Lawrence Buentello<\/p>\n
The accident happened not long after he left the city limits, and it was certainly not his fault; the vehicle that forced his bicycle from the road had to be moving at well over a hundred and fifty miles an hour.<\/p>\n
Norman had been traveling at perhaps twenty miles an hour himself on the straightaway, enjoying the easy motion of the pedals beneath his feet, the warm May sunshine loosening the muscles in his back, so when the vehicle passed him so very closely — he only got a fleeting glimpse of it, a streamlined fiberglass body set upon a low-framed chassis equipped with an enormous engine rising like a chromed mountain from an aperture in the hood — he immediately oversteered the bicycle and turned directly onto the rocky shoulder. As the bicycle seat ratcheted beneath him he tried desperately to apply the brakes to avoid a painful fall, but despite his efforts he found himself flying freely from the road and onto the thick grass bordering the rocky shoulder.<\/p>\n
Upon examining himself after he stood, and realizing he wasn\u2019t injured, just decorated by grass stains and hayseed, he dusted his short trousers and walked to where his bicycle had come to rest. The vehicle that ran him off the road was long out of sight, having left only a cloud of dust as an artifact of its passing. He sighed, reserving his ire for another time, and lifted the bicycle to see if it had suffered any damage.<\/p>\n
The bicycle was in perfect condition, save for a pitifully flat front tire.<\/p>\n
Of course, he carried patches for just such an occasion, but when he bent to examine the puncture he discovered the tread to be quite shredded, and the tube beneath irreparably torn.<\/p>\n
Now how will I finish my circuit? he thought, quite annoyed that some careless joy-rider had so blithely forced him into this predicament. Like so many others, his life was filled with unavoidable responsibilities that kept him from the truly important pursuits in life; and for Norman, this meant the one day of the weekend he could roll his traveling companion from its stand in the garage and embark on another wonderful open-road adventure.<\/p>\n
Some people devoted their free time to collecting stamps; others, to baking exotic cookies. Norman devoted his free time to turning pedals with his feet. And he was a serious devotee.<\/p>\n
He stood for a moment, gazing from one terminus of the road to the other, hoping to see a vehicle passing his way that might ferry him to a repair shop, but the road was empty. Its grand isolation was the reason why he wanted to cycle over it in the first place; now it seemed to represent the source of endless difficulty.<\/p>\n
Undaunted, and still determined to finish his circuit, he gripped the handlebars and began walking the bicycle down the shoulder of the road. Surely some friendly motorist would be along to offer him a ride.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately, after an hour of walking he failed to see anyone else passing on either side of the road.<\/p>\n
He secretly began hoping for a reappearance of the rocket-car that had caused the accident; perhaps its driver would realize the extent of the damage he\u2019d inflicted and offer to drive him — at an extreme rate of speed — to an appropriate place of repair.<\/p>\n
After a while, thirsty and weary of pushing the bicycle, he happened to see a strange sight in the field to his right.<\/p>\n
A lone figure sat on a chair in the grass before an unknown wooden shape. A table stood at his right hand bearing a tall pitcher and a glass.<\/p>\n
He guided the bicycle from the rocky shoulder and walked it toward the solitary figure, which was no easy feat through the tall grass. When he was near enough he realized the man, much older than himself and adorned with a grizzled white beard and dusty top hat, was sitting before an open coffin. Since there were no graveyards to be seen anywhere in the vicinity, it struck him as a little odd that a man should be sitting in a grassy field minding a coffin.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello,\u201d he said in the way of an introduction, \u201cmy name is Norman, and I\u2019m in need of a new front tire and tube.\u201d<\/p>\n
The grizzled man in the top hat stared at him wordlessly. Thin and pale, even in the sun, he held his thin arms across himself, one leg thrown over the other, as if embracing a body that was slowly vanishing from starvation.<\/p>\n
The man finally said, \u201cMy name is Hervovich.\u201d He glanced at the damaged front tire. \u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019m not very good at repairs, my young friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought not. But you seem well-positioned, so I thought you might know of someone who could be of assistance.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps the old farmer who lives a couple of miles down the road can assist you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes he repair bicycles?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps. I\u2019ve never had to ask him to repair one, but I do know he\u2019s quite an inventor. He\u2019s produced any number of marvelous contraptions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll seek him out, then. Thank you for the suggestion.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was about to turn back toward the road, but then reconsidered.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould it be asking too much if I had a drink of water from your pitcher?\u201d he asked. \u201cIt would certainly assist me on my journey.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d Hervovich said, \u201chelp yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
He did, and was grateful. But as he set the glass back on the table he couldn\u2019t help appraising the coffin behind the man named Hervovich.<\/p>\n
\u201cI see you admiring my coffin.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t so much admiring it as noticing it. But it\u2019s no business of mine, so I\u2019ll take my leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not curious as to why I\u2019m sitting next to a coffin?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wouldn\u2019t want to be rude.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be rude to ask about it. Indicative of a curious nature, but hardly rude.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, sir, why are you sitting beside a coffin?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is my home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou live in a coffin?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut aren\u2019t coffins only for the dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI would say that coffins are primarily<\/em> for the dead, but not exclusively.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt seems a small space in which to live.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIndeed. And yet, it satisfies my needs, such as they are.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuch as they are,\u201d Norman repeated, though he wondered what these needs might really be.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd when the time comes for me to die, I certainly won\u2019t have to travel far.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI wouldn\u2019t imagine you would.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I see by the expression on your face that you disagree.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t disagree, exactly. I just find it difficult to believe you\u2019re really comfortable living in a coffin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re disturbed by the symbolism of the act, my son. You needn\u2019t be. I\u2019m perfectly happy. Would you care to sit with me for a moment to discuss cosmogony?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, thank you. I really must seek repairs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d love to share my experiences with you. I\u2019ve been around the world, you know, I\u2019ve spoken to kings and princes, and a couple of popes. I\u2019ve dined with Communists and Industrialists. Everyone, it seems, has a unique interpretation of life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you all the same.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery person is a mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n Norman nodded, realizing that some mysteries were never meant to be solved. More to the point, he was anxious to find the old farmer to see if he could provide a new tire and tube so Norman could continue his circuit through the country. He was a man of definitive priorities.<\/p>\n He turned away from Hervovich, and Hervovich\u2019s coffin, and walked back to the shoulder of the road.<\/p>\n After pushing the bicycle another couple of miles he saw a distant farmhouse on the other side of the road.<\/p>\n After carefully scanning both horizons — no vehicles had yet to pass — he pushed the bicycle across the asphalt toward the dwelling.<\/p>\n This was no ordinary farmhouse; an odd, spiraling metal tower rose from behind a barn, and several bizarre metal sculptures stood rusting in the grass bordering the pathway to the house. On the porch stood a myriad of devices, some machines standing on spindly legs, some simply taking up space as ugly, squat boxes. A few of these devices hummed hypnotically, a mystical mechanical language that wasn\u2019t altogether unpleasant. But he had business to attend to, so he set the kickstand of his bicycle and knocked loudly on the door.<\/p>\n An old man answered his entreaty — undoubtedly the old man of Hervovich\u2019s account — but so bent and feeble-appearing Norman thought this caricature might topple of its own accord. But the old man remained upright. He stared at Norman with clear, gray eyes, wiped his hairless head with a cloth and asked his business.<\/p>\n \u201cMy name is Norman,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\u2019m in need of a new front tire and tube.\u201d<\/p>\n The old man closed one eye and regarded the bicycle with the other. Then he regarded Norman.<\/p>\n \u201cGently is my name,\u201d he said in a papery voice, \u201cand inventing is my raison d\u2019etre. But I didn\u2019t invent the bicycle, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n Simply by appearances Norman considered this a decided possibility, though he made no cynical remark to that end.<\/p>\n Instead he said, \u201cYou seem to have acquired a great variety of materials. Perhaps you have a spare tire lying around?\u201d<\/p>\n The old man waved his cloth at Norman, grinning without teeth. Ordinarily such a display might seem unnerving, but as an expression from Mr. Gently it seemed strangely comforting.<\/p>\n \u201cI have<\/em> accumulated a great many materials,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\u2019ve probably forgotten more of them than I remember having. It\u2019s entirely possible I may have a spare bicycle tire on the premises.\u201d<\/p>\n Hearing this, Norman was filled with elation, and hopeful that his circuit might continue in short order.<\/p>\n The old man led him to the barn which, upon opening its doors, he revealed as a repository for a remarkable array of items, spools of wire, tubing, sheet metal, rubber gaskets, nuts, bolts and tools hung on hooks above several work tables. In the gloomy light that fell from the spaces between the slats the old man began searching through the piles of material. But after nearly an hour he failed to find anything even resembling a bicycle tire or inner tube.<\/p>\n Gently turned to Norman and shrugged.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t have what you\u2019re searching for,\u201d he said, wiping his forehead with the cloth.<\/p>\n Norman, emotionally deflated, nodded his understanding.<\/p>\n \u201cI thank you for looking, anyway,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you happen to know of anyone else along the road that might be able to help?\u201d<\/p>\n As they reached the door the old man paused to ponder the question.<\/p>\n \u201cI believe there\u2019s a small general store some five miles down,\u201d he said, \u201cto the north as the birds fly. A man named Sal owns the place. He might have what you need.\u201d<\/p>\n Norman, his spirits lifted by this news, patted the old man\u2019s shoulder in thanks. But as he turned he noticed a strange device to the left of the door, a whirring cabinet on beautifully carved mahogany legs bearing a blackish mirror above a set of glassine controls. He studied this device for a moment, then asked, \u201cWhat is this machine?\u201d<\/p>\n The old man smiled and hurried to the console.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m so happy you noticed,\u201d he said, slowly turning a dial between aged fingers. \u201cNot many people have been privileged to see this wonderful invention.\u201d<\/p>\n Norman, anxious to be on his way, reluctantly stepped toward the console and asked, \u201cWhat does it do?\u201d<\/p>\n The old man said, \u201cIt is a device that translates the music of the stars.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI beg your pardon?\u201d<\/p>\n The old man rotated another dial, and a thin spectrographic stream of colors shone, dancing on the blackish mirror.<\/p>\n \u201cYou see, each star produces its own energetic field. Our own sun is the loudest of these voices in our skies, but the stars, too, produce enough unique energy for this device to translate it into music.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow is that possible?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt does seem magical, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, but what does the music of the stars sound like?\u201d<\/p>\n The old man closed his eyes, perhaps recalling the experience in his memories. \u201cIt is the most beautiful sound you may ever hear,\u201d he said, \u201cor ever hope to hear. It is so beautiful a sound that I can only imagine it\u2019s the voices of angels that I hear, and not the energetic pulses of the heavenly bodies. Listen to this recording I made.\u201d<\/p>\n Gently opened his eyes and turned another dial and the barn filled with a strange, low, melodic thrumming that seemed more a chant of perfect voices than an electromagnetic pulse. Norman was struck by the esthetic intensity of the sound, and watched the same band of colors dance wildly on the mirror. The music seemed to fill his very soul with an incredible peace and serenity. Then the old man turned a dial and silenced the extraordinary melody.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it not the most beautiful sound you\u2019ve ever heard? And this was only Alpha Centauri. Betelgeuse is ten times lovelier still!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt is exceptional,\u201d he said, turning away. \u201cI congratulate you on your ingenuity. But I really must be going.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWouldn\u2019t you like to stay the evening?\u201d the old man asked. \u201cOnce the stars emerge in full, you would be audience to the greatest performance in nature.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI thank you for the offer, but I\u2019m afraid I have more important things to accomplish today.\u201d<\/p>\n And so he retrieved his bicycle, assumed his position on the rocky shoulder and began walking toward the promised general store, leaving the old man to enjoy the fruits of his remarkable invention.<\/p>\n The next five miles were long and tiring, as the birds fly — and they actually did<\/em> fly above him, incredibly large, monstrous black birds with fiery gimlet eyes, perhaps watching for signs of a debilitating fatigue — but he managed the entire way without flagging. He still failed to see any traffic in either direction, which would have made for splendid cycling, but which did little else but encourage a lonely feeling to blossom inside his heart. It was surely a waste of good asphalt, he decided.<\/p>\n Sal\u2019s General Store appeared as a sanctuary on the horizon, a beautifully rustic building with dusty windows and splintering gray posts supporting a slanted shingled overhang. Though not very modern, it did possess a unique charm that invited him to brace his bicycle against the skirt of the porch and enter through the front door as if he were a friend, nay, a beloved relation come a very long way to visit.<\/p>\n The store was unoccupied by people, though overcrowded with shelves veritably dripping with a wondrous array of commercial articles for purchase. He tried to find bicycle repair equipment in the mass of items, but was so overwhelmed by the number of shelves, boxes and unmarked containers that he reconsidered and decided to wait for assistance.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d he called loudly, hoping he wasn\u2019t disturbing a family meal or some other ritual practice. \u201cIs anyone here?\u201d<\/p>\n The shadows of the room now seemed less welcoming and more ominous. He waited, listening to odd, muted sounds ticking about the hidden recesses of the store\u2019s goods. It was then he heard a low, rumbling growl, as if something — some large entity — had voiced its disapproval. For some reason he shivered, though he was certain the sound must only be a cantankerous air pocket in the plumbing.<\/p>\n Presently a stout, grinning man in coveralls emerged from the shadows, wiping his hands with a cloth and appraising Norman with an indecipherable expression. His short stature and long, black beard gave him the appearance of a woodland gnome. Well-muscled, he walked toward Norman flexing his biceps as he pocketed the cloth.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, hello,\u201d the man said in a booming, basso voice. \u201cHave you come to see the beast?\u201d<\/p>\n Norman blinked several times before recovering his senses; something in the statement, combined with the terrible vocalization he\u2019d heard, threw all purpose from his thoughts.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d he said, \u201cI don\u2019t know anything about a beast. Are you Sal?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am indeed. I was just feeding the monster. A terrible chore, that. It\u2019s a messy eater.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure. Mr. Gently suggested I visit your store as I might find the items for which I\u2019m searching.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd what items are you searching for?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI had an accident a few miles down the road and ruined my front bicycle tire and tube. Would you happen to have any cycling gear for sale?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRun off the road, I\u2019ll wager. Were you a victim of the speedster?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe speedster?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s rumored that he — or she — installed an aircraft engine onto an experimental dragster and speeds down the road as part of some vehicle-centered religious ritual. I\u2019ve never seen it myself, but have spoken to many victims of his — or her — exuberance. They, too, were searching for items of repair.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen you have such items?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbsolutely,\u201d Sal replied, gesturing toward the overloaded shelves. \u201cI have most anything you could imagine. What\u2019s the model of your bicycle?\u201d<\/p>\n To his great relief, Sal was able to locate the very items for which Norman was in need. He paid the merchant with the money from his sock — always be prepared for every eventuality, was his personal motto — and retreated outside to begin repairing his suffering racer.<\/p>\n In a few minutes the old tire and tube were lying in the grass, and the new tube and tire were firmly affixed to the rim.<\/p>\n As Norman knelt next to the bicycle, vigorously working his air pump, the stout man walked down the steps of the porch and studied his efforts.<\/p>\n \u201cYou must really love cycling,\u201d Sal said, his hands crowning his hips. He stared up at the sun, which was now falling lower to the horizon, then again on Norman. \u201cTo risk so much. Is it a great thrill?\u201d<\/p>\n Norman gazed up, smiling. \u201cIt is the most exhilarating experience I know,\u201d he said. \u201cNothing compares.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing at all?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbsolutely nothing.\u201d Norman ceased pumping, believing the tire was full up. He meditated on the notion a moment, then added, \u201cI can honestly say that there\u2019s nothing in this universe I find more fulfilling than mounting this bicycle and pedaling down the open road, mile after mile in reverie. The world and all its concerns vanish and I\u2019m alone with only one purpose, one focus, one thought. I am the machine itself, acquiring the miles and nothing else. It\u2019s the one thing I have that gives my life meaning.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDoesn\u2019t that become a bit monotonous after a while?\u201d<\/p>\n Norman frowned. \u201cWhile there is a quality of monotony about it, I find that very monotony to be part of its glory.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, of course by nature it\u2019s experiential.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMeaning?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I don\u2019t have to think about anything else but that single exercise of body in motion. Except,\u201d he said, grinning, \u201cwhen something horrendous interrupts the journey.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a beautiful experience.\u201d<\/p>\n Sal nodded, though his expression remained impenetrable.<\/p>\n \u201cWhile you\u2019re here, though,\u201d the gnomish man said, \u201cwould you like to see the beast? Most people do. It\u2019s a spectacular sight, and there\u2019s no charge.\u201d<\/p>\n Norman stood, dusting his trousers.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is no normal beast?\u201d<\/p>\n Sal laughed. \u201cI should say not.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere did it come from?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt surely came from some dark cavern of the Earth, or perhaps even another dimension! Its head bears two faces, its claws are black and glistening as onyx, its snouts each possess three rows of teeth, all jagged and spiked. During the day it growls with a human vitriol, but at night it sings a siren song that would lull you to its jaws if it weren\u2019t locked in a special pen of my own construction. Occasionally it rises on two legs and paces the pen, watching the landscape like a demon awaiting escape. And its hide is replete with hairs that glow with a hypnotizing light, a sheen that creates dazzling images across its body when it flexes or turns. And if you stare into its eyes a moment too long it will read your thoughts and sing to you in your own voice, recalling every lovely memory you own in an attempt to lure you near its unforgiving jaws. It is a most remarkable sight, one you may never see again in your life!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI believe that it well may be,\u201d Norman said as he guided a leg over the bicycle\u2019s frame and took his seat. \u201cBut I\u2019m afraid I have very little time left to complete my circuit. Perhaps I\u2019ll be back along this road one day.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you certain?\u201d Sal said. \u201cIt would only take a few minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll have to decline the invitation. But thank you for your assistance in getting me back on the road.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you absolutely certain? It\u2019s quite a sight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, no.\u201d<\/p>\n Norman, his hands gripping the handlebars of the bicycle excitedly, latched his shoes to the pedals and turned toward the road.<\/p>\n When he was riding again, the air rushing past him, he let out a delighted laugh. From time to time he couldn\u2019t help pedaling as fast as possible, soaring down the straightaway with abandon. Fortunately, the phantom rocket-car did not pass him again. He rode for a another hour before turning and retracing his path, past Sal\u2019s General Store, past Gently\u2019s farm house, past Hervovich and his coffin — who was now ostensibly inside, as dusk had fallen — though he didn\u2019t see them again, or even remember they were present, such was the intensity of his focus.<\/p>\n Before he realized it, he was back in the city.<\/p>\n And despite the obstacles Norman had to endure along the way — and the terrible waste of time they produced — it had actually been a splendid ride.<\/p>\n LAWRENCE BUENTELLO<\/strong> has published more than sixty short stories in a variety of genres. He is the author of the short story collections, The Cube Root of the Universe and Other Stories<\/em> and A Miracle for Every Occasion<\/em>, and the novel, The Bridge of a Thousand Leagues<\/em>. He lives in San Antonio, Texas.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Lawrence Buentello The accident happened not long after he left the city limits, and it was certainly not his fault; the vehicle that forced his bicycle from the road had to be moving at well over a hundred and fifty … Continue reading