The Duster by Joe Ducato

Powder flowed from his cupped hands into the pouch.  Samson had a satisfied mind after finding so many wild orchids in The Shallow Field.  Some even grew from the crack in Split Rock – and the string of many sunny afternoons that followed made for great drying.  It had all been a delightful surprise.

Samson was a duster.  He believed in the magic of the orchid – believed in the dust that he and his forefathers made from it, especially in the dust made from the orchid’s ovary.  Ovary dust had, by far, the most magic; magic that could make insects glow and turn ordinary bull frogs into The 3 Tenors.  Of course, having the right pestle mattered.  Samson had his grandfather’s.

There weren’t many dusters left.  Most of them had died off or decided the dead were better off left dead.  Samson knew the book, The Way of the Seed – the great tome passed from generation to generation in Samson’s part of the world – from cover to cover and back.  He believed in the stories found there, especially in the part called, The History of Fields which described a time, long ago, when the soil had been rich and every field teemed with color and life.  It told of how people came from far and wide to catch a glimpse of nature in full regalia, and then went on to tell of the drought that followed, robbing the land of its beauty and leaving everyone feeling condemned.  Sadly, it told of how the land couldn’t even cry because there was no water left for tears.  It described how many fled, leaving just the stubborn –  then how        one-by-one the stubborn died but their dry souls refused to go to Heaven.  They were too stubborn.  Instead, they went to The Blind Forest where they wait for true beauty to return so they can then go with souls filled with beauty. 

That led to the creation of All Spirits Day – the day, once a year, when a duster goes to The Blind Forest and spreads the wild orchid dust.  The dust brings hope to the dry souls; hope that, with patience, true beauty will soon return.  Many believe that wild orchid dust can make a dry soul dance.  Samson saw his own mother dancing there with unflinching joy. 

The orchid dust also keeps The Woodland Eyes away – The Woodland Eyes being the most destructive force in nature – the killer of kindness and all that is good in the world.  It’s believed that The Woodland Eyes gain strength by sapping what little hope the hopeless have and using that energy to wreak havoc on the land.  Many believe that the Woodland Eyes, in a fit of rage, put the crack in Split Rock and twisted the trees at the edge of The Blind Forest.

Outside Samson’s window, night fell on another All-Spirits Day.   He tied his pouch, tossed it over his shoulder and stepped into the moonlight.  Venus flirted with the moon and the moon blushed.

He made his way to the old train depot, a long-abandoned shack-like structure – once vibrant but now home to night creatures, birds and insects that science had yet to name.  An empty bottle of Schnapps lay on the ground. 

Samson stood upon what used to be a platform then turned towards the tracks where he knew beyond, he would see the edge of The Blind Forest – but something was blocking his view – a line of freight cars that stretched as far as the eye could see.

He noticed a tiny light coming towards him.  The light bounced like the dot over the words of a sing-along song.  He clutched his pouch. The light was from a lantern at the end of a long man’s arm, a long-man with a purposeful walk.  The long-man’s boots crushed ballast.  It reminded Samson of the sound a dog makes when it dreams.  The clanking of the lantern sounded like a ball and chain. 

The long-man stopped when he reached Samson.  He looked the duster up and down.  A tin voice came over the walkie-talkie the long-man carried in his pocket, but he ignored it. 

“You can’t be here,” the long-man said, shining the light in Samson’s eyes.

“Kindly move your steel dragon so I can get to my forest”  Samson said.

The long-man replied, “There’s a car down there with a hot wheel-bearing and chemical cars close-by. This thing ain’t going nowhere ‘til we get rid of that car.  Feds on the way and big rigs from Gary and apparently you can’t read.  You’re trespassing.”

“Trespassing? This land is ours,” Samson stated plainly.

“What’s going on?” the radio-voice asked.

The long-man raised his walkie-talkie.

“Trespasser, local,” he snarled.

“Have you made it to the hot car?”

“No, still got 20 left to walk.”

“Well get a move on,” the radio-voice urged, “Get rid of the local.  Call the police if you have to.”
“Did you hear that?” the long-man asked Samson who stood his ground.

“Don’t know nothing ‘bout no ‘20 left to walk’.  I just know I’ve got dusting to do and little time to do it.  Now please – allow me to go to my woods.”

“You don’t understand. This thing can go up like a bomb,” the long-man said with urgency.

“I need to dust or the Woodland Eyes…”

The long-man looked oddly at Samson.

“No way this thing is moving for at least 4 hours, and I’m being kind.”

Samson lowered his head.

“Rubbish!  The souls…”

“What’s going on?” the radio-voice asked.

“We may have a situation,” the long-man whispered.

“Situation?” Samson squawked, “If I can slip under that coupler between those 2 cars,  I swear, you’ll not see the likes of me again.”

The long-man turned quickly then back.

“There’s nothing beyond those cars.”

“You’re wrong, Sampson corrected, “There’s that which needs nourishing or the Woodland Eyes will turn ‘em to stone.  I know you know. We all know, just differently.”

“Do you need help?” the radio-voice blared, “Chief Dispatcher wants to know about the car.  Come on Sid!”

The duster and the long-man continued their stare-down.

“Just let me through so I can do what I need to do!” Samson pleaded.

“I can’t,” the long-man nearly apologized, “If something happened, the railroad, me, we could be liable.  I don’t know you or what you’ve got in that pouch.”

Samson removed the pouch from his shoulder and opened it.

“Back off!” the long-man shouted.

“It’s just orchids. For the lost ones, the dry ones.  Can’t you smell?  Everybody knows dry ones.  You can’t be any different.”

The long-man looked into the eyes of the duster then into the space between the freight cars.

“I’m telling you – that car down there could blow us all to Kingdom Come.”

“Kingdom Come,’’ Samson repeated softly then threw the pouch back over his shoulder and stepped forward.  He looked the long-man in the eyes. 

“That picture you carry in your wallet, the picture of that boy…”

The long-man paused and lowered his head.

 “It’s just orchid dust,” Samson said with innocence, “I know you know it can’t hurt, can only help.”

The long-man became lost in thought – the moment one sees the dawn before they see the dawn.

“Between those cars,” the duster said, “See the eyes?  I know you do.  Anyone with cracks sees them and we all have cracks.  It’s been a pleasure talking with you. It has.”

The long-man looked oddly at Sampson, then turned and started to walk away toward the “20 left to go” leaving the duster alone on the platform.  Boots on hard ballast – the sound of dogs dreaming.

The duster clutched his pouch then ran towards the cars.  He ducked under the coupler and disappeared into The Blind Forest. 

Later, insects glowed and 3 bullfrogs at the edge of a pond croaked out “O sole Mio.”      

Joe Ducato

Image by Phong Bùi Nam from Pixabay A freight train stopped in the woods among flowering shrubs.