TheBanyanTree: Derelict

[Roger Pye]

   The bottles in the old man's tattered backpack clinked comfortingly 
as, head down and looking neither left nor right, he shuffled across the 
grassy expanse of the park. It was evening of an autumn day which he 
knew he would always remember while wishing he could but forget.  Deeply 
immersed in thoughts generated by that part of his mind still unaffected 
by the cheap liquor he imbibed as though it were water, he wove his 
unsteady way onwards until an errant tabloid, caught up by a gust of 
wind, tangled with his boot.
   Kicking outwards failed to dislodge the paper.  He bent down to tear 
it away but then, almost of their own accord, the movements of his 
fingers froze.  Knowing he could not sustain a bending motion for very 
long, he squatted down instead.  Gently, he unwrapped the paper from 
about his boots, smoothed out the creases and then, as tears began to 
roll down his grimy cheeks, caressed the picture which had attracted his 
attention.  His lips moved, silently mouthing the caption.
   Someone coughed. Wiping his eyes, he glanced upwards to see a woman 
gazing down at him, started in surprise, looked back at the paper then 
up again. The tears began to flow afresh as he stumbled unsteadily to 
his feet. "It cannot be," he sobbed. "They buried her today. I was here, 
in the Park, with thousands of others, watching on the big screen, 
singing with the folk in the Abbey, mourning when they mourned, praying 
when they prayed. Yet you .. you are the very image of her .."
   She inclined her head gracefully.  "Yes, the body was buried today. 
But the spirit departed just under a week ago, to another place, a 
better, happier, place than this poor world. For its purpose here was 
accomplished; it was time for it to travel on to other adventures."
  The man shook his head in bewilderment at her words. "So - you are not 
she?"
   Grave of face, she evaded the question. "But what of you, old one, 
what of your purpose?"
   "My purpose?" He forced himself to concentrate. "I have no purpose, I 
merely exist from hour to hour, day to day. My nights are spent in the 
tunnels by the river, otherwise I wander the parks and streets of the 
city, speaking to no-one other than my own ilk and the charity workers 
who feed me once each day.  No, I have no purpose; once upon a time 
perhaps I did but I disremember it."
   For a moment she said nothing, just stared into his eyes whilst he 
squirmed a little at the compassion he recognised in her own. Then she 
smiled a wonderful, beatific smile.  "Oh, yes, you have a purpose - you 
and all your kind - and the downtrodden - and the lepers, both social 
and actual - and those with AIDS - and the abandoned children, whether 
homeless or orphaned or damaged in some way. You stir the conscience of 
the nations. You inspire both rich and poor alike to acts of goodness. 
You help to balance the evils which roam the planet."
   She saw by his bemused features that she had lost him.  "Come," she 
commanded softly, stretching a hand towards him.  "As with her, your 
travail is over; it is time for you to go home."
   Uncertainly, he took her hand; as their fingers touched, a great 
expression of joy and illumination spread over his face.
***********
   Some hours later a young constable on his early morning beat paused, 
then went down on one knee in the area bestrewn with flowers near to 
where a hundred thousand people had mourned the day before.  After a 
moment he keyed his two-way. "Control, X16 here, ambulance to Hyde Park, 
please, one derelict, no sirens necessary."



woodcat