In God’s Garden

A train rolled through the prairie, through the grass, and through the moonlight. The land hushed with the wind and droned with cicadas.

This country’s evening chorus only came to silence, gradually, in waves, as the train pressed through. And only after the light from the window in the last car twinkled out of mind did the chorus renew with an unmarked joy. Meanwhile, shadows of what-would-be sat on the distant hills, looking on without anticipation or longing. The light from the last car never twinkled out of their minds and hearts. And inside the last car, two animals played with chance, under a shaded lamp.

Here, had even the most discerning of observers sat in the last car of this train, they would have scarcely noticed any details. Yet, eventually, observant eyes would adjust to the darkness, whose canvas was cut only by a thin light given off by the lamp. Once fully adjusted to the blackness, our observer would doubtless be surprised to see that occupying the last car was an enormous black cat sitting upon a stool. Sitting and even anxiously rubbing his paws together. Indeed, the cat must have been there the whole time. And the lamp, which hung above him, lighted his eyes amber.

Secondly, the observer would notice the two purple playing cards lying face down in front of the cat. To which his eager eyes darted towards frequently. His amber iris’s—with a very anguished look—attempting to stare through the decoration of intertwined wheat embossed on the back, to see the important symbols on the other side.

Lastly, and only if the observer followed the darting eyes of the cat, would they notice a wolf sitting motionless across the table. His shape seemed punched out of the darkness, more shadowy than the cat’s black fur, and more real than the passing wind. And though he was not lighted by the lamp, his eyes shone more keenly from the dark than the cats ever could.

Though they talked at a whisper and only made small, refined gestures they were clearly carrying on an extremely splendid conversation. Discussion bounced back-and-forth between the two when suddenly and softly the wolf asked the cat, “Please stop fretting. You will rub your paws off with your fidgeting and your eyes will grow tired. Let’s have a drink, and talk, and forget this hand for now. We still have so far to go.”

“I will! I will!” the cat exclaimed.

“You will what?”

“I will do everything you have suggested. I will stop playing and talk. And I will especially drink.”

With this, the cat exuberantly jumped from his stool and landed neatly in front of a liquor cabinet by the communing door of the car. The wolf watched him take two glasses and fill them nearly to the brim with a brown liquid. As he did spilling a great deal on the green-carpeted floor, before corking and deftly replacing the bottle. Again, in one leap, he returned once again to his seat facing the wolf. Either through miracle or skill, not a drop from either glass was spilled as both glasses were set neatly down upon the table on top of three face-up cards.

It is worthwhile to note that before the cat’s unexpected leap the three cards were the four of spades, the nine of hearts, and the ten of clubs. However, after the drinks were placed, the nine of hearts had become the ten of hearts. And the deck that had been standing beside had ever so slightly changed angle and now looked slightly disheveled towards the top. However, either through excitement, or ignorance, the cat did not seem the notice the error in their game.

And sitting back down, the black cat let out a loud purr and exclaimed, “So.”

He said this in a way that neither indicated a question or statement. It just filled out space and eased the quiet.

“So,” returned the wolf. Rolling over the word as if thinking about it and all the nuances and intricacies it carried. “Yes, just so. We have a lot we could talk about, but none of it now seems especially meaningful.”

Interrupting the wolf’s “meaningful” the cat chimed in, “They say talk without meaning is dangerous and you will end up regretting everything you let fall from your tongue. Words and ideas should be clear and have purpose. In short: thought out well in advance.”

“And they who say that are not wrong. Nevertheless, I have some matters I wanted to discuss with you. The meaningfulness and purpose of them can be discovered as we talk and judgment dolled out at the end.”

“Agreeable.” The cat happily shouted, “You are always so perfectly agreeable.” Upon this final agreeable, he drained his glass in a quick gulp and sat beaming at the wolf.

“Yes, just so. Let me ask you a question,” the wolf said.

“Yes, yes, ask away good friend, ask away. Only, would it be all right if I were to fill my little glass up once again? You know what they say about empty glasses.”

And without so much as politely waiting for a “No, what do they say?” or a questing look he exclaimed, “you shouldn’t see them as empty.” And with this confusing statement, the cat once again leaped up again. All the while laughing crazily and returned to the bar at the end side of the car.

The wolf looked strangely at the cat but did not do anything. Instead, he sat and awaited the cat’s return.

“Never trust a man that doesn’t drink, or gamble,” the cat purred, seemingly off-topic again. “A man without vices is no man at all.”

But the wolf latched on to this admittedly, not the original idea. “Yes, just so, vices… And what, if you don’t mind me asking, are acceptable vices?”

“Acceptable? They are all acceptable! I accept winter, and that my poor tail and ears will freeze nearly off. But I don’t have to like it.” The cat exploded into more laughter.

“What then?” the wolf asked again, it must be said with great patience, “what vices make a man?”

“They all do. Man—speaking as an individual, you see—is but the shadow cast by his actions. And if he leads a blameless life, staying inside, doing nothing all day, what kind of shadow will he cast? It will be so weak that even the sun can’t even light him up!” And again the cat drained his glass.

“To do agree to some degree, but only as far as the actions make the man. What of the saints? Are they not voiceless? Do they not lead blameless lives? Yet they are remembered, and as you say, ‘cast shadows.’” The wolf replied.

“They are marked by their very lack of vice. To be anything in between—which you must admit is where most men fall—is pointless. The complete absence and the complete presence of vice make the man.”

“And yet I am not sure. Is being simply human—that is to say where most men fall—not enough?” “No, definitely not.”

“So all that is plain, merely good, or even great doomed? Only the completely villainous or pure beyond attainment is worth noting.”

“Yes, all that is great is doomed. And more than that all that is great is doomed and doomed to repeat.” “Do you know where we are?” asked the wolf.

“No, I do not.”

“We are traveling through a land where, a long time from now, people may prove your supposition. And, yet they may prove you wrong.”

“I doubt it, sir, I doubt it.”

“What do you say we bet on it.”

“Gladly, I will bet.”

“And yet the stakes should be inline with the wager, I always think.”

“Most definitely. Anything else, or something as trivial as money is boring, bordering on insulting” replied the cat.

“Then let’s return to this hand. If I win you stay and travel this land for the next 10,000 years, a mere blink of time’s eye.”

“And if I win?” “You won’t win.”

In spite of his thick, black fur the cat grew pale. He who had this whole time been boisterous and jovial suddenly grew quiet.

“As I said,” the wolf repeated. “It is but a mere blink and you will grow the wiser from it as well as in my esteem.”

“I will play, but I want two things.”

“Yes?” The wolf droned.

“First, if I win I want never to come here again. Second, I want the cards to be reshuffled and redealt.” “Fine. Most fine. I agree to both.”