Fallen Tree

The bookstore had appeared more spacious for the first fifteen minutes. Jasper was busy trying to unlock the door and began to feel frustrated by the lack of help from his companion. But frustration wasn't in his nature, he muttered. It was one of Them, not well-received in his mind. It was this that made him sound calm when he turned to the old man.

"I could use a hand."

"I'm injured."

It shouldn't have been funny, but he laughed as he said it.

"That's why we need to get out of here. You're hurt and you need help, so maybe it's better to grit your teeth and endure while you help me push this door."

The boy's tone remained composed, although the hilarity of his companion once again threatened his composure.

"I've lost a lot of blood."

More laughter accompanied the words. This time, Jasper tried a new approach: what was escaping him? Why was he reacting like this? Blood, pain, madness. Yes, the old man boasted all three of these elements. Perhaps in larger quantities than the boy had initially supposed. But which of the three was the problem?

He let the door swing to itself, which didn't bother the frame in any way. He approached the old man and bent down to see where the piece of glass was protruding from his abdomen.

Well, at least that question had found a rather easy answer. Blood. Definitely too much blood.

It was then that Jasper began to fidget, but not before patting his friend on the shoulder to achieve a reassuring effect. His agitation manifested itself in the vehemence with which he once again threw himself against the door.

"You won't be able to move it."

"No, not with this attitude."

This was dangerously close to exploding.

"Did you explode against me or against the door?"

Perhaps he had dangerously exceeded the limit of exploding.

"Against the door. And against you."

"Mh. What did the door do?"

Jasper didn't stop to think before answering. He didn't want to waste precious time on thoughts.

"It's not doing what I ask it to, even though I have every reason to ask it this favor."

"But you're asking it something beyond its nature."

The old man pointed out.

"It's a door, and I'm encouraging it to open; it seems to me to be exactly its nature."

"The nature of man is to walk. Would you ask a cripple?"

"No. I'd help him move, I guess."

"Fine. Why can't you do that with the door?"

"Maybe that's exactly what I'm damn well doing!"

"Yes, that might be my fault. I understand why you exploded. Too much blood is out of my body to think clearly."

A pause between kicks on the wood and words sadly resonated with this last sentence.

"Yes, you can think clearly. Stay clear, or I might start to get scared, I mean it."

Jasper looked at the old man with pleading eyes.

"But I'm just doing what comes naturally to every man."

"Complaining? Or rambling? Or the self-pity with which you've convinced yourself you can't help me?"

"Maybe a bit of all that. But I meant to die, boy. I'm doing the thing that comes most naturally to a man."

Jasper abandoned the door again and joined the old man's side. He didn't know if those words showed that he had lost lucidity or that he still possessed it. In doubt, the boy began to get scared.

"And you're not afraid?"

"No, I don't fear death, boy. Look where we are! Ahh, I never thought I'd see a bookstore before I died."

"You're not dying, old man. Now let's get out of here and find a car."

"No! Please, boy, don't let me die in the middle of an empty street; I prefer books and shelves. There are some beautiful shelves here, look, beautiful shelves..."

"Stop it, those shelves will still be here tomorrow, and all the books too. Now we need to fix this, let me think..."

"Yes... they'll still be here. Even tomorrow. Even though I'll be dead and won't be able to see them anymore. Isn't that beautiful?"

The boy put his head in his hands upon hearing these words, dangerously close to tears.

"Come on, don't do this, you've been a good boy. You did your best. You don't have to worry about me... I've died so many times, I've told you. One more won't make a difference."

"It will for me, damn it! Please... you have to listen to me and do as I say, we're almost there... I can feel it... now let's get out of here and find a car, we just need to get past the hill."

"Ah... you don't believe it yourself, boy. We both know it. It was before the hill, they said before the hill..."

"Well, maybe they meant another damn hill! Sara used to say there were too many of them, she was so worried... oh, how would we ever find the right hill, and she was right, look at us, all this journey and it was the wrong hill... the wrong hill!"

"It wasn't the wrong hill."

"Yes, it was."

"Look me in the eyes."

"No."

"Look me in the eyes, damn it!"

"It doesn't exist, does it? A place without all this hatred."

"But of course, it exists, boy."

"Where is it?"

"Ah... lift your head, don't cry. Lift your head. Good. Promise me you'll keep searching."

A long silence followed that statement. There wasn't much left to say, it seemed. However, the silence became concerning after a few minutes; the old man always complained about the silence.

"Old man? Old man!"

"Yes, yes, I'm still here."

"Good."

Jasper was relieved. He had stopped trying to force the door for too long now and found comfort in postponing the inevitable. Both of them knew what would happen. But not now, not yet; it just had to happen at another time.

"Would you know something?"

"No, I don't think I would know anything."

"Well, I'll tell you then. The hill."

The boy sighed, fearing he wanted to make him think again.

"Which hill?"

"What?"

"Which hill, I say."

"This one. They were right."

He didn't have the strength to argue, and the other's eyes looked so distant that he didn't feel it was right to contradict him. But he had promised never to hide his thoughts from him.

"As you wish, old man... but there's no peace here."

The old man, motionless for a while, seemed to turn his head effortlessly in every direction, a spark of life that wanted to absorb what it could reach.

"Sniff," he said. "No hatred. Pages and ink. My peace."

When the rescue team arrived, Jasper didn't get up to greet them, didn't thank them, and didn't respond to their questions. A man took him under his arm and accompanied him for a while, then loaded him onto an ambulance van waiting with its jaws threatening to swallow him. He didn't like it. But he let himself be carried, repeating one of the mantras the old man had taught him: some might be worse off, or maybe not, but in any case, it could be worse. In general. So, one must be happy.

The boy doubted he could be happy, but he tried at least to be grateful.

Grateful for being escorted gently in an ambulance van.

It was better, he told himself. It wasn't that difficult to be grateful for this.

The black bag had fallen to the other. No van for him; a military truck with its wheels on the ground, as if carrying the weight of many worlds on its back.