to say the least.  His credentials were unsurpassed and his teaching history included Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard and Princeton.  But from the look in the old man's eyes, Richard knew the old man was right.  The old man continued.  "You have so much Richard," he said.  "You know so much and have experienced so much."  Richard began to wonder how the old man knew so much about him, but he dared not ask.  "You have so much, but it is all just pictures, illustrations, images and cheap copies.  All of it really worth nothing.  You need to understand that everyone has some sliver of truth, some greater than others.  That is the draw.  That is what moved you to seek so far and wide.  But only one has all the truth.  And that is what moved you to keep looking."

Richard looked at the old man, his mind cycling through what this all meant.  What the old man said made sense, but he couldn't fathom what could be the final answer.  "Come to Mt. Athos with me.  Everything will be answered if you are willing to truly listen.  It's all about faith, but not blind faith.  I know you are wiser than that.  Go to the airport when you are ready.  Pack only the bare necessities.  I will know when you are ready."  And with that, the old man motioned a blessing over Richard’s head and left through the front door.

Richard sat down on his couch and smiled.