GENE carried on as he does so well after an afternoon of training the men who will sell saddles to the shops across the river GENE found himself wandering the workshop the workshop was a place he could always go once the laborers left to feel at complete peace with his thoughts his ambitions his effects the smell of tanned leather the familiar spread of dust and scrap across the chipped flooring it was his quiet place all men have such a retreat but today GENE felt something different the dusty air felt humid upon each inhale there was a weight to the air an ominous pressure the tree feels before it falls a moment of vitality and impermanence GENE loved and loathed this feeling he loved security and variety equally but the two were coexisting right now he filed through his mind memory by memory as the feeling was so familiar but so fleeting and he recalled the very old man and the word this was the heaviness he felt while in the presence of the very old man GENE wondered of the age of the old man should he be inside the workshop but the heaviness was also different it tasted bitter the taste you have in your mouth while recalling an appalling aroma this heaviness was different GENE silenced each step with the heel of his boot and made his way to the side exit it was a time to fight or flee but the opportunity would not be had the sliding door to which employees enter the workshop was thrown open a show of force appearing atop the threshold was a young man with a thin face and thick greased hair his build was no different than that of GENE but he used his strength differently as displayed by his walk his slow prideful walk toward GENE uninterrupted by the tools and debris across the ground he paused several paces short of GENE and smiled the smile a man from a big family in a big city with a big life would show to a man he felt was lesser "i am taking what i deserve today". the young man took another step toward GENE "and what is it that you deserve"? asked GENE composed but unsettled his effort to mask this internal turmoil was spending his strength the bitter heavy air around this young man was enough to drain GENE of his breath but he carried on as he does a word fight is better than a fight of any other kind and words are what GENE knows best "your workshop and your products, they are rightfully mine". the young man was out of his usual parameters he was waving the scythe but the corn continued to stand GENE could detect this he could taste the sweetness of his victory but knew it would not be without pain of some sort he could taste that as well "my men are waiting at the hotel, they will be here within the hour, to give me time to do what i need to". stated the young man GENE heard the words of a young man not much younger than himself who loved the thrill of a fight but hated soreness of the punch a young man who was empty inside and needed the euphoria uncertainty brings yes thought GENE certainty is what the young man will now receive and with such certainty he will pull the sails a sudden reaction to steer the ship into vague waters "i don't wish to fight with you, or your men, i need only leave freely with my documents, you may have my workshop, and employ all the men who work for me, in return, i wish to leave this workshop in peace". negotiated GENE with a slight hunch to his posture GENE knew the intruder had not thought through a single moment of this altercation beyond the pursuit the cat tires of the mouse when the mouse is under his paw so he can either release the mouse and hope it runs or bat at the mouse with his paw to provoke the intended reaction GENE knew his only chance at maintaining his stature and profession was to convince the intruder that he need not exercise his bravado or claim what he feels is his the intruder pointed his chin upward to look down on his victim over the crook of his narrow nose he wasn't feeling the rush of the pursuit any longer his men would arrive disappointed he would leave with what his father wanted but not what he wanted he wanted the euphoria attached to the risk of losing the mouse the intruder smiled the smile again such a smile made GENE feel pale but also clever because of what the smile was represented by in the intruder's mind "now, listen to me, i have an offer for you, because you are so fight less, and i want to see you sweat". said the intruder speaking with more force as his words progressed the intruder although he wished to make GENE sweat began himself to sweat an awful sweat, it was a sweat that accompanied a flushed face no different than a crazed man who just put down the value of his farm on the card table over a game of chance yes the intruder was reveling in his own mind "if you guess correctly my name, i will walk from your workshop, and leave you to your business, but if you fail, my men will chase you from this building, to the river, straight to the river"! shouted the intruder letting escape labored breaths between each sentence GENE felt a moment of panic beginning to develop in his stomach the young man before him was an addict an unstable pursuer of the intangible the reaction was worth more to him than the reward GENE stood calm for a moment but the intruder caught his initial fright and let loose a partial laugh equal in size to the fear he sought GENE the boy the man was empty of thought his face twitching he shouted the first word that came to mind the only word that came to mind the very small word the old man gave to him all those years ago he shouted it again and again and once more louder each time his face now pink but the intruder instead of reacting in an affirming manner or condemning manner stood silently for an uncomfortable moment until then the ends of his mouth began to spread apart in a smile but a different smile a natural smile the way a child smiles on Christmas morning a deep smile you cannot hide when you feel an equally deep joy but just as his smile began to show his eyes widened and his face contorted to a wrinkled sad boy and he weeped with much the same effort tear after tear bellowing GENE realized while the young man stood alone weeping the meaning of the word the very small unnatural word that sounded like no other word and did not fit in the company of any other word this word was the most powerful word to GENE just as the old man said because this word would define the remainder of his life the intruder whom GENE now knew his name continued to cry kneeling now where he stood "how did you know my name, the word i cherish more than anything, the only artifact of my youth, how did you know it, how did you know it, when men twice your age, call me by my father's name"? begged the intruder his face nearly a shade of violet this word this name was a relic from a troubled young man's childhood a beloved gift from someone the last piece of mind he could hold and call his own this word represented to him the inner fire that reduced itself to embers but now as he wept the embers grew warmer an uncertain moment though undesired to such a depth provoked by vulnerability repeating and repeating catharsis GENE stood still and carried on as he does observing the weeping man and the emotions he was projecting but the air changed the bitter taste was fading the charge to the air was prompting memories of the very old man yes this feeling was no different now than what was felt in the company of the old man yes GENE the boy the man the collector of words carried a word a very small word in his very big mind for a very long time for a very old man GENE knelt beside the weeping intruder turned his head rather slightly and began forming a response in his mind's eye a young man who established to overtake another young man's efforts for reasons unknown foolhardy in attempt now emptied of his emotions on the dusty ground insignificant and vulnerable beside the young man of which he felt superior to over a small word of some vast importance to both parties a small word that was obviously planned to live out such a fate but what to say "i knew your name because i've been carrying it, all my life, since my youth, it was given to me by a very old man, in a most unusual manner, and i have had no opportunity, to understand such a name, until this day". GENE stated quite emotionless but not unsympathetic as if recalling a precursor to a shared memory GENE wondered who the old man could be a relation of sorts he hypothesized to be in the presence of both men would feel entirely similar a relation who this intruder shared with a bond in an otherwise calcified family and it was such a family thought GENE that caused the intruder to become what broke into the workshop today and it was such a relation thought GENE that caused the intruder to still carry inside an ember of what was once a roaring fire and it was a relation thought GENE that knew the only way to rekindle a flame that would one day weaken to a near nothing was to wait a very long time until the flame inevitably is reduced to embers and reignite it in only a way such a relation could long after his demise "may i ask what your name is"? inquired the intruder wiping his tears away with his soiled hands GENE "i am a man called GENE, my name being signed, as the head of a crane, looking downward toward the ground that supports him, triangulated by the neck of another crane, facing the west, i was named by my father's father, with the approval of my mother's mother, i live in a small house, with a small family, in a small town, in a small county, of a small state, in a large country, and i oversee the production of horse riding tack, as you now well know". the intruder still hysterical but fighting for composure looked to GENE the man and said a peculiar thing before walking off in the direction in which he came and never returned from he said to GENE this "our names are different, but signed the same, only the perception of our signatures, must be inverted laterally, at the same time, then one of the cranes who looks west, must choose to look east, moving with him, the crane who honors the ground of which supports him".
the idea came to him quietly one night as if it were a falling seed from a scattered dandelion head drifting slowly effortlessly downward the young man was a distinguished equestrian even at his age and equipped his horses with only the finest tack a well made and fitted saddle made his ride comfortable the workshop that makes the saddles that the young man purchases is centered in this town the saddles are fabricated and warehoused in this town and shipped elsewhere via the railway that connects the town to larger towns and the city the man who oversees the work is no horseman or craftsman for that matter what he is, though, is a logician self made a young man who avoids the impatience of crowds and instead tends to his aging parents a young man who earned his title through effort non physical but still effort he has the ability to make men work for him and respect him and this is everything the visitor wanted he knew this opportunity would be fleeting a moment's grab and he knew he would succeed he had no doubts fifty thousand dollars will buy the time of many men fightening men to a logician but the young man loved a game the thrill of the bet chasing the water to the ocean
the boy called GENE was no longer a boy or so he felt his superiors called him such but the innocent qualities that made him a boy he no longer held the curiosity, yes but the nativity, no he was at the age, where, depending on the circumstances he could be referred to as a boy or a man GENE, however, felt he was a man as he carried all the tools a man would carry and spoke the way a man ought to speak with conviction with wit with integrity his most important distinction, however was the fact he employed men surely, he thought, a boy could not oversee the work of men but regardless of his feelings GENE was in a position many men would betray their virtues to achieve and he knew this among other things and used it to his advantage as well as to the advantage of those he trusted GENE never studied at a university nor did he acquire an apprenticeship in the words of his superiors he "went from sweeping the floors of the warehouse, to sweeping the floor of his office". this was his trade an onlooker may suggest and he was proud to adhere to that observation but what defined GENE was not his profession it was his books two large bookshelves on either side of a mantel filled with leather bound notebooks and the notebooks were each filled with words GENE was a collector of words it was what made him TIC it was what lead him from a very small life to a very big life in a small county of a small state in a large country there was one word, however, that GENE cherished more than the others and filled entire notebooks with each letter scrawled slightly different than the next to suggest a different meaning but still the word was the word and not an expression of anything tangible in his quest for a very big life GENE never left his small town or his small home or his small family they were the reason after all that he had a chance at a very big life the characters that became his acquaintances knew this and respected this but those who knew nothing of him found him to be a recluse GENE gave little care to this and continued to excel in his industry that is until someone took notice of him a very wealthy family from the next county over they were wealthy because their grandparents were wealthy and they were not ashamed of this fact the patriarch of the family had three sons two were nearing middle age and held lofty titles in the railroad industry but one was nearly the age of GENE two or three winters younger only he was stubborn to learning he traded his father's coins for liquor and often gave gifts of exquisite jewelry to the unmarried daughters of wealthy men he was troubled but even more so was his father his father gave him an ultimatum to wisely invest fifty thousand dollars and become independently wealthy or scatter the monetary gift on frivolities and excuse himself from the family this made the young man anxious and envious of his siblings and every other man his age making a name for himself he acted as a man in his predicament with his lack of values would though the young man was not disciplined he was no fool he knew the easiest way to gain his father's approval was to claim another man's work as his own and in the absence of witnesses the deed would be quite easy with fifty thousand dollars he thought almost too easy but too easy was not what he liked he enjoy the game a predictable game but a game none the less he was young he thought it would have to be the work of a man my age a man from another county a man from a small town where no one mingles with the men of the city it would have to be a labor other than railroading a labor where the working men do not travel far and do not have wages that support such travels the young man saddled his horse crossed the river and meandered the trails of the neighboring county the first town was barren tobacco farmers complained of the drought and bartenders kept themselves busy the second town was smaller than the first remarkable only in vastness and poverty but again no industry the third town however was small but bustling a railroad connected this town to the city and talk traveled but only between larger towns and the city this town was a statue that no one notices but everyone walks past to get to where they are going this town was where a man could hide among the men that pass the young man hitched his horse to the nearest post and walked toward the hotel he knew what he would do next
a boy called GENE a boy called GENE walks to the square of a small town in a small county of a small state in a large country his house was small, and his family smaller so he wandered to pass the time and stretch his legs as it both bothered and inspired his mind that everything and everyone around him were so small he carried with him always a leather bound notebook the pages were filled with large writing words he was not like the other children of his age or like the adults that watched over him he collected words and wrote them down letter by letter in his notebook the men in the square knew this about him and often made a mockery of him by giving him unflattering words to commit to paper while they chewed their tobacco and cat called the rich men's daughters passing through the square in their carriages but today was different as the boy arrived to the square he could feel a sharpness through each breath he drew the air was heavy and charged like the moment before a lightning bolt meets the earth he liked this feeling but was very, very afraid of it as a gambler loves and fears the throw of dice the boy walked toward a chicken inspecting the dusty ground for grain but in his approach he noticed a peculiar sight seated on a long bench beneath the train depot rested an old man but not an old man as he was accustomed to seeing this was an old man far older than any man the boy had ever seen the kind of old man who must have been careful with his words to arrive to such an advanced age his white hair was long and drawn back and his face clean shaven he wore deeply faded coveralls well kept, but lacking much of the original dye the boy was drawn toward the old man and with each progressing step he felt more and more burdened by the heavy air as the boy approached the old man he was startled to see that his presence was expected at only three paces from the bench the old man opened his eyes and turned to the boy now frozen in place "you're the boy who collects words, now, aren't you"? inquired the old man in a gravelly drawl the boy was curious of his voice never before had he heard a voice of this strength a deep, husky voice like that of a man who smoked tobacco for a lifetime but did not carry the odor of it "yes, i am, sir". stated the boy the old man leaned forward and to the left and squinted his eyes as to sharpen his focus on the boy "i am from the city, son". his focus turned quickly rightward toward the road leading to the city then back to the boy just as hastily "when i was a young man, i did the same as you". said the old man in a less abrasive voice "but now, in my old age, i watch my body fail me, and i watch as my mind begins to do the same". the old man's voice grew softer "i have for you something, dear boy, a word that has yet to be written". the boy felt less agitated by the presence of the old man and moved to sit beside him on the long bench the boy studied the old man's appearance noting every subtle detail of the old man who did not smell of tobacco but had a raspy voice who wore faded overalls but bore no stains or tears upon the denim who kept a disheveled appearance but managed to shave clean his face who sat among the beggars in the depot while making no effort to conceal the gold chain hanging from his pocket the boy asked "what is the word, sir"? the boy's demeanor tensed he wondered if the beggars and passersby could feel the heaviness of the air as he did "do you understand, child, that this will be the most powerful word you will ever hear, in your entire life"? "yes, sir". the old man leaned toward the boy seated beside him his long hair seemed caught in an invisible tangle of matter he could neither describe nor feel but sense, yes the boy could sense an emanation that was centered around the old man the weightiness of the air was sourced at this bench where the two sat "i am ready to hear the word". said the boy turning his ear to the old man as one would listen for a faint sound in the distance the old man with his peculiar hair and gravelly voice hunched his back making his face level with the boy's ear and spoke the word to him in one breath "but sir, that is not a word, it does not sound like a word, or behave like a word, and it does not fit with the other words i know". said the boy as the old man straightened his back "exactly right, my boy, it is not yet a word, as it is not yet written, and it does not fit with the words you already know, just as i do not fit with the people of your town, but does that make me any less real, or any less significant"? asked the old man to the boy "no, sir, it does not, but the word was a very small word, you would think a powerful word, would be larger than that". the old man smiled "but a very large word is easy to carry, by definition, and a very small word, a very small word, is easy to lose in such a big, big mind, as yours". "how do i carry this word, sir"? asked the boy "son, you will carry this word in the same manner you carry the others, but it will be the most important, word, you, carry". the boy picked up his pencil and scrawled the letters one by one in his leather bound notebook he traced over the letters again and again as he sat next to the old man listening to his nose whistle with every inhale the boy could not keep his mind from wandering between the old man and the old man's word as the boy's thoughts ebbed and flowed and as the old man's eyelids grew heavier the rumble of a train filled the station before the doors opened and passengers shuffled the old man brought himself to his feet slowly but with an archaic grace and smiled at the boy "run along, now, the depot is no place for a child". the old man walked as slowly as he rose with a shy nobility to his gait and boarded the railcar the boy called GENE stumbled through the crest of the traveling crowd keeping the old man in his gaze as long as he could maintain but after a few glances he lost position of him and as the train carried the passengers westward the boy couldn't help but notice how the once heavy air began to lighten this small word, though thought the boy this small word that wasn't really a word was now becoming such
