The house at the end of the path

The old man walked on a path down that was set against a tree lined avenue, there was nothing beyond the trees but an open grassland. He was looking at the grassland and the setting sun wondering why he was here, he could not remember how he got there just that he was there and walking down the path. He lifted his hands to check the suit he was wearing and it was his old wedding suit but he could not remember why he was wearing it. Who was his wife, even that seemed like a distant memory lost in the fog of age. We kept walking as the shadows of the sunset were deepening and the cold will soon follow.

Looking around further, the trees were cherry trees and the fence that was behind was a small wooden kind of fence. He was puzzled by all this, he wanted to turn back and see where he was coming from but when he did the path was long and foreboding. He turned to look ahead and he saw a light in the distance, bringing his right to his face he was surprised to find that he was not wearing any spectacles. He was sure he needed them to see but now he did not, all this was wearing him down now and he needed to get to he light before he could not find a way.

As he walked he tried to remember what his name was or where he came from but it was all lost. The memories of his life were floating in a fog at the back of his mind and there was no light to guide the way to them. As the light drew closer he could see that it was a house, not very large one at that. It was a 2-storey affair with space for an attic, there was light coming from the window of where the living room would be. He continued to walk to it, the night was getting colder and he beginning to feel the cold in his bones. He remembered that the cold really stiffened his knees up he wasn’t careful, then he stopped for a moment looking down at his legs. How did he remember that and not who he was, this was confusing. Looking at the house he hoped he could get some help there as this was all too confusing.

Stepping up to the front door he saw that the door was slightly open, rather than barging in he knocked on the door and called out. There was no one inside from the looks of it bur nevertheless he still knocked again and called out to the residents asking for permission to enter. Again there was no answer, but then he heard a low voice calling him in. Tentatively he walked into the house and followed the only light, the corridor into the house led to the stairs, on the left was a dark room that looked to be a dinning room and the right with its light on looked to be the living room.

The man looked up the stairs and tried to see if there were any lights but could not see any with that he walked into the living room. In the living room was fireplace that was unlit along with 3 sofas and an armchair. On armchair sat a figure dressed in a dark suit, the face was that of an older gentleman who had a thin smile and his eyes were set deep so the colour could not be discerned. The old man walked in the stood at the centre of the room looking at the sited man.

“Come now Mr. Walton, please do have a sit.”

The old man looked confused, his own name was Walton, how could he not remember. This confusion had translated onto his face and the older man spoke.

“When we cross over to the threshold we call purgatory we tend to forget who we were. Please have sit and we can talk, I have all the time you want afterall.”

Walton took a seat on sofa that was set across the older man. Rubbing his knees he tried to remember but the memories still felt like they were in the fog. He wanted to remember but could not.

“There is not point in trying to remember, let the memories come as they want. Please say what you really want and we can begin.”

“I… I was married once, I cannot remember her name but this… this suit was from that wedding.”

“Go on,” the older man soothingly spoke.

“I… I can’t remember, sorry.”

“Don’t worry Walton, its part of your journey. Here let me reveal something that may shed some light. You are Harold Walton, you married Marjorie Marks when you bother were just 18. You were a carpenter by trade. Anything else coming forward?”

“Yes, Marjorie, ohh she had the best smile and her little cakes she made on Sundays were the best. I remember I was a carpenter then the war started and  I was drafted because my father was also a soldier.”

“There is much more, please continue.”

“During the war we fellow soldiers die and equally I saw the enemy soldiers die. I was saddened to see so much death. I saved a family from being executed I think, I also saved a few enemy soldiers also. I don’t know why but I knew I had to. My dad would have been angry, but I could not let them die senselessly.”

“The family you saved are one of the reasons you are here, also there are a few more memories you need to remember now. It will make sense in the end.”

“I made a promise with a few friends I made during the war that whoever went first the rest would stand guard at the funeral. We were to make sure that no matter even if there just us we will take care of each other. I remember that we were 4 of us, I stood guard in all their funerals, Smithy’s was the only one where I was alone. Smithy lost his mind and was thrown into the loony bin. I kept my promise even if the others didn’t.”

“Smithy is another reason, he would call out to you when he felt there was no one to protect him. The horrors he witnessed haunted him everyday but the memories of being taught how to repair wooden furniture kept him from complete madness.”

Walton was crying now; he remembered Smithy and the rest. They were on repair duty, which meant scavenging for broken furniture to use as replacements for broken parts on trucks and tents. They bonded over the labour and became brothers, always keeping a close eye on each other.

“After the war I went home to Marjorie, it was tough as the country was now starting over again. Being a carpenter meant that I always had work, helping people rebuild their houses and furniture. I did not take money in many ways, they gave us parts of the rations so Marjorie and I were never hungry. I wished I could have known she was sick. It was about 2 years after we discovered she had cancer and it was eating away her insides. All the while she smiled and said there was nothing wrong and she was ok. It broke my heart when I saw her so feeble in her last days, she made me promise that I will keep moving forward and build a life. I cried for days after she passed away, I felt so lost.”

“Sorry,” Walton had to stop as the tears kept coming and his throat was heavy with the grief.

“Take your time, Walton.”

After a while he gathered himself and Walton continued, “I could not marry again with Marjorie being the only one I ever loved so I did what I knew best. I built and repaired, I kept in contact with my friends as best as I could. William was more successful on account of being the son of a ship owner, he let the success into his head and I thought I would not be able to keep my promise but later I learnt he had killed himself when he found out that his partner had swindled him and took his business and left him with a huge debt. His funeral was a pauper’s funeral and there were only a dozen people there.”

“I continued my trade and lived my life as simple as I could. It was after the last friend, Alfred, when I realised that I have spent my whole life mourning one person and never really lived my own. I became depressed by letting so much go when I never really sought closure. I never let anyone close to me again and I think that is was led me here I guess.”

The older man’s smile grew and then it vanished, his looked at Walton then turned to take a sip of water from a glass next to him. He looked at the empty fire place, he got up and walked over to it, he then knelt and picked something from the fireplace and returned to his chair.

“You know what this is?” the older man asked as he held up a charred stick like object.

Walton shook his head.

“This is a feather, where it came from a raven that carried you here. Life was always meant to be lived with a meaning. I have seen many like you who use a single moment in your life to define the rest. I have seen men and women fall down a path of sadness and blame everything around them not seeing where the real blame lay. When I hold up a mirror to them they see only what resulted to their wasted life and not who they are. You did not realise but Marjorie’s passing was not your defining moment, in fact you gave yourself to your work and at times did the work for free because the people did not have the money. You kept your promises even when they did not expect it, I agree that you did not marry again but that was your choice and it was not something that bothered you at all.”

Walton looked at the man now, he began wondering exactly who he was. Was he death or God?

“I am neither,” spoke the older man. “I am just a messenger. The raven that brought you here had only one purpose and when that was done her promise was complete. If you remember there was raven that suffered an injury at your workshop during a storm. Your assistant wanted to break its neck to end it suffering. You however chose to aid it, it was not a test or anything but you gave the raven a debt that it needed to pay back.”

Walton looked at the remains in the fireplace with some sadness, the raven had become a friend to him. Whenever there was a person at the gate it would start calling out alerting him. He had gotten so used to her that when she passed on also he was just as sad as he was when Marjorie passed away.

“You lived a live that made sense to you and you made connections that were not meaningless. You loved and were loved, its just that when you look at others you felt incomplete. Still when you fell sick there was always someone nearby to help you, you taught several students your craft and never asked for anything in return. They were your children and they became your legacy, many of them were the ones who finally laid you to rest. Your final days were passed with each one taking a moment to hold your hand knowing that it was the last time they will see you. You were a good man and you lived a life where you gave more that you received.”

“Which brings us here now. I would normally give you a choice as to where you want to go next. But I feel that its better you choose for yourself. Behind you are 3 doors, where they go is up to you but you are the one to choose.”

“Who are you truly?” asked Walton.

“I have many names but I neither god nor demon. I am eternal, I have been there before there was a God and will remain after its end. Time is just a measure of passage, there is not clock for me but know this Walton, I am one of a few who create, preserve and destroy.”

Walton got up and turned to look behind him, there was three doors where there was a wall. He slowly walked to them and stood in front of them, he asked which one would return his Marjorie to him.

“That Marjorie is just a memory you hold on to. What is behind the doors is greater than what you can imagine. Choose one and you will see what I mean.”

Walton then turned back and looked at the doors, they were all plain and did not look any different from their neighbours. Finally he walked to the third door and put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. A click could be heard, and he pushed the door in, what he saw inside was an open sky with all the star blinking. There were voices inside that were familiar, taking one last look at the older man he took a step into the space and soon vanished. The door slowly closed after Walten had passed through, the house slowly faded away and the older man remained sited on the chair, only that it was not a chair any more but a wooden stool. He remained there reflecting on the what he has seen in the man who just passed.