Seasons of the Gunslinger

THE BEGINNING?

Genesis 1:3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

Sun-baked, sunburned, sun destroyed. Just another goddamn day in the sun. Jesus, will this sun ever go down? 

Finally, it dips below the horizon and that ball of fire finally gives me the rest I’ve been hoping for since noon. I give a desultory tug on the reins of my buckskin horse. His ambling walk slows and then, stops. 

My left hand removes my hat and my right works through my sweaty hair. A deep breath of the already cooling air fills my lungs. For the first time in many hours, I really look at the country I’m passing through and appreciate its beauty. The rocks, covered with colorful lichen, poke out through the bluish sagebrush. Low juniper trees outline the washes and draws that work through this mesa like veins. 

Ahead, I spot a good campsite for the night; a low ridge about a mile off to the south. Ought to be some wood there, and the orientation of the ridge will block the wind if it kicks up. I'll also have a great view of my back trail. Not that I am expecting pursuit, but I will have plenty of good light for an hour or more anyway.

When I arrive at the ridge, there is a cluster of large sandstone boulders that will shield the fire and a small patch of cheatgrass for my horse. My gun belt and hat, I set to the side. I let the breeze dry the sweat and I relish the feel of the evening. My horse gets a rub down, and a handful of oats from my saddle bag. After a bit, a small fire heats a large cup of water. I drop a chunk of hard tack and another of jerky in the boiling water andI eat this poor man’s soup as I watch nightfall cover my back trail. When full night arrives, I douse the fire and rinse the cup. 

Time to lean against a rock and listen to the night. It is finally cool, and my eyes drift closed. I have the dream again. My whole adult life I’ve had the same dream nearly once a month.

It starts with a pair of dark eyes looking at me from under a tangle of filthy hair. There is blood streaked down the face but the eyes are full of a deep peace.  The man’s voice is strong and his words fill my mind. 

“It is finished.”  He says. I feel the haft of the spear in my hands and I know what I must do.

I am not jerked awake. I’m just suddenly aware that I am awake. My eyes open and I see the waning, gibbous moon splashing its silver light over the open plain. I am aware of my horse and can hear it breathing as it dozes.

I’m aware of something else. I am no longer alone.

My hand snakes out for the Walker Colt in its holster and the large pistol swings up. It settles on the dark apparition that sits against a boulder, some ten feet away.

The shadowy figure doesn't flinch. It does not react at all.

I wait. I have found it wise that when you’ve done all you can do, waiting is the best thing to do next. It is also the hardest thing to do.

The silence stretches. I notice that it is now truly silent. 

A normal night, with its bugs and beasties, hums with life and quiet sounds. Now there is a true deep silence that is so rare in the natural world.

It seems odd that I can’t see the face of the figure. In the light of the moon I can see most things. This shape seems to swallow all light.

I wait.

The man-shaped thing waits.

“Alright, stranger, what brings you to my camp?” I am the first to break the silence. I guess I lose the waiting game but I’m still the one with the pistol.

Smoothly, the figure leans forward. Just for a moment, the hatless head is just blackness and burning eyes. Then, as if it is moving out of a shadow that does not exist, I see fine, delicate features. Those eyes, they burn above an angelic smile for just a breath and then they resolve to a perfect black. The smile holds, and I confirm my suspicion that this, is a man.

“I am here with a proposition, a job offer if you will.” The smile remains as he speaks.

“I believe you're mistaken, friend. I’ve been actively avoiding folk for quite some time now. Can’t think of man nor beast that can offer me anything I want to hear.” My voice stays as steady as I would like, mostly.

“I have been called a beast, The Beast actually.” Although it doesn’t seem possible the smile seems to stretch even further. He chuckles a bit then and leans back. “And I suppose I am often mistaken for a man.”

“Listen Mister, I wouldn’t say I like killing, but I have done it before. Please convince me not to shoot you, just so I can go back to sleep.” I try to make sense of what the hell is going on but make no headway. I have never seen a man so comfortable with a steady hand holding a gun on him.

“Sean, let’s dispense with the banter and get down to business. I’ve had just about every threat imaginable leveled at me and yet… here I am.” My guest spreads his hands and executes a seated bow.

The name he calls me surprises me. I can’t remember the last time I was called by that name. Must have been in the old country, I am sure. Even on my Army papers I had put Michael instead. My first name was easier to get rid of than my accent, but even that faded. It faded just like everything else, ground down in that bloody war.

“Do you and I know each other, mister? Cause I can’t seem to place you.” I am feeling the weight of my pistol, so I lower my hand to a more comfortable position. “I haven’t heard that name in ten years or more.”

“Right, right, but I know your name. Not just the name you used in New York City and in the ‘Fightin’ 69th’. Not even just the one you used back in Ireland. I know your true name. The one my Father called you when he breathed life into you.” The man tugs at his chin and looks up. “Shall I tell you some of my names or have you guessed yet?”

My mind scrambles and kicks like an armadillo digging his burrow. My heartbeats get faster and I feel something welling up inside me. A sick, dizzy feeling that makes me shiver. Involuntarily, the gun sinks lower and I think…

”Diabhal.” My mind slips to Irish in my surprise. 

“You’re Old Scratch aren’t you.” I blurt.

The Devil’s smile seems to stretch again. This time I know for sure, no human could smile so wide.

“I’m only thirty-four. Is it my time already?” My heart sinks, not sure if I want the answer.

“Oh, no. Sean Michael O'Connor.” The way he says my name, each syllable sounds like the strike of a bell reverberating in the back of my eyes. 

“Not your time. I’ll tell you a secret. Your choices change the time of your death constantly. Watch, therefore, you know neither the day nor the hour; as the book says.” He begins to laugh now. A deep melodious laugh that gets just a little shrill before it cuts off.

“So, what is it that I can do for you then?” I say, as I put the big Walker back in its worn holster.

“Oh, young man we’ll get to that. We’ll definitely get to that. But first things at the beginning, final things at the end and my things all along the way. Let’s talk about you and your desires first. We can save the other bits and pieces, for dessert.” His hands begin to dance around each other in a washing motion.

“I haven’t a need for your…” He holds up his hand and shakes his head, cutting off my protest.

“Skip the silly and frankly, childish word games. We both know you wanted me to come; to make you into something else. To make you unstoppable, a force of nature to bring justice and settle old wrongs. I really thought you would call me during the war. But you held so tightly to my Father then.” He sighs and shakes his head in such an over dramatic way it is almost comical. “Now you accept reality. Even though He is omniscient and omnipresent He rarely gets involved. But, I am always here.”

I feel the old familiar rush. The anger and battle lust that has made me who I am and kept me alive. “He NEVER comes! Never answers!” The venom in my voice is fueled by all those memories bubbling suddenly to the fore. My breathing is fast and my hands clench.

The man-thing, who claims to be a fallen angel, just smiles and nods approvingly. “Yes, Sean. You see, that is why I came. That, right there. I am eternal, and I have hated for so long. It is always refreshing to see it burn anew.” An elegant wooden pipe seems to appear from nowhere in his left hand and a lit match in his right. He leans back and puffs. “Eternal but busy, Sean. Are you ready to hear my offer or not?”

"I'll hear your words, and I will keep in mind you are the Prince of Lies as you go." I say.

"The Prince of so much more than lies but I accept your skeptical condition." He puffs again at the pipe and exhales a cloud of smoke so dense it seems solid, hiding his face. “Sean my lad, I have seen you. Seen your heart laid bare. I have heard you. I have heard that voice inside you that speaks only the truth."

"Cease your own word games and speak plainly." I say. "I'm tired and you have said you are busy. Let's get on with this so I can deny you and go back to sleep."

His fingertips touch beneath his chin, the pipe clenched in his teeth. His shark smile stretches. "Ah, the sweet taste of hubris." He almost purrs.

He leans in and his left eyebrow lifts. "Sean, my boy; faith and fear both require you to believe in something that doesn't exist. I see you have put aside your faith. My offer is to take away your fear. Fear of death, fear of hurt, fear of failure all gone. I will make you immune to disease and plague. I will make you immune to damage from physical accident or violence. I wish to make you the Achilles of your day. An indomitable warrior who fears nothing on the earth. I will do this, not for your soul, but for your service. My Father has cast me down for my grievous offenses and I have long ago accepted that. My goal is not to add souls to my empire of pain and torture. I will earn the forgiveness of my Father by assisting the development of his creation."

He looks almost wistful for a moment and then continues. "The term of service will be one hundred years. You will take my directions and kill whom I say during this time. At the completion of the term you will go to your just reward. Whatsoever that may be."

He leans back, and his smile turns into a smirk. He curls his leg to his chest. He rests elbow on knee, and cheek on hand. Waiting.

My mind races. The possibilities and opportunities fill me, and I run through the things I might do. I have wished for this exact power over death so many times. I am suddenly shocked to realize I am instantly considering this. A deal with the devil.

Cautiously, I ask, "100 years of invulnerability in exchange for me doing things for you? I cannot be your slave for a century. There is no advantage for me."

He laughs and slaps his leg "Oh, no not a slave. Just when I say something needs done or someone needs taken care of, you do it."

"Too open ended." I scoff.

"How about once a month." He counters quickly.

"Four times, once per season.“ I fire back.

"Done." He says.

Oh shit. That was too easy.

"I get to choose whether to do the job or not." I push a little.

His face goes stern and cold. "Impossible." He says flatly.

"I had to try.” I grin.

His smile returns, and his hand comes toward me in one graceful, flowing motion. The hand is more clearly defined than anything I can remember.

 “Seal it, then." He says and the words are in my head as well as in my ears.

I stare at that hand. I think of all the tales about making a deal with the devil. Have I heard of one that didn't go badly in the end? Somewhere in my memory is a story of a saint who sold his soul, renounced God and turned to the underworld for power. Later he recanted and was able to have an archbishop or cardinal burn his contract. 

Of course, I know well the story of the fool Faustus who sold his soul and wasted the magic he was given. 

"I become your assassin cum laude for a century. Four times per year, one in each season. In return, I keep my soul but become immune to all physical damage, all the time?" I attempt to state the deal as I understand it.

"Yes." He says "I have things that need done and I judge that you can do what I need. I have tried other contracts, when I had different aims but now…" he shrugs. ”Your soul is yours to do with what you choose. It is much more, entertaining that way. Besides, I have other souls that must be collected so they can begin their torment and before they do too much harm."

"How long do I have to make this decision." I ask.

"Until I leave. So, a bare few minutes." His smile is huge.

Slowly I extend my hand. Thinking about what this means for me and for the things I have fought for in my life. As I take his hand in a firm grip, I can't help smiling. The smile feels larger than life and I am sure it stretches impossibly far across my face.