A Small Man

Cuddled up in thick socks, with the heavy wool socks pulled over them. In fuzzy sweat pants and tank top. Wearing the gray Giants sweatshirt to bed these days. Pull the hood up. Take off the glasses. Into bed. Under the thick covers. Listen to the syntho drifting in from the study at the other end of the apartment. Window shades up. Dusk comes. Sounds of the street distant. Blending with the ambient ocean music.

No one can see me.

Sleep.

A slender man is standing in line to enter the Hall of Justice.

It is early in the morning. There are many people waiting to pass through the metal detector. He is dressed entirely in black. Black combat boots. Black jeans. A black tank top, no doubt, under that dark, charcoal gray woolen sweater. He is wearing black gloves made of soft suede. A shaved head, four gold earrings in the right ear, sunglasses. Waiting.

Strangers strike up conversations with one another. Casual, meaningless morning drivel. Some glance surreptitiously at the small man. Their voices are hushed. He does not see them. He does not hear them. He does not move. Except with the line. One person at a time. Silent.

His turn comes and he dutifully empties his pockets of the items that contain metal. Onto the table, keys, cell phone, coins. He steps through the detector. No sound. He reaches to retrieve his possessions. The guard stops him. The man cannot enter the Hall of Justice with a knife. The man pauses and looks at the guard. Intense.

People continue to empty their pockets, pass through the star gate, retrieve their possessions, and continue their lives and pursue their business on the other side. The Eloi returning to caves in cattle-like response to the sirens. All are careful to reach around the intense man. Some glance at he who the guard has stopped. The silence of authority settles in a small zone surrounding the guard and the man.

Knife?

The guard stands up straight. He is taller than the smaller man by at least a head, perhaps more. He is in his late thirties and already heavy with a life of alcohol and food abuse. He is not a policeman. He is not a Sheriff's deputy. He is a private guard. He is the Gate Keeper. His badge is well-polished. He encroaches on the smaller man's space and towers over him.

"Is that a knife on your key chain?"

It is a Swiss Army pen knife. It contains a nail file, a toothpick, a very, very small pen, a teeny little scissors, and a shiny, stainless steel blade about one inch long. The entire object is glittery with expensive, anal-retentive Swiss perfection and ideal for cutting Swiss chocolate into bite-size pieces.

It is a pen knife.

The silent zone expands. The Eloi glance in fear at the small man who has been stopped. None hurry. The pace is even and smooth. Steady. Quiet.

“You cannot bring that in here.”

The guard is in command. He knows that the small man has a court date. No one is passing through the gate at this hour who does not have a court date. All must pass through the gate at this hour. None may avoid the gate at this hour. All must satisfy the gate keeper at this hour.

The thin man moves, cat-like, directly into the bigger man's personal space. They are almost touching. He removes his sunglasses. He stares directly up and into the pupils of the dull brown eyes of the bigger man. The large man looks down into the icy blue, cold and lifeless eyes of the smaller man. A pause becomes longer. The silence lengthens. Longer. Longer.

What is your name?

This is unexpected. The guard waits. Doubt creeps in. Silence. The guard moves quickly away from the smaller man. He points to the sign. He stammers.

The sign says "no knives."

The slim man removes the knife from his keys. He leaves the building. He returns. He passes through the gate. He pockets his possessions. The guard is standing ten feet away from the gate. He is immediately outside the bullet-proof glass that separates the police from the public. There are several police officers behind the glass. They are there to observe that the Eloi pass through the gate without incident.

All of the officers are staring at the man in black. The guard inches closer to the glass. He is staring at the man in black. It is quiet. All of the Eloi have entered. Only the man in black remains.

He looks at the guard.

What is your name?

The man waits. The guard looks away. All of the police officers look away.

Silence. Waiting.

The man is gone when they look up again.