Cross Roads

by William P. Young

  “So who might you two be?” asked Tony, not taking a step toward them.

  The shorter, squatter one immediately began to respond, his voice high-pitched and wheezy, “Well, my name is…”

  The other cuffed him up the back of his head, leaned down and growled in a deep baritone as if Tony were entirely absent. “We don’t just give him our names, you idiot. Are you trying to get us in deeper trouble?” He then smiled at Tony, a beaming almost creepy grimace, and waved his hand as if it were a wand. “My deepest apologies, sir, for my friend here who doesn’t seem to know his place. You can call us Bill”—he pointed a thumb toward his companion—“and Sam,” he finished, bowing ever so slightly to indicate he was the latter.

  “Bill and Sam?” exclaimed the shorter, squatter one. “That’s the best you can do? Bill and Sam?” Bill cringed as Sam raised his hand to buffet him a second time.

  Thinking better of it, Sam refrained from striking Bill again and turned back to Tony with an air of being large and in charge.

  “Okay, then… Sam,” emphasized Tony, “what are you two doing here?”

  “Well, sir,” he said, rolling his eyes as if to indicate that the question was almost beneath a response. “We… are the keepers of the walls, that is what we be!” He stated it as if it were an announcement of utmost importance and brushed an invisible something off his lapel.

  “Yes,” jumped in Bill, “that is what we be… yes, sir, keepers of the walls. All the walls, and we are very skilled keepers, too, we are, every one of us busy keeping the walls and good at what we do, we are…” His voice trailed off as if he were looking for a way to end the sentence.

  “And we are gardeners,” interjected Sam. “We do the weeding around here.”

  “You do the weeding? All I’ve seen are weeds.”

  “No, you haven’t… Sir, beg your pardon, but we are good at what we do… keep walls and weeding.” Sam was looking around as he spoke and spotted something that made him brighten. “You see, right there, sir?” He pointed a stubby little finger and walked a few steps off the path and pulled something from under a boulder overhang. Satisfied, he held up a beautiful wild rose, which appeared to be dying by his very touch, if not because it had been torn out by its root.

  “That’s a flower!” exclaimed Tony.

  Sam looked at it carefully before turning back. “No, it’s not! It’s a weed. See, it has color, so it’s a weed. And it’s covered in all these nasty, prickly… uh…”

  “Thorns,” offered Bill.

  “Yes, that’s it, thorns. Why would a flower have a thorn? This is a weed! And we pull them and burn them so they don’t spread. That’s what we do, and we are very skilled at it, we are.”

  “Well,” Tony said, indignant, “this is my land, and I am telling you that you are no longer allowed to pull up and burn flow—weeds, even weeds with thorns on them. Is that clear?”

  The two looked like they had been caught stealing from a cookie jar.

  “Are you sure?” asked Sam. “What if those weeds start taking over the land with all their nasty colors and thorns…”

  “Yes, I am sure! No more weed pulling. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” mumbled Bill. “But I’m not telling the others; no, I’m not.”

  “Others?” asked Tony. “How many of you are there?”

  “Hundreds!” responded Bill immediately. He looked up at Sam, perhaps for permission or support, but getting neither, continued, “All right, thousands; there are thousands of us.” He paused as if thinking. “To be honest, there are millions of us, pulling weeds and keeping the walls ’cause that is what we do… keep walls, millions and millions of us, weed pulling, wall-keepers.”

  “Well, I would like to meet them,” asserted Tony.

  “You can’t do that,” responded Sam, his smile smarmy and plastic.

  “Why not?”

  “Be-cause…,” Bill began, looking for a satisfactory answer. “Because we are all invisible, that’s why. Invisible! Millions of invisible weeding wall-keepers.”

  “But I can see you,” Tony observed.

  “Oh, that,” began Bill. “We didn’t have a lot of choice. When they send you to do a job, you better do what they say, or else…”

  Sam gave Bill another cuff to the back of the head and to Tony another manufactured grin.

  “Who is ‘they’?” demanded Tony.

  “Well,” returned Sam, “in every successful organization there is a chain of command who establish and encourage order. These…” He looked to Bill as if this had become some sort of training exercise.

  “Benefactors,” inserted Bill.

  “Exactly,” continued Sam. “These benefactors have asked us to fulfill the role assigned to us by our organization, to meet…” He looked again at his partner, who was nodding along as if to a script.

  “… The demands of duty and responsibility,” offered Bill.

  “Exactly,” Sam said with a nod. “To meet the demands of duty and responsibility by coming to meet you and explain the importance of your staying away from us, for your own good, of course.”

  “Keep away from you?” retorted Tony. “I want to meet your benefactors.”

  “Oh, that is not possible,” sputtered Bill, shaking his head.

  “And why not?”

  “Because… you’ll explode, that’s why not, into millions and millions of pieces. Little tiny bits of bone and flesh and disgusting stuff flying in a million directions… not pretty, well, maybe mildly pretty in a repulsive sort of way.” Bill had become quite animated, while Sam nodded knowingly, his eyes almost remorseful, his lower lip slightly aquiver.

  “I’ll explode?” exclaimed Tony. “You actually expect me to believe that nonsense? I think it is time you told me your real names.”

  The smaller looked up at the less small. “Do we have to, Swagger? I mean, tell him our real names?”

  With a look of disgust the other retorted, “You just did, you idiot! You never learn, do you?” Turning to Tony, a note of haughty superiority in his tone, he continued, “So, now you know, I am Swagger.” He bowed again ever so slightly, maintaining his arrogant air. “And this fool,” he said, tilting his head toward his companion, “is Bluster. He once was named Bluff, but he was recently demoted, and…” He leaned forward a little toward Tony as if including him in a secret before continuing, “and you can certainly understand why.”

  “Your names are Bluster and Swagger?” Tony repeated, incredulous. “That’s the silliest thing I have ever heard. Where did you get such ridiculous names?”

  “Well, from you, of course,” blurted out Bluster and promptly received another cuff on the head.

  “Shut up, you dolt,” snarled Swagger. “You just can’t keep your yap shut, can you? Ego is going to eat you for lunch, and that will be the end of…”

  “Quiet!” demanded Tony, and surprisingly they went completely silent, turning in unison to face him. Tony saw a hint of fear had replaced some of their conceited attitude. They avoided direct eye contact and glanced at the ground or one side to another. “Bluster, what do you mean that I gave you those names?”

  Bluster now shifted nervously from one foot to the other, as if pressure were building up inside him. Finally it seemed he could no longer contain himself. “You don’t recognize us, do you?”

  “Why should I? You are a ridiculous pair.”

  “But you named us, or rather, we were named after your behaviors and choices? We belong to you. We, you see, are your Bluster and your Swagger.”

  “It is true, Tony,” came the voice of Grandmother, who had suddenly appeared next to him. “They are here because you gave them a voice and a place in your soul. You thought you needed them to become successful.”

  The two were totally unaware of her presence and seemed unable to hear Grandmother when she spoke, but their nervous agitation increased. “Squatters!” stated Tony, an admission to Grandmother that he now was beginning to understand.

  “Squatte
rs?” squealed Swagger. “We are not squatters. We live here. We have a right to be here!”

  “This is my land, my property,” asserted Tony, “and I don’t…”

  “What?” howled Bluster, attempting to look larger and ferocious. “Who told you this was your property? I’ve had enough of your insolence. I’ve got a good mind to walk right over there and…”

  “And do what, exactly?” Tony demanded.

  “Well… nothing really, I was just thinking…” Bluster seemed to shrink even shorter and smaller in the face of being challenged.

  “That’s what I thought. You two are just bad breath, a waste of space, an imagination of something I thought I needed to succeed.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it? Weren’t you successful?” offered Swagger, for an instant looking up. “I mean, we did win, you and us. You owe us!” he whined, withering quickly under Tony’s gaze.

  “I owe you?” asked Tony, distraught at what he now realized. “What was winning, especially if I had to use Bluster and Swagger to succeed? If you exist because I thought I needed you, I am a greater fool than both of you put together. I didn’t need you, I needed honesty and integrity and…”

  “Weeds!” suggested Swagger.

  “What?”

  “Weeds. Honesty and integrity, them are weeds, all full of colors and thorns, wicked things.”

  “Meet the others,” encouraged Grandmother, who had remained next to him.

  “I demand you take me to the others,” Tony commanded the pair, “and don’t tell me any more nonsense about exploding.”

  “Just one small request,” groveled the less short one, barely a swagger left in his demeanor. “Would you tell Ego that you made us take you to him, that we had no choice?”

  “Ego? That’s your benefactor?” He waited until they nodded. “Ego is your boss, then?”

  “Yeah,” admitted Bluster. “He’s stronger than we are and tells us what to do. He is not going to be happy about us bringing you to meet him. He reports direct to the big boss… Oops.” He grimaced, waiting for another hit alongside the head, but Swagger had withdrawn in resigned caution.

  “And who is that big boss?” asked Tony.

  A sly grin passed across Bluster’s face. “Why, you are. Mr. Anthony Spencer, the sorry owner of this excuse for a piece of land, you are the big boss here. I’d watch myself around you, I would. Heartless and conniving, that one.”

  Tony couldn’t tell if this creature was insulting him directly or not, but it didn’t matter. He was done with this conversation and waved them back toward the place they had come from, following with Grandmother at his side.

  As they descended, the path became increasingly rocky and unkempt, the passing made difficult by fallen trees and boulders that looked as if they had been sown indiscriminately by some giant hand. The trail branched and Tony glanced to his right down the path the two had not taken, spotting a distant building standing alone. It was a thick windowless block almost indiscernible against the rock wall into which it appeared embedded.

  “Hey, what’s that place?” He stopped, pointing in its direction.

  “Oh, Mr. Spencer, you don’t want nothing to do with that place,” proclaimed Swagger, continuing his pace. “Best you keep away from there. Bad enough we are taking you to meet the boss.”

  “Just tell me what it is,” demanded Tony.

  “It’s a temple,” stated Bluster over his shoulder, and then laughed as if heckling. “You should know, you should. You built it. You worship there.”

  “That’s enough,” growled Swagger as he quickened his stride down the path the two had chosen.

  “How odd… a temple?” mused Tony. Whatever it was, it would have to wait, and he soon caught up to the short-legged duo. The smell that had wrinkled his nose earlier now became a stench of rotting eggs, and Tony breathed through his mouth to keep from gagging. Along with the stagnant reek, his sense of isolation and desolation grew with each step and he was grateful for Grandmother’s presence. She silently walked beside him and seemed unfazed by any of these strange events.

  Rounding a bend in the trail, Tony stopped, stunned. Not fifty yards from where he stood huddled a cluster of buildings of various quality and miscalculated dimensions. A couple of hundred yards beyond these rose the base of the towering rock walls marking the farthest boundary of the property that until now he had seen only from a distance. He had paid little attention to the stone edifice when he first entered, but now he was close enough to appreciate how the enclosure was constructed. It appeared fashioned from gigantic boulders fitted together with care and precision, impenetrable and rising hundreds of feet into the air before disappearing into a bank of accumulating low-lying clouds.

  A tall, thin fellow emerged from one of the structures. He looked odd, as if he were built disproportionately. Something was off, and Tony almost wanted to look at him sideways to see him better. It was his head, considerably larger than it should have been in relation to the rest of his body, his eyes a little too small and his mouth a little too wide. A thick layer of makeup, like flesh-colored paste, had been applied to his face.

  “Mr. Spencer, good of you to come to my ever-humble abode. I am forever your servant.” He grinned obsequiously, his voice decadent and smooth like chocolate syrup. As he spoke, the makeup on his face drooped, hanging loosely but not quite falling off. In the spaces that separated, Tony could see what looked to be ugly dark bruises. Tony felt a rush of sickening arrogance, as if he were standing in the presence of someone totally self-absorbed.

  “You must be Ego,” stated Tony.

  “You know my name? Well, then, I am Ego, at your service, I’m sure.” He bowed deeply. “I am rather surprised to see you here.” He shot a look of barely masked contempt toward the duo who had escorted Tony. “I’ll reward you two later,” he growled.

  They both cowered, seeming to shrink even shorter. Not much swagger or bluster remained in the presence of their superior. Nearly a dozen odd-looking creatures gathered in tangled clusters near the buildings, watching him.

  “Why do you exist?” asked Tony, more a demand than a question.

  “Why, to help you make decisions,” responded Ego, a look of cunning sliding across his broken face. “I remind you of how important you are, how necessary you are for the success of those who feed off you, how much they are in your debt. I help you keep score of the ways they have offended you and the mistakes they have made that cost you. It is my job to whisper in your ear that it is you who counts in the world. Mr. Spencer, you are a very important man, and everyone loves, admires, and respects you.”

  “That isn’t true,” snapped Tony. “And I don’t really deserve their respect or admiration.”

  “Oh, Mr. Spencer, it pains me to hear you say such nonsense. You deserve all that, and more. Look at all you have done for those people; the least they could do for you is to acknowledge your efforts on their behalf. They owe you that much, at least. You’re not asking for the world. Just a little recognition, that’s all. Your employees would be out of a job if it were not for you. Your partners would be working manual labor if it were not for your superior skills. And still they talk behind your back and plot ways to wrest your authority away from you. They don’t understand you. They don’t see you as the gift that you are. It hurts me to even think about it!” He put his hand to his immense forehead, as if mortally wounded, a look pitiable and sad.

  Tony had voiced these thoughts only to himself. They contained a self-fueling logic, tapping into resentments and bitterness that he now recognized lay behind many of his actions. Confrontation with his own damaged ego was ugly and distorted. “I don’t want to be like that anymore!”

  “Mr. Spencer, there is exactly a perfect example why you are such a great man. Listen to the authenticity of your confession. Well done! God must truly be pleased with a follower like you who is so humble and contrite, so willing to lay down self and choose a different path. I am honored to be your friend, to call yo
u brother.”

  “You are not my brother!” Tony exclaimed curtly. Tony struggled for words. Wasn’t Ego right? Didn’t God want Tony to change? To repent? But Ego’s words had a hint of ugly and wrong, almost like Tony’s old agenda was being replaced with a newer one, perhaps shinier, prettier, and more self-righteous. But underneath there was always an expectation, sometimes obvious, often hidden, but always still an agenda, the same performance-based agenda.

  “I know what you are,” Tony declared. “You are just some uglier and maybe even more honest form of myself!”

  “Mr. Spencer, you are right as usual. You must die to yourself, put others and their concerns and issues in place of your own needs and desires and wants. Selfless love, that is the utmost and most beautiful sacrifice and one that God would be greatly pleased with. You must crucify the self, die to self, and put God on the throne of your life. You must decrease so that he”—he pointed up with a skinny finger—“can increase.”

  “I suppose, I mean, that sounds right, I guess?” Doubt clouded Tony’s thinking and his heart was unquiet. He glanced at Grandmother, who looked directly at him but remained stoic and silent. Her eyes were affectionate and assured him she would not abandon him, but her manner told him this was his fight. Tony was irritated by Grandmother’s lack of involvement. How could she just stand there and do nothing? He was hardly prepared to deal with this.

  “Of course, you are right, Mr. Spencer, as you usually are. Look no further than the example that Jesus set. He gave his self a ransom for us all. He became nothing so you could become everything. Don’t you see, that is what he wants, for you to become like he is, free.” Ego yelled the word, and it echoed off the stone towering overhead. He danced in a slow circle, raising his arms slowly and dropping them while in a singsong voice he declared, “Free! Free to choose. Free to love and live and let live, free to pursue happiness, free from societal and family bonds, free to do whatever you want because you are free!”