The Dispossessed

In the winter mornings the sunlight reflected harshly upon the white brick of the church. The evergreen which stood to the right of the church did not hasten to move.

An old man lived in a house opposite the Presbyterian church on the other side of the main street. He was not a Christian. He watched on Sunday mornings as the churchgoers, the men and the women and the children, entered through the large white wooden doors, both of which were swung wide open as the churchgoers were coming in, and he could look inside the church without having to be inside the church. He watched as they all walked in. He watched as the last churchgoer entered. Then the doors of the church slowly closed and the old man could no longer hear the sound of the churchgoers’ conversations through his open window. He liked to hear them talking, even if he could not hear the words, just the commotion and the pleasant smiles he saw on their faces. He did not know why he liked the voices and their faces. He was not a Christian. He had seen too much for that, he thought to himself.

As the years went on it came to pass that many of the townspeople moved elsewhere. The papermill eventually shut down too and then many more left after that as well. The recognisable and very respectable faces left town and were then replaced by many unfamiliar faces which he found he did not like to look at. His 97th birthday was one week and two days away now. The old man’s older brother had left town several years ago and died shortly thereafter while his son had gone off to fight in Indochina but his wife had already died, which meant he could not mourn, because it had not occurred in rapid succession. If it had occurred in rapid succession, that would be very different. But it was not different. Everything was different.

The old man still went on living in the same house while the church had been deconsecrated. He could no longer watch the churchgoers enter, neither the men nor the women nor the children. Now they no longer entered through the large white wooden doors. The old man noticed that the cross had been taken down from above the doors. He had never noticed the cross until they took it down. They took everything down. They took everything. The white wooden doors had faded. They did not shine in the morning sunlight anymore. They had faded away.

One winter morning, the old man awoke to find them cutting down the evergreen by the right of the church. A team of only about two or three arborists. He did not recognise them. He did not recognise anybody anymore. All the old townspeople had left except him. Now the evergreen would be gone as well.

The old man was not a Christian. He had seen too much for that, he thought to himself. He thought about the war. He thought about it for a long time. He sat down on a chair. He looked out the window at the arborists who were cutting down the evergreen. That evergreen had been around since before he was born. He was now too old to do anything. He would like to do something. He went to the cabinet in his lounge. He did not know why he wanted to die. The sound of the chainsaw across the road reminded him of something. He looked out his window again. Then he turned again towards his cabinet and opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of brandy and went into the kitchen and set it upon the table and got a glass and poured himself some brandy. He had seen too much to be anything, he thought to himself, and drank some of his brandy. Then the old man heard a very brief, though heavy, knocking at the door. He did not know who was there. He had no relatives in the town. Maybe it was his son, he thought. Then he remembered. It was not his son. His son would never come back. But he thought about if it was his son. Then he could have talked about the war and about everything and sit down in his chair and be relieved of the empty feeling in him. He opened the door. Nobody was there. He heard scattered laughs, wild laughs. They were retreating. He could not see them. He had been fooled.

The old man went back inside his house and closed the front door. He sat in his chair and watched the clouds pass by in the window. He watched the clouds pass by for a very very long time as his eyes slowly shut and all became very quiet. Now he was happy. Now they were having brandy together talking about the wars the other had been in and drank and he felt altogether much lighter and better and very happy. He felt very happy. Then the evergreen was felled with a thump as it hit the ground and he awoke.