Foreclosure
“I looked, and lo, a stormy wind came sweeping out of the north — a huge cloud and flashing fire….” Ezekiel, 1:4.
The Lexus SC 430 gleamed like liquid silver as it slowed to a crawl on the narrow, old asphalt road. The car’s aluminum roof was retracted, the windows down, and the driver, Daniel Aramant, impatiently leaned sideways, glaring through sunglasses at the horse and buggy facing him and blocking his way. He almost pushed on his horn, but restrained himself. This was Pennsylvania Dutch country, after all, and he was here to do some business.
He sat idling. The air was motionless and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He began to perspire. He waited for the horse to clip-clop around him. It didn’t. It remained stopped in front of him.
He craned his neck, trying to make eye contact with whoever was sitting back under the canopy of the box-like rig. He removed his sunglasses, in an attempt to focus on the man’s features. “Hey,” he called. “Are you going to move or am I?”
The other, wearing a straw hat, clothed in black trousers, a black vest and a white long-sleeved shirt, made a clucking noise at his horse, tied his lines around a wooden riser at his feet, and climbed down from the buggy. He ambled towards the side of the car.
Daniel felt an equal mix of anger and unease. “Damn,” he muttered to himself, throwing the sunglasses on the seat beside him.
The other seemed more threatening, now that he was standing. He was tall and slender but muscular and powerful-looking despite his apparent age. He was pale with piercing blue eyes and a long white beard sans mustache. “Mr. Aramant,” he said as he reached the door of the Lexus, “I believe you are looking for something.”
Daniel’s heart pounded. He reminded himself he kept the Pennsylvania State Police number on speed dial. He also remembered he’d been pacing the pavement in New Wilmington, handing out his business card to any of the Amish or Mennonite men he encountered, asking them if they had land to sell. Obviously news traveled faster in these parts than one would expect, given a lack of reliance on electronics. “I’m Daniel Aramant, yes. I guess you heard … I’m looking to buy some farm land.”
The old man chuckled and said, “Not for farming, truly.”
Daniel turned off the ignition, opened the car door slowly so the other could step out of the way. “Do you want to talk about some land?” he asked. He stretched a little; it felt good to stand. He looked down at his beige trousers, his Russian calf shoes; he didn’t look too rumpled or travel-worn.
“A developer like yourself, a traveling man, a salesman, you’re sharp and you know how to spot a good deal,” the old man said.
Daniel gazed up at the bearded face, feeling irritated now. “Um, I didn’t catch your name….”
“Gabe, name is Gabe. And that is my horse, Merkabah, as fine a Bay as you’ll find in Lawrence County.” He nodded towards the sturdy brown horse who lowered his head in response. “We were just leaving.”
“Well, I’m kind of lost,” Daniel admitted. For miles Daniel had seen nothing but rolling hills and small sections of cultivated land. He had passed meticulously kept barns and homes, grazing livestock and horses. He had occasionally passed another car, or a truck. He had seen a few buggies carrying people dressed in the distinctive Amish style. “I was on State Route 956,” he said. “I was supposed to turn off on Oak Ridge or Oak Wood or White Oak, or some road like that. I heard there might be some fine land for sale around here. I crossed a stream … it might have been the Neshannock, I don’t know. I drove across a covered bridge….”
“Take a look around you,” Gabe said. “You’ve found the right place.” He stepped back, and pointed to his right.
Daniel peered past Gabe’s finger and saw a huge wheat field — the largest he’d seen in these parts — extending to the horizon. And in the distance, all by itself in the middle of the swaying golden wheat, was a tremendously thick, towering tree. As he scanned the tree he wondered how tall it actually was, how far away. “Who is the owner? Is this land for sale? ” Daniel asked, shading his eyes with the side of a hand. He walked across the road, to a wooden split-rail fence.
Gabe seemed to sigh. He shook his head, lowered his arm. “The owner left.”
Daniel turned and studied the old man. “Say what?”
“See down the road, ahead of you some one hundred yards?”
Daniel again used his hand to ward off the sun’s glare. Again he followed Gabe’s index finger, directing his attention to what looked like a massive wooden threshold, weathered and plain, that rose up abruptly in the middle of the fence. It appeared to be almost two-stories tall, and it framed an immense double-door, like a giant’s gateway.
Daniel backed away from the fence, spun around and was about to ask something like what the heck is that? but saw that the old man had bowed his head and appeared to be talking to himself, an expression of pain and deep sorrow distorting his features. Daniel waited. But when Gabe lifted his chin he avoided eye contact and silently, quickly returned to his carriage and climbed aboard with the agility of a young athlete.
Daniel stood in place, watching as Gabe disappeared inside the gray and black piano-box buggy. “Hey, what the frig is going on here?” he finally called. “Where are you going?” He paused, then added, “And who do I contact about this land? Where is the owner?” He hurried over and stood beside the carriage, looking in where Gabe reclined in a relaxed, resigned sort of way. He grabbed on to one of the front posts of the buggy, as if to restrain it until he could get some answers.
Gabe smiled ahead, moving just his blazing blue eyes in Daniel’s direction. “I told you. The owner left. The last guard — the first of them and the last of them — finally abandoned his station yesterday. He extinguished the sword. It’s ‘first come, first serve’ now. Good luck.”
Little pinpricks of fear ran up and down Daniel’s spine. He tried to ignore them, gathering all his pride and indignation and desire for a profit into one emotional bundle to prop himself up. “Gabe,” he said, “be reasonable. The land has to belong to someone. A person can’t just waltz in and seize property in this country.”
Gabe continued to smile in a slight, cynical way. “This place doesn’t have a country,” he said tiredly. “It used to be a lot more lush and jungle-like, filled with animals and beautiful plants and all manner of delicious and wonderful things. There used to be two big trees, as well. But the bigger of ‘em was the first to be violated, and it was struck down. And over time, with the owner taking longer and longer and more extended vacations, the rest of the vegetation withered and the animals died, and the wheat took over. Still, the garden needed guarding. Because of the surviving tree.”
“But where is the owner?”
Gabe laughed once. “Indeed that is the question,” he said, and an electric shock suddenly jumped from the buggy to Daniel’s restraining hand, making him leap away from the wheels and the horse, yelling, “Goddammit!” Gabe flipped the reins and the horse began to maneuver around the Lexus SC430, speeding to a trot.
Daniel pivoted, his mouth open. “What the fuck?” was all he could manage to say. He watched as the buggy receded into the distance, its wheels translucent and sparkling in the sun, giving off rainbows as if they were made of crystal. It’s a mirage, Daniel thought. It’s the sun and the heat on the road, he assured himself.
Left alone, he noticed by the shadows that it appeared to be noon. He checked his watch. The second hand wasn’t moving. He held his wrist to his ear, listening for any sound. His watch had stopped. “What the fuck?” he said aloud again. It had been noon for a very long time, by his estimation. He glanced at his car, then ahead to that wooden monstrosity that seemed to be a gate. He started walking.
When he reached the front of the wooden doors, he saw that they were scorched, ajar, and leaning against each other at an angle. Daniel looked back at his shiny car, sitting with its tan leather seats exposed, the key in the ignition. He told himself that he needed to get back in that car, and leave immediately. He focused once more on the gate. He smelled something like sulfur. He straightened his colorful tie, tucked in his white shirt, took off his jacket and draped it over one arm. “All right,” he said to himself. “Don’t screw up now. Get a backbone. Don’t blow a great opportunity.”
He stepped up to the base of the damaged planks and charred crossbeams. There were no hinges, but rather the doors had once opened and closed on colossal wood pivots positioned in stone holes, now broken. Daniel took several deep breaths, promised himself he would just take a peek at the land beyond, and then he crossed the stone sill, slipping through the opening between the fallen doors.
It felt like he couldn’t breathe, and then he stumbled and gulped in air. He saw, stretching before him, a narrow path, winding and meandering through the bending and shifting wheat, leading directly to the massive tree. He looked back behind him, at the opening he’d just passed through. He glanced at the fence, trying to see his car on the other side, waiting on the roadway. He couldn’t see the roadway. He couldn’t see the split-rail fence. He could only see the wheat. And hear it rustling like thousands of voices whispering.
The path lay before him. “What a great location,” he tried to say aloud, his voice cracking. “So … close to Cleveland and Pittsburgh … a great … bedroom community … upscale … worth millions ….” He couldn’t say another word. Tears started to swell in his eyes. The sun was still directly above him, yet the sky was an orange-pink color, as if it were almost twilight. He kept his eyes on the tree, took one step. Then another. He looked down. He tried to ignore how his shoes fit perfectly in the two tread-lines of foot prints that extended before him, that had created the path in the first place.
He advanced another few feet, and saw that the tree loomed larger. He couldn’t tell what kind of tree it was. The trunk was as wide as a house, full of knots and gnarls and bifurcating parts, the large leaves a dark dusky green, hanging in thick and heavy clusters from uncountable branches. And there was some kind of fruit. He moved a little closer. Yes, he could see it … some kind of plump, round, iridescent fruit. He glanced behind his shoulder once more. The gate seemed so much further away.
Quietly, a memory entered his mind, pressuring him to pay attention. It was a story about a garden, two trees, a man, a woman, and a snake. Daniel grasped the significance, remembered his old Sunday School lessons. He faced forward and contemplated the enormous tree that waited for him ahead. He licked his lips — he was hungry and thirsty.
“First come first serve, eh,” he said to himself. The wheat moaned and waved in response. What if a man could live forever, he thought. How much would other men pay to live forever! The stalks of ripened grain snapped and whipped and swirled as if a hurricane were blowing, but the air was completely still. Daniel drew closer to the tree. The only fear he had was that the owner might return. And still, a small voice deep inside what was left of his conscience prodded him, tried to explain to him, what it actually meant if the owner of the garden were gone for good, and the guards and old Gabe were leaving too. But Daniel now was so close that the tree seemed like a living mountain dangling luscious ripe fruit, begging him to eat, to live.
In the distance there was the sound of thunder.
