As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  No? Ok. I’m thankful you humor me. Well, I piqued your interest at least, I guess. Anyways, I rushed to the kitchen to see if the man was still around. I didn’t see him at first when I pushed open the door. A woman with tomato sauce splattered across her apron asked me rudely what I was doing. I asked about the man with the crippled hand, aware that my blunt request might be inappropriate, but caring little nonetheless. She told me he had just left for the day and that customers were not allowed in the kitchen.

  So, I went to go find my wife. I pocketed the marble. You would think I might feel some small kernel of guilt at taking what was not mine, but I doubted anybody was going to miss it, and for some reason I felt my purpose, though I did not know what that was at the time, was somehow beyond reproach, perhaps even noble. Of course, I did not tell my wife – not yet. I needed some time to test this and be certain I was not just experiencing some trick of the mind wrought by the taxation of hours of shopping combined with a particularly gritty cup of joe.

  Believe it or not, I actually forgot about it until a few days later when I was sitting in an extremely boring meeting at work. I was wearing the same pants I wore that weekend out shopping and, would you believe it, the marble stayed in the pocket despite a run through the washer. I was fishing in my pocket for a piece of candy to help keep me awake when my fingers happened upon the glass ball. I pulled it out and placed it surreptitiously between my fingers on the table before me. I know what you are thinking – here comes the crazy part again. Well, you are right. No sooner did I begin to gently roll the ball between my fingers than the image of the same crippled man appeared within the orb. It gave me a bit of a start and I lost control of the marble. To my horror, it rolled across the table with quite a racket – enough to make the president pause mid-speech and take note of the disruption. The spectacle ended when it reached the other end of the table and one of my co-workers caught it and slipped it in his pocket. After an uncomfortable silence and not a few disapproving looks directed toward me, the president continued his monotonous lecture.

  Now pay attention. This is quite an extraordinary story and this is an important part. You see, after the meeting convened and we all began to shuffle out, my co-worker touched my arm and extended an open hand. He offered my marble and I accepted with slight embarrassment. True, I knew I was not in a position to go asking odd questions, but I could not resist. So, I asked him if he had noticed anything unusual about the marble. Did he just see clear glass, or was there something else inside? He gave me a funny look and simply replied, “Just glass.”

  So, don’t you see? I saw something twice now, but he didn’t see anything. I rushed back to my office and sat down behind my desk. I had a lot of work to get done, but the marble consumed my thoughts. I held it up in front of me and once again the image appeared. I stared at it for some time and then it struck me – could I control the image? I focused on the small picture and tried hard to make it move a certain way. It was futile, and I eventually gave up. The more I stared at the image, though, the more I started to feel some kind of connection with the man. I began to think about how difficult his life must have been and how shameful it must be to be stuck wiping down tables for the rest of his life. The thought started to grow on me and I began pulling the marble out every now and then to think about the man who I saw from a distance for only a minute, yet who I felt like I knew as an acquaintance. I began to hope that he would get better somehow or at least catch a break in life one way or another.

  Well, I can’t say I didn’t feel a bit silly about secretly carrying on this way, but I could not stop. It had become an important matter for me. I even considered going back to the department store to try to find the man. Would you believe it, though? I didn’t have to.

  My company was holding interviews for an administrative position and I was the selecting official. The economy was not so hot then and jobs were scarce, so I had many interviews to sit through. I tried to keep a positive attitude, but the process was really wearing me down. Just when I thought the interviews were finally complete, my assistant told me there was one more walk-in. I sighed and motioned for her to send him in. Now you know who walked through that door, don’t you?

  That’s right! But you don’t sound convinced. I’m telling you it’s true! That man with the deformed hand walked sheepishly up to my desk and introduced himself. He fumbled a bit with a confused look on his face until I realized I was just staring at him with my mouth wide open. I apologized and flipped through his resume. He seemed to have put some effort into it, though he lacked much previous experience and obviously would be relegated to typing with just one hand. I’ll tell you honestly I wanted to give him the job, but I knew that desire came from my obsession with the marble and my desperate hope that this man’s unexpected appearance was somehow connected to it, you know, somehow meant to be.

  I asked him to wait a moment and I went to find my assistant. I explained the situation, excepting the bit about the marble of course, and told her I really wished there was some way we could honestly choose him. I covered my interest by claiming sympathy for his handicap alone. To my surprised delight, my assistant informed me that by law, special exceptions for previous experience could be made for handicapped persons – it was an equal opportunity measure. That is why she is my assistant. She is quite brilliant, don’t you agree?

  Anyways, I stormed joyfully back into the office and hired the man on the spot. He was quite pleased and so was I. I made a passing remark about not having to wipe down tables anymore and his countenance suddenly changed. I immediately understood my insight into his life must have shocked him, so I told him I wanted to show him something I thought he would find quite fascinating. I walked back around my desk to the drawer where I had taken up the habit of storing the marble. Wouldn’t you know it? I pulled the drawer open and the marble was gone!

  I rummaged through the drawer and could not find it. I told the man I would show him later and dismissed him with a pat on the back and instructions for reporting to work. Now you may think me obsessive, and in fact I have inherited some of that trait from my progenitors, but I spent the rest of the afternoon turning my office inside-out in search of the glass ball. It was to no avail and my assistant, the only other person to have entered my office all day, denied any knowledge of the seemingly inconsequential trinket. In fact, she started to grow concerned that I was taking the matter too seriously.

  What? Oh, no. I did not find it, not exactly.

  Well, you are right. I am holding it right now. But just temper your curiosity for a moment. There is a bit more to tell before I get to that part.

  Days passed and my obsession abated to a small degree. I learned of a new job opening at one of the company’s other locations out west. The position offered better pay and would be a step up the old corporate ladder for me. So, I flew out for the interview.

  I entered the contemporary glass building in my finest suit and made my way to the vice president’s office. His room was magnificent – three times the size of my office and adorned with the finest decorations. I thought the interview went quite well. As he was bidding me farewell and explaining the timeline for informing me of his decision, I caught a glint on the floor near my feet where the golden rays of the sun cast a warm glow on the burgundy carpet. It was another glass marble, identical to the first. Forgetting myself, I bent to pick it up and fully expected it to be the lost orb. But it was not. In it I saw the very building I was in.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I remembered the man I was trying to impress was watching me patiently, “Is this yours?”

  He declined ownership and I gathered up the gall to ask him if he saw anything unusual in the ball. He replied in the negative once more and offered with a touch of patronization if I would like to keep the marble. I apologized and paid my respects, but did pocket the marble as I left.

  Those sitting next to me on the flight home must have thought me odd as I gazed into the bauble the whole way home. This tim
e, I could not hold back my enthusiasm and decided to show my wife. Perhaps she would see something and, if not, at least I could share my story and ask her if she felt I needed medical attention.

  I see you are smiling. You understand, then – wives are the best of friends. Anyways, my wife did see something in the marble. I told her I saw the building. I explained how much I wanted the job. I also told her what I had deduced based on my first experience with these mysterious orbs. If I focused my thoughts on the image and wished for what I wanted, it would eventually come true.

  She could not deny the sparse experiential evidence I had, but she would not whole-heartedly side with my view. You see, her vision in the marble was different. She tried to see the building, but instead claimed all she could see were billows of smoke and occasional flashes of light. Granted, she took a more pragmatic approach to my job opportunity. Despite my urgings for her to hope strongly for the new job, she felt it would be wiser to hope instead for the best outcome, whether that meant getting the new job or just staying where we were.

  A week later, I received the phone call I was waiting for. To my despair, I would not get the promotion. I was crushed. I really thought the marble would work its magic. As I drove home, I started to believe the fault must be my wife’s. She did not wish hard enough. She spoiled the miracle. I became even more angry when I asked for the marble and she could not find it. I thought she must be hiding it from me and a terrible exchange of unkind words followed. We lived for a few days without saying a word to each other. I brooded over my wife’s complicity and she grew cold with indignation.

  Then that Friday my boss called an emergency meeting and gathered all the company leadership in the conference room.

  “I have grave news for our team,” he said solemnly. “I regret to inform you that the building housing our sister branch burned to the ground this morning. Someone left a coffee maker unattended and it started a blaze that spread quickly throughout the building.”

  I was shocked. We were all shocked, but I more so, because I realized immediately what this meant. My wife was right. She had saved us. While I hoped desperately for what would bring me material gain, my wife hoped for what would be best, even if at first it did not appear to be best.

  Well, of course! What kind of a husband do you think I am? I bought a bunch of tulips, her favorite flower, and came home humbly seeking her mercy. She is a great woman, though. You would think she would at least take a moment to gloat over her victory, but instead she rushed up to me, hugged me and explained how grateful she was that I was not in that building.

  We enjoyed that evening together, wholly ignorant of the fact that we had spent the better part of the week at silent war with each other.

  So now we began to conspire and attempt to work out this odd trend. We came to the conclusion that the marbles must come one by one. That, after all, had been our limited experience. Wouldn’t you know it, though, we were wrong. It seems the more we paid attention to the oddity, the more the mysterious balls began to pop up here and there. Now, my wife began to find them as well. Sometimes we could tell exactly what we needed to focus on, but other times we really couldn’t tell. We would just have to look at the image and hope for the best outcome.

  Ok, so there is just one more part I want to share with you. Do you have the time?

  Great.

  My wife and I had to get a container for our marbles. It was getting hard to keep track of them all and we were spending at least a good half hour every night picking through them and directing our thoughts into them. It was time consuming, but we were seeing results and it really was fascinating. We started wondering if anyone else had discovered this unusual phenomenon, but neither of us had the courage to ask any of our friends.

  Then one day I caught one of my co-workers during a business lunch. Several of us were eating together and I noticed he dropped out of the conversation for a bit. He seemed self-absorbed and that’s when I noticed he was gazing into a little glass marble held concealed between his fingers. I leaned forward and asked him what he was doing. He started and closed his fist around the marble. He claimed he wasn’t doing anything, so I told him I knew. He looked at me oddly at first, and it struck me I might be on the verge of making a fool of myself. Nonetheless, I pressed on.

  Be patient! Of course he saw something in it. Now you’ve gone and spoiled the telling of the story. Well anyways, we walked back to the office together and had quite the discussion along the way. Seems he has been doing this for years. When we returned to work and parted for our respective offices, he held out his hand and offered the marble. I declined because I knew how much thought and time can go into one of these amazing orbs. He insisted and I wondered if perhaps this was a problematic marble. My inquisitiveness got the better of me, though, and I reached out to take the ball between my fingers. Now would you believe it? As I lifted the ball from the palm of his hand, it stayed right there. How can I explain this? You see, it stayed in his hand, but also remained in my grasp as I withdrew my hand. Like a cell splitting, it duplicated itself. He seemed surprised that I did not know this was commonplace. Apparently you can share these magnificent marbles with as many people as you like. Mind you, though, they have to be believers. They have to understand there is more to these things than first meets the eye.

  I took it home and shared it with my wife. It worked, of course. Now, you may catch me fiddling with a marble in restaurants or at work. It is almost like a code word for others who know. They see and then we can share with each other.

  No! Good Lord no! It is far more than a collection for collection’s sake. I do believe I am doing something good for the world by practicing this eccentric hobby. It takes time and effort and often the benefit goes to others. Collections are focused on self, where this is focused mainly on others.

  So, what do you think? Have I lost my marbles?

  I know, bad joke.

  Oh yes! You are right. I did promise I would go back to the man with the crippled hand. You did see him, right? He was at the desk on the left when you walked into the office. Well, there is not much more to explain, really. I found a marble again in the office. It had his image in it and a boy standing with him. I made an attempt one day to inquire innocently about the welfare of his family, which I am ashamed to say I did not do prior to being cajoled by this marble. His countenance sagged and he admitted his son was going through a difficult time with his health. He has some form of cancer. The doctors are hopeful, but can you imagine? So this one gets much of my attention these days.

  Now anyways, you did not answer my question. Do you believe me, or do you think I am just pulling your leg? Be honest.

  Well now, that’s not such a bad idea. But you realize if you don’t truly believe, it won’t split and all you will see as you gaze into it is clear glass.

  Ok, then. Let’s see. Here you go…

  Insight

  The idea for this story came from a random picture – some slide our pastor was using as part of his message. It had a round drop of dew on it with some bucolic image reflected within. It was small and just a decorative image on the side of the slide – I do not even remember the content or message of the slide because the image sent my imagination churning. I mulled over the idea of images in a clear orb and came up with the pretense for this story. Perhaps because I was in church, the foundational idea struck me. Think back over the details related by the teller. Can you see how they mirror the costumed subject of this story – prayer? As for the point of view, I thought it would be fun to try something different, and I felt putting it in the setting of a person speaking directly to you would help to convey his enthusiasm over his unusual experience and his hesitation in sharing it with others. Perhaps you found him responding to your thoughts and mental questions? This was part of the intent as well.

  SOMETHING LEFT BEHIND

  Tobo tightened the straps on his little rucksack and leaped off the concrete roadway onto the packed dirt path leading into the
dense summer forest covering the looming mountainsides all around him. The path began its serpentine climb alongside a tiny mountain brook babbling among shiny wet rocks and fallen tree limbs. The early morning sunlight pierced the leafy canopy overhead and dappled the rocky hillside with shifting patterns of soft, warm light.

  He always enjoyed his early morning hikes up the mountains. If he cast his eyes back from where he had come, towering apartment buildings and bustling streets would frame the view into the broad valley floor. So much of the country was becoming urbanized. He was thankful the government set aside a few areas like this as parks for the preservation of nature and enjoyment of the citizens.

  He spent much of the morning exploring branches and side trails, investigating enormous rocks hanging dangerously over steep precipices and enjoying distant views of his city from several diverse vantage points. After a brief lunch of crusty bread, cheese and a long rice roll, he decided to tackle the highest peak in the park. It was capped with rounded, oblong sandstone humps towering above the tree line like a gathering of balding mountain ogres.

  Tobo dipped through a little saddle between mountains and passed a spring where several old men in ragged vests and multi-pocketed slacks idled over small bottles of rice wine and listened to their generation’s preferred musical accompaniment of longing voices set to swelling synthesizer tunes. Tobo was not native to this land. He had family here and visited often, but could only speak the language like a three year old and bore the features of a foreigner. The wrinkled men gave him a nod as he passed. They were the last humans he saw on the mountain that day. Only the adventurous climbed higher.