The Path

Allegory, sort of Pilgrim's Progress

Copyright © 1996

L. Ruth Carter

 

 

The Path

By

L. Ruth Carter

 

She stands in the clearing and looks at the path before her. Lost, hungry and weary, her heart sinks. Each trail looks the same as the last. They wind through trees and rocks, with no end in sight.

Mountains rise around her. The sun sparkles off distant glaciers and shimmers on nearby birch trees. Birds sing in celebration of spring. A brook chuckles through the glade.

She sees none of this. Shrugging off her large pack, she collapses on a rock. Her hands awkwardly massage her tight shoulders. That she has to get to her destination lurks in the numb recesses of her mind, but all she wants is something to eat and a good night's sleep. She wants to forget the hardships of the trails already climbed. She wants to push all memory of bruises, sprains and scratches into the fog that is creeping over her.

"Tough, isn't it?" The sympathetic voice comes from behind her. The man's jeans and plaid shirt bear none of the tears, rips and stains that adorn hers. He carries no pack.

"Huh?" she stammers. He steps closer and she says brilliantly, "Oh. Yeah."

He lounges on a log next to her. "Been travelling long?"

She shrugs, then winces. "Long enough."

He plucks a long blade of grass and chews the end. "Know what you mean," he nods knowingly.

"You?" she questions politely.

"Me?"

"Been travelling long?"

"Oh, no!" he exclaims, aghast. "I just came from over there." He waves a hand negligently.

She peers in that direction, seeing nothing but trees and rocks. Trees and rocks, that's all. "I see," she says slowly.

"I don't think so," he replies smoothly.

"What?"

"I don't think you see."

She looks over at him, relaxed on his log. She grimaces. "Probably not."

"You don't see how you can be toiling along this terrible path, all worn out, when here I am, at the same place, rested and not travelling at all."

"I did wonder," she acknowledges.

He nods. "Thought so."

"Well?" she urges.

"Well what?"

"Why are you here, fresh and rested?"

"There's a way station back there." He again waves vaguely.

"Way station?" She moves away, trying to see it.

"Kind of like a rest area," he says, "only more so."

"How more so?" she asks suspiciously.

"It has everything."

"Everything?"

"You bet. The finest food, comfortable rooms, miniature golf, you name it."

"Sounds--luxurious."

"Only the best," he nods smugly.

"Sounds like a kind of resort."

"You got it."

"Sounds like you could stay there forever and never have to move on."

He stretches expansively. "You sure could."

"Are you staying or moving on?"

"Staying of course!" He preens. "I'm the manager."

"Oh."

"You could stay, too," he offers. "We could use someone with your capacities."

Her eyes narrow. "What do you know about my capacities?" she demands.

"I've watched you." He points down the trail. "On the path."

"What did you see?"

He leans back languidly. "Tenacity. Determination. Grit."

She scowls. "I had to keep going. I had no choice."

He raises his eyebrows. "Like when you got caught in that storm?"

"You know about that?" She is taken aback.

He nods. "You almost gave up."

"I didn't, though," she retorts grimly.

"No, you didn't. Wonder why?"

She droops down on her rock glumly. "I don't know..."

"Pack heavy?" he asks in pity.

She moans audibly, rotating her shoulders. "Sure is. My shoulders burn."

"They would."

"It's been horrible. I was sure I wouldn't make it up that last rise." She shivers. "I don't know how I got here."

"I know what you mean," he acknowledges. "It's a tough one. I didn't think you'd make it, either."

"But I did."

"Tougher hills up ahead," he says casually, not looking at her.

"Tougher?" She squeaks her dismay.

He nods. "It never gets easier, you know."

Her shoulders slump and she digs a toe into the dirt. "Sometimes it seems like that."

"It is like that."

She gives him a straight look. "How do you know it's tougher if you haven't been there?"

"I've heard the stories." He looks up the trail and shudders. "Terrible."

"I am tired..." She rests her head on her knee.

"Come stay with us," he invites. "Just for a spell. Take a load off and all that. It'll do you good."

"Well..."

"No harm in taking a break is there?"

"I'm supposed to be going on a path." She clings doggedly to that.

He smiles. "You can come back to it, refreshed, invigorated, ready for the next hard challenge."

"I don't know."

"Come on," he persuades. "You know you need to."

"I don't know" She looks wistfully towards the way station.

"Just leave that horribly weighty knapsack right there and come to us." He moves the pack away from the trail.

"But I can't do that!" she protests, startled. She picks it up.

"Why not?

She tries to see where the trail leads. "They told me not to leave my pack," she insists stubbornly. "I'll need it for the journey."

He commiserates. "It must be an awful weight."

"They said it must be heavy or it wouldn't be done right."

"No wonder you are tired. You don't see any of them carrying such a load, do you?"

She hefts the pack and flexes her shoulders. "Well..." She is uncertain. "A way station is a way station. It's not a destination."

He smiles, takes her load and drops it on the ground. He gestures for her to precede him. She hesitates and shakes her head.

"If I leave the path now I might never return."

He smiles. "Would that be so terrible?"

She bites her lip. "They told me I would lose all hope of reaching my destination if I deviated even a little."

"Now, Chris, they'll tell you anything to keep you listening to their petty little rules."

"How do you know my name?" she demands.

"I told you. I've been watching you." He stretches. "You really are bruised and scratched, you know."

She winces. "It's not that bad," she minimizes.

"And that pack! Why is it so big?"

"They had such a long list of things I should carry for the journey."

"Hmmm," he grunts. "I've seen the list. They think all that junk will get you to your destination. All it does is weigh you down."

"Much of it has seemed useless," she acknowledges. "But they know. You never know."

"You never know." He moves off the path. "Are you going to come and take it easy for a while?"

She shakes her head. "No, but thanks for the invitation. I must press on."

"Suit yourself," he shrugs. "If you change your mind you know where to find us." He continues on through the trees.

"Thank you anyway," she calls after him.

He does not answer. He is gone.

Chris buries her face in her hands as she slumps on the rock. She is exhausted. Her back aches. Her feet hurt. At one time she was sure of her destination: that she'd get there. Now she isn't certain. She wonders if she'll make it, even if she keeps plodding. So what's the use? Besides, her pack is so cumbersome!

She pushes to her feet. She looks around. "I just don't know," she mumbles. "I wish I had help. Real help."

"Well, why didn't you say so before?" Another man in rugged, well-worn clothes comes from behind a bush. He carries a pack.

Chris turns and looks at him. "Not another one!" she grumbles.

"Another what?" The man lifts his eyebrow in question.

"Another person with oh, so helpful suggestions," she huffs sulkily.

"Oh, you don't need that," he agrees pleasantly.

"I sure don't," she says, voice hard and eyes glaring.

He spreads his hands. "I have no helpful suggestions."

"Good," Chris says shortly.

"I just have help."

"Help?" She doesn't believe him.

"Yes, help."

"What kind of help?" she asks skeptically.

He again spreads his hands. "Me."

Chris is cynical by now. "How can you help me?"

"I'm here."

Her lip curls. "I see that."

"I'm your help."

She nods her head. "Uh huh," she says. "Why weren't you here before?"

"Oh, but I was," he assures her.

She turns away stubbornly. "I didn't see you."

He smiles gently. Maybe he's used to people being rude, Chris muses.

"Don't you remember that awful storm?" he reminds her.

She looks back, remembering. "I sure do. It rained and rained and then it turned to ice. It was a miracle I found shelter when I did."

He nods. "It sure was."

"Sure was?" Chris frowns. "A miracle?"

He nods again. "That it was. You came around that bend in the path and the lightning flashed just in time for you to see the little hut."

Chris' eyes soften. "It was warm, and there was food. I got a good night's sleep."

"You remember that last rise?" he continues.

Chris groans. "I sure do. Impossible."

"You remember getting all the way up?"

Chris starts to say, of course I do, and then stops--wonderingly. "Well, no, as a matter of fact..." she says slowly, thinking back. And then, "That was you?" Her voice holds a small note of amazement.

He nods.

She nods. "I do remember a kind of surge of energy and..."

He nods again.

She stares at him. "That was you?"

Another nod.

"Why didn't I see you?" she demands.

"You didn't ask for me," he points out.

"I see you now."

"You asked for me."

"I did?" Chris is confused.

"Yep."

She asks, "How?"

"You prayed," he says simply.

"You mean just now, when I said, 'Help'?" Her brow creases in thought.

"Uh huh."

"That was a prayer?" she marvels.

"Wasn't it?" he returns gently.

She nods her head slowly, "I guess so."

He spreads his hands and says again, "Here I am."

She looks at him. "What do I do now?"

He points up the path. "You go on."

"But I'm so tired!" she wails.

He nods. "You lost your joy," he says with compassion.

"I did?" she says, knowing she did.

"You sure did."

"When?" she asks softly.

"When you decided you had to do it all on your own."

Chris ponders it. "That's when the pack started to get heavy," she realizes.

"You listened to all the other voices and you no longer heard the music," he says.

"It's been hard," she gulps.

He smiles gently. "I don't know how you got as far as you did."

Chris sighs. "I need help."

"I'm here. I am with you. I will be with you."

"How can you help?" she asks. It is a question of hope.

"You will give me your pack," he smiles. "And I will give you rest."

"My pack?" She clutches it to her protectively. "But--"

He shakes his head at her, grinning. "Surely you don't want to carry that monstrous thing!"

She holds on stubbornly. "But some of those others wanted me to give it up. I knew that was wrong."

"I'm not asking you to give it up," he says. "I'm asking you to let me carry it."

Chris warily removes her pack. "But you already have one yourself."

He takes his off and hands it to her. "It's a trade," he says. He puts Chris' pack on, shifting it until it is comfortable.

She hefts his pack in her hands. "It's just as big as mine." Discouragement creeps in.

He smiles. "Put it on," he encourages.

She heaves a dismal sigh. "Oh, all right," she says in resignation, "but I don't see..."

He helps her with it. "There you are."

She runs her thumbs under the straps. She puts her hands behind and tests the weight. Her eyes brighten and she turns to him, amazed. "It's not so heavy on me!" she exults. "In fact, it feels like it is holding me up!" She takes a couple of steps and almost dances. "I feel--"

"How do you feel?" he prompts tenderly.

She tilts her head, searching for the words. "I don't know--uh--bouncy, springier, more buoyant."

He smiles. "There's another word for that."

She stops. "What?"

"You know."

"Oh," she breathes. "You mean, 'joy'?"

His grin is huge. Warm. "That's it."

"But why?" she puzzles. "I mean, I don't deserve..."

"No, you don't." His smile takes away the sting.

"Then why?" She pauses as she gets it. "Oh!

"Exactly." His smile widens. "Oh." And they start down the path, bouncier, springier, more buoyant.

The End