The Seed

He chose the longer queue to the check out as it led to the young guard in combat gear with his finger cocked on the trigger of his semiautomatic. His two comrades were spread on either side of the store.

Another cashier called to him, as her line was empty, but he declined and said he was in no hurry. He listened to Jingle Bells as he waited.

The cashier ran through the few items in his shopping bag. The shelves had been particularly sparse today. He paid with cash dug out of his overcoat pocket, and then repacked his purchases into his bag. He lifted them up. They weren’t heavy. A man of his age could easily carry them, but he stooped his back a little with the weight. He poked his walking cane on the floor for balance.

The young guard was in front of him. A face so young and clean, it had never seen a razor. Young enough to be my greatgrandson.

The old man’s nod and smile elicited no response. The boy made no effort to let him pass.

The man said, ‘I don’t know if anyone ever tells you this, but you have a valuable contribution to make here.’

The boy cast a vacant gaze his way.

‘I mean it. I know people have talked of the crackdown, and the riots, but they don’t talk about what you can do. The things you can achieve. Fit young lad like you.’ He coughed and leant on his stick.

The boy regarded him uncertainly. The old man hoped nothing he said would trigger the youth’s impulses and have him hauled away. I’m an old man encouraging the younger generation.

‘In fact, I don’t suppose a healthy fella like you could give me a hand carrying my groceries to the car?’

The boy’s head moved robotically towards the shopping bag. He sighed and dropped his weapon to his side. The old man handed him his bag before his hand had been extended.

‘Mighty kind of you.’

The doors slid open and they stepped out into the carpark. Sunlight hit them, whisps of smoke rose over the city where the riots had taken place. The smell of burning hung in the air. A siren merged with Deck the Halls on the carpark speakers. There was a sense of lull which could at any time be reagitated.

‘Nasty business,’ said the man, and waved an arm in the general direction of the siren. ‘I shop this time of day to meet the curfew. Ever since the Emergency you guys are here for.’

A dry smile slid from the edge of the boy’s mouth. He turned to the old man, who examined his features for menace. They eyed each other for a moment. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

The boy turned.

From behind him, the man said, ‘I park at the far end, near the exit. Keeps my daily steps up.’

The carpark was largely vacant. Fewer and fewer people ventured out now, since the Proclamations.

They walked, the young man in battle gear and the old man in his overcoat, tapping his cane on the muddled asphalt.

He thought of his son-in-law, and wondered where he was. And Mrs Davison’s boy, where he had been taken. What they had endured. His daughter was distraught. It sat like black oil in his mind. I’m too old to fight, too old to resist.

He said, ‘Many of my neighbours don’t feel safe getting out with. So I come out daily to scrounge what I can off the shelves to help them out. Gives me a bit of fresh air. Look at that.’

A helicopter sputtered over the city buildings. He paused and pointed his stick at it. ‘That’s surveillance, yeah?’

The boy nodded. His look was disdainful, reluctant.

‘Ever had to go up in one?’

The eyes narrowed. Like a puppy unsure of a simple object. ‘No.’

He speaks. He leant forward on his cane and said, ‘Well there’s an adventure waiting for you.’

They began walking again. ‘You’ll have many adventures,’ he said.

The youth looked askance at him. ‘Oh yes,’ said the old man. ‘Fine young man like you. Life’s ahead of you. To do all sorts of things.’

His companion smiled.

‘You get out much? With your mates? Paint the town red?’

The youth wobbled his head, and murmured, ‘Sometimes.’

‘Course you do. Terrific time of life. Specially this time of year.’

‘Not much time out of barracks.’

I’ve got him.

‘All the more reason to take advantage. What about girls? Sweet on anyone, or still on the hunt?’

They took a few slow steps in silence before the boy sighed, ‘Girls are hard.’

The old man stood to his side.

‘I bet they flock around a lad like you. A man in uniform. You’d be pushing them away, yeah?’

The lad snorted glumly.

They approached an old brown Toyota, its paint peeling and the window seals greyed and worn.

‘This is me.’ The old man rifled around in his pocket and pulled out the key. ‘Old school,’ he said. ‘Don’t have a remote thingy.’

The boot opened with a metallic crank. The spare tyre, jack and spanner lay inside the dark felt casing. You could so some damage with those. The young man looked at them and then at the old man.

‘Just put the bags next to the jack.’

He slung the bags in.

The old man reached into the boot.

‘Don’t move!’

The old man, his hand halfway into a bag, turned to see the rifle end pointed at his head. The young man’s breath grazed the air, a look of sour and volatile righteousness on his face.

The boy’s eyes darted to the spanner and back.

The old man’s heart pounded. He felt momentarily dizzy. But he persevered and gently pulled out a muffin from the bag.

‘I wanted to give you this,’ he said. ‘You’ve been most kind. Thank you.’ He held it up for the boy to see. Its brown wrapping was moist and thick chunks of sugar and dried apple stuck to his fingers as he grasped it.

‘Here,’ he said and thrust towards the young man, who stared at it.

‘Supplement your army diet. The least I can do to repay your kindness. Besides, it’s Christmas.’ The boy watched as the old man reached forward and touched his martial shirtsleeve, leaving a sticky residue on his arm band.

The boy lowered his rifle and took the muffin. His brow furrowed. The old man said,

‘That’s what it’s all about, you know. Being kind. That’s the best way. We’ve got to be kind to each other, you know that? Got to be kind.’

He walked with an exaggerated limp to the driver’s door, and swung it open. He leant against the roof and flashed a generous smile towards the young guard, who smiled back vaguely, then he got in.

He turned the ignition and as he did up his seatbelt, he whispered, ‘Just planting the seed, it’s all I can do now.’

Silent Night swung through the car’s old radio. In his rear vision mirror he could see the boy, in his soldier’s uniform, the damp muffin in one hand, the gun in the other.

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Photo by Thalia Ruiz c/- Unsplash