The scene: a moonless night of indeterminate length. Crickets in the lingering heat. The faintest rustle of the wind in long grass. Two men, rough from the road, smoking.
“The light shines elsewhere, yeah?”
“I guess. What?”
“Light. Somewhere beyond this hill, this… beyond this darkness.”
“What are you going on about?”
“Every day it’s this. We stagger, arms outstretched with fingertips extended. Reaching…”
A long silence. Long drags on the cigarettes.
“Reaching for what?”
“We’re all always reaching toward a glimmer of…”
“What are you going on about?”
“Light. The light! It flickers and goes out with the crash of thunder. And we wonder how long it will be before it returns. It shimmers there at the horizon, but we can never reach it. We dream about it all night long.”
“Not me. I never dream. I lay down. I’m going to close my eyes. I wake up with nothing in between.”
“But there are lights there too. Behind our eyes…”
“Phosgenes…”
“No. I’m sure that’s not it.”
“You sure?”
The still of the night lingers on. Heavy between them. The breeze, what there was of it, has gone on without them.
“How long have we been at this?”
“We’ve been walking for… Hang on, I can count it up.”
He pulls at his fingers for some time.
“No. It’s gone.”
They smoke the last drags of their cigarettes. Even that little glow is gone. They flick the butts away.
“The light still shines somewhere. It must.”
“It must. It must? Why? I don’t understand. The light... The light? I sleep fine without it. In fact, that’s what I aim to do just now. I’m going to close my eyes and…”
“A little sleep. A little slumber. And then?”
“Leave me alone. What else is there?”
“Light! There is light!”
“Light? Are you still on about that? Go to sleep.”
The two of them are quiet for a long moment. The crickets stop their song but there is snoring to fill the silence.
“The light still shines. Somewhere. Maybe not here, but somewhere. And I will know it.”
John 1:5
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