See Ya Soon

A dusty hardwood bank in the middle of a no-name, tumbleweed town is shaken by the shockwaves of gunfire and screams. A rough, calloused young man in simple attire runs out of the bank and mounts his skinny nag, smoking revolver in one hand, sack of cash in the other. The rotund town sheriff and his posse of young thugs quickly mount and chase the man. Bullets and profanities are exchanged between the parties, the explosions of sand, gunpowder, fiery words, and blood forming a cloud of chaos. The bandit, sheriff, and posse emerge from the cloud and ride across the plains. The sheriff and his posse bear a few scratches and grazes from the outlaw’s wayward fire while the outlaw’s blood flows from multiple holes and his horse collapses from exhaustion. Bloodied and desperate, the outlaw drops the money and pushes his mutilated body to the limits and makes it over a hill.

The sheriff and his posse stop in their tracks. “That’s it. Our job is done, boys”, declares the sheriff.

The outlaw continues his getaway across vast plains, checking over his shoulder constantly, in fear of the sheriff and his gang. The blood stops flowing, and the outlaw looks down, relieved and continues his journey. He notices the sheriff has stopped his pursuit and slows down, the adrenaline wears down and the outlaw’s paranoia dissipates. However, the immense heat of the sun beats down upon him with unprecedented intensity. He wanders the desert in search of water or shelter. The process of wandering across a plain and climbing over a hill is repeated over and over, endlessly. All the while, the sun blasts its rays relentlessly. The outlaw can see no escape. There are no trees or rocks to hide under. Nothing in sight that creates even the smallest amount of shade. The ground is on fire, the very air is ablaze, no puddles or even a single drop of water, no clouds in sight, all that lies ahead is fire.

Amid hopelessness, the outlaw makes his way over another hill and spots a campfire and a tent in the distance. Making his way closer, he finds an old man sitting at the fire. The old man is wrinkled and rough-skinned, he has a scraggly white mustache, his hands are calloused and textured like leather, all the signs of man who has worked his whole life.

“Take a seat, partner”, says the old man in a heavy southern drawl. The outlaw hesitates because of the fire, he’s had quite enough of any form of heat.

“Sit down, sonny. Don’t mind the fire”, says the old man.

“Got water?”, the outlaw asked.

“Nope. You’ll find none here nor anywhere else.”

The outlaw is shocked that he is drenched in sweat from endless hours of the sun’s attacks while this old geezer is sitting comfortably in front of a fire, not having a single drop on his forehead. The outlaw sits down, “How do you survive?”.

The old man takes out a cigar and lights it, “You get used to the heat”.

“No water, anywhere?”

“No sir.”

“Damn.”

“Damn indeed, young one. We’re all damned out here.”

The outlaw looks over the vast landscape. “Well, I’ve gotten this far. How long til Santa Fe?”

“Long way from here, boy. Long, long way.”

The outlaw lets out a deep long sigh, “Should get going”.

“Go or stay, it don’t matter. Sheriff Brunson ain’t getting here any time soon.”

The outlaw stands up and draws his gun. “How’d you know? You work with him?”.

“I’ve been here and there, to and fro all over the earth. Seen plenty o’ outlaws and you fit the bill. Sheriff Brunson’s town is the only one you could’ve come from.”

“He on my tail?”

“Nope. You escaped him. You won’t see him for some time.”

The outlaw turns around a few times, checking every angle and every hill for Brunson and his boys. He points his revolver at the old man and cocks it. “No need for niceties now. Give me water and put out that fire. Too damn hot right now!”

The old man takes a big puff from his cigar and blows smoke in the outlaw’s face. “Put it down, boy. Won’t do you no good.”

“Do what I say, geezer. Or you get one between the eyes.”

“No water around here nor anywhere else. Can’t put out the fire neither.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve tried before. It won’t stay put out, no matter what.”

The old man looks him in the eyes and pulls the barrel of the revolver toward him and rests it between his eyes. “Between the eyes, right boy? Do it. You done it once now do it again.”

The outlaw pulls the trigger. Click. He pulls again. Click.

“Told you it won’t do no good.”

The outlaw begs in a desperate tone. “Please give me some water.”

“Ain’t you listened even once?”

The outlaw repeated the old man’s phrase exhausted, “No water around here nor anywhere else. Where’s the nearest town?”

“Nearest town’s a long way from here. Long, long way.”

The outlaw is visibly more frustrated. “Damn it! Someone’s gotta have water somewhere!”

“No escaping the heat here. No relief or cooling of the tongue. Only hot sand and hotter air.”

“Texas heat never been this bad before.”

“Never said you was in Texas.”

The outlaw looks up confused. “I can’t have made it to New Mexico already.”

“Never said you was in New Mexico either. Nor anywhere else on earth.”

“The hell you sayin’ geezer? You said I got away from the sheriff, but he can’t be that far.”

“I never said how you escaped him.”
The old man bends down and stares the outlaw in the eyes, puffing smoke.
“I never said you escaped alive.”

The outlaw looks around in a panic.

“You was bleeding out from ten bullet holes and thought you lived this long? You gots to be one of the dumbest hicks I ever met.” The old man chuckles gleefully.

The outlaw scrambles away in a hurry. He runs over one hill and across a vast plain, again and again. The process is repeated as before over and over. All the while, the sun ever bright and ever burning. He wants to stop, he wants to lie down, but he can’t. No matter how tired he is, an unknown force keeps him upright, walking ever onward. It’s as if he’s a marionette piloted by a hundred strings. He makes it over another hill and is back at the old man’s campsite. He lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“Welcome back, partner. Take a seat.”

The outlaw sits next to the old man. The campfire rages, and at this point the outlaw has gotten used to it. “So… are you… the devil?”

The old man lights up a cigar. “It don’t matter.”

“Am I really in hell?”

“Maybe.”

“Stop talking in riddles geezer and answer me!”

“I ain’t answering squat! Tired of having this conversation over and over again! Just shut it and let’s sit in peace.”

“What are you talking about now?”

The old man rolls his eyes and exhales a large puff of smoke. “I’m gonna tell you what’s what, but this is the last time. I don’t care if you got amnesia or whatever sort of curse been put on you by the Almighty, I don’t want you asking again, got it?”

“Yes —”

“No words. Shut up. Nod if you understand.”

The outlaw nods in silence.

“Alright then. You were born to a couple of gypsies in a traveling circus about two decades ago. Your momma and daddy would put on bogus séance shows and whilst the audience was distracted by the ‘messengers from beyond the grave’, you’d sneak up and pickpocket. A good racket for a while until one sheriff got wise to it and gunned down your daddy in the saloon. Without your daddy, the show pulled in less profit and the circus kicked y’all out.”

“Hold on. If you ain’t the devil, how you know all this?”

“Told you it don’t matter boy. Now hush. You and your momma wandered from town to town. You’d take any work you could while your momma provided ‘services’ to the working men. Worked for a while too until she got sick. You took her to a doctor in Santa Fe and you needed just that little bit of extra coin to cover the bill. You got a cheap gun and a cheaper horse and rode out to a small Texas border town. Thought the bank was an easy hit. Now your body is in an unmarked grave in some backwater town.”

The outlaw looked down at his bullet wounds, they weren’t bleeding but you could clearly stick your finger in them. It all made sense. “So, I am dead. What’s gonna happen to momma?”

“It don’t matter.”

“You said we’ve had this conversation before? I don’t understand.”

“Every once in a while, you’ll pop over that hill and you may remember our talks, you may not. Been that way for a long, long time.”

“How long?”

“It don’t matter. You won’t remember if I tell you anyway.”

The outlaw plants his face in his hands and rubs away. Rubbing and rubbing until hopefully, an idea is rubbed in there. “If that’s the case, then I won’t move. I’ll stay right here with you and we’ll just sit and talk… for eternity.”

The old man chuckles while puffing his cigar. “You are stupid boy, but charming. A very charismatic form of stupid.”

“What you mean?”

“It don’t work like that boy. You was born a wanderer and you died a wanderer. Always surviving, never living. Never choosing to stay and always forced to leave. That’s the way it’s gonna be here. No matter how tired, you’re gonna keep going. The only reason I’m here is to be annoyed by your sorry behind and everyone else’s behind that comes around here. I wanted to have a throne, wanted to be worshipped. Now I ain’t got no subjects or a palace. I got a nice campfire, a log to sit on, a cigar, and simpletons walking by every day and bothering me. That’s the way it is.”

“I don’t care what you say, I’m staying here. I ain’t walking no more.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’re a wanderer, and you are going to wander. Even now, you got a slight shaking through your body, a twitch in your legs. You’ll never be able to stay in one place. It don’t matter how much time has passed. It don’t matter if the earth above is in the age of stone or the age of silicone. Not that you understand what that means. Time and space, flesh and bone, none of it matters here. All that matters is that you’ve got a whole eternity to walk, so you best get off your sorry butt and get to it.”

The outlaw sighs and gets to his feet. The old man’s right. The itch is getting strong. He best get to it. The outlaw walks away disgusted, knowing this old man or old Scratch, whatever he is, is all the company he’s got, until the end of time.

The old man gives him a shout. The outlaw turns around. The old man puffs away at his cigar and says, “See ya soon.”

Credit: Joseph Kawaja