The Anniversary

The Anniversary


The old man trudging along the dusty road stopped and looked around. He seemed unsure of his whereabouts as he mopped the perspiration from his face with a soiled handkerchief. Then glancing behind him once more he moved on again out of the meager shade offered by the scrawny little tree that almost looked out of place in the otherwise treeless landscape. Topping a small rise in the road the old man paused once again to gaze ahead. Far in the distance a few hardscrabble buildings rested atop a small hill. They resembled a bit of something added to a painting as an afterthought by the artist. The late afternoon sun and shimmering heat waves made them appear to float on a sea of haze.

The old fellow started on with an expression of something akin to fear on his weathered face but with the determination of one on a mission that must be accomplished. However, as he drew closer to his apparent destination his steps began to lag once more as though he dreaded to go on. He stopped then started on, then stopped, then took a few more steps and finally stopped and sat down. Then burying his face in his hands he sat with silent sobs wracking his gaunt frame.

It was dusk before the old man got to his feet and resumed his journey toward the same ramshackle buildings. They now appeared as a dark splotch against the gray of a fading twilight. No lamp appeared in the window of the house to welcome him as he approached through the gloom of sudden darkness as the last of the light left the sky. There wasn’t even the welcome bark of a dog to greet him as he opened the gate and stepped into the sun baked yard; Not even a sound other than the squeak of the gate hinges as he pushed it shut behind him.

The old fellow’s shoulders seemed to droop even more as he stepped up on the porch and reached out to take the screen door handle and pull it toward him. It made a scraping noise as it dragged on the rough board floor of the porch. Reaching with his other hand he turned the knob and let himself into the darkened room. Again, the silence seemed almost to have a weight to it and he stopped just inside the door. Light flared suddenly as he struck a match on the inside door frame and touched it to the wick of a bracket lamp hanging on the wall nearby.

As the light pushed back the gloom, the meager furnishings could be seen. There was a couple of worn arm chairs and an old wicker table. A doorway opened into the kitchen while another opened into what was apparently the only bedroom in the small house. Inside this room the furniture was much like that in the main room, a chair, a wardrobe and a bed. At first glance the room seemed unoccupied but then as the old man carried in the lamp, a form could be seen in the bed. The small frame of a frail old lady was almost hidden by the quilts piled high. No movement or sound came from her as the old man moved about the room.

Finally, he came over to stand gazing down at the still form of the one lying there so quietly. It appeared as though he was forced to come against his will for he still seemed to be trying to avoid something. After some moments the old man spoke slowly and barely above a whisper; “It’s no use Martha, they won’t come. They didn’t even believe me when I told them. They tried to tell me you weren’t even here anymore. I told them, but they just wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t get them to come. Even when I explained it was our fiftieth anniversary they still just laughed. They just don’t understand that I couldn’t let you go before we celebrated our anniversary. We’ll have a party anyhow then I’ll take you back to the cemetery tomorrow."

THE END

Author: William L. Hyatt