THE CLOSING EYES

Sometimes a little knowledge can be a little knowledge too much.

“I was a king once,” thought Gorimeer. “I had my dreams, and in my dreams I was a king. Now I am old and the dreams are pale. Now, when I dream, the dancers have all gone. And there were dancers then, in my youth, on the stage in my head at night as I slept. Girls like sweetness and with smiles that lit up Eternity!”

He sighed as he trudged along, trying to recall the dancers, but they were gone..

“And even in daylight, as I toiled on the land or washed ready for bed I saw them! Angels every one, even the fat one with stretched knicker strings! And they'd smile at me, and when they did every day was worth the living of it!

“But now I'm old, and they have all gone...”

He paused and shook his head, and groaned.

“They say the Almighty knows all things,” he muttered, “they say he has the wisdom, even, to tell a man the time and nature of his death! And I think I know where he lives! I will ask him. I will go to his home, and ask him what the last thing I ever see on this world will be! At least I'll know what to avoid!”

There was a black door at the end of the track that led out of the village, past the harvest fields, past the crumbling church, past the mill with its blades slicing through the skies and way past the Manor, all forlorn, for its Lord was dead.

Gorimeer trudged along. He was on the lane that led out of the village, and ahead of him like distant smudge was the shadow of the black door.

“I will go the Almighty's door,” he murmured, more confident now that his mind was made up. “I will go to that very door, and knock it. I'll rap it with my knuckles, and my God will hear, and he will come and open the door and ask me what I want. And I will tell him! That I will, I will tell him! What, my Lord, will be the very last thing my eyes shall ever see? That's what I'll ask. And being my Lord he will tell me and I will know!”

Gorimeer trudged more manfully now that his mind was made up.

“It is clear,” he muttered, “it is crystal clear.”

Eventually he drew up to the door. It was bigger than he thought, and blacker. And it had neither knocker nor window on it. It was, indeed, the very blackest and plainest of doors.

He sighed. There was, he thought, still time to change his mind.

“After all, why does a fellow need to know what the very last thing he will ever see might be?” he asked himself.

“So that he can avoid it, of course!” came the reply from inside his own head.

“Of course!” he said aloud, and he took the two steps necessary in order to stand before the great door, and formed a fist with one hand, and banged it on the door.

“Ouch!” he hissed.

The door swung open with a creak and a groan and a pixie stood in its entrance.

“I wish to see the Almighty!” said Gorimeer, trying to sound manly and strong and possibly failing.

“I am he,” squeaked the pixie.

“You are the he who created everything?” asked Gorimeer in a protesting voice.

“The same,” nodded the pixie.

“You are the he who knows everything? Who is as aware of the future as most men are of the past? You are cognisant of all ages and all times and the lives of all men, be they dead, alive or yet to be born?” queried Gorimeer.

“The same,” repeated the pixie.

“Then tell me, Lord, what the last thing my eyes will ever see might be,” begged Gorimeer.

“That's easy!” chortled the pixie.

“It is? Then tell me!” pleaded Gorimeer.

“This!” squeaked the pixie, and he took a shiny silver blade from his pocket and in one easy movement gouged out both of Gorimeer's eyes.

“Now go, and stop asking stupid questions!” he squeaked, and slammed the door in the blinded man's face.