The old man sensed the young boy approaching the weathered wooden bench.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“Watching that man shovel rocks into the tram.”
“Why’s he doing that?”
“Because the Master ordered it.”
“Why did the Master do that?”
“Because the man dared challenge the Master’s ideas.”
“Oh.” The boy stood at the opposite end of the bench, leaving space between him and the old man. The boy knew the man was old because of his gray hair, hunched shoulders, and long beard, like his grandpa Haro. And he smelled, also like his grandpa Haro. The man’s shoes were scuffed, his clothes covered with a black dust. “Was he right?”
“Many thought so, but they didn’t dare say anything.” The old man continued to stare through the glass window, his eyes unblinking.
“How come you keep looking at him?”
“Because the master said I had to?”
“How come?”
“Because he can, I guess.”
“You don’t know what you did?”
“Oh, out of frustration I may have called the Master a bad name in front of a friend of mine. At least, I thought he was a friend. But this seems a harsh punishment if that's the real reason.”
“Do you know his name?”
“The man in there?” the old man asked, pointing at the glass.
The boy nodded.
“Not his real name. I call him Sissy Puss.”
“That’s a funny name,” the boy said with a giggle. “Why do you call him that?”
“Well, he’s wearing that pink onesie - - by order of the Master - - which makes him look like a sissy, and he for sure has an ugly puss.”
“You’re funny.” The boy giggled again, then stared through the window and watched Sissy Puss shovel some more. “He looks tired.”
“He should be. He’s been shoveling for a long time.”
“How long does he have to keep working?”
“Until the pile is gone.”
The boy watched again, tilting his head from side to side.
“Every time he picks up some rocks, more fill in. How’s he going to finish?”
The old man leaned forward and put his arms on his legs. “Probably won’t,” he said.
The boy picked up a stone off the ground and held it in his hand. “It’s hard.”
“It’s some special metal only found on this planet. Explorers discovered it around eighty years ago. It’s harder than anything known before then. The Master ordered it be used by the military for everything from bombs to bullets.”
“Only bombs and bullets?”
“Airplanes and ships too. His enemies don’t have anything to stop an invasion. That keeps them in line. And besides, the Master likes bullying them into going along with what he wants.
“Bullying is wrong. Our teacher told us to report anyone who bullied a classmate.” The boy moved closer to the window. “You should tell on him.”
The old man attempted to smile, but his dried, cracked skin wouldn't allow it.
“Does the Master live here?”
“No. He lives on Earth.”
“Does he rule Earth?”
“He’d like to." The old man sat up and stretched his arms over his head. "You sure do ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m seven,” the boy said with a shrug.
“Why don’t you come and sit next to me?” the old man said, patting the bench.
The boy stared at the old man, a puzzled look on his face. “I shouldn’t. My parents told me to beware of strangers.”
“Are we still strangers?”
The boy stood quiet for a few seconds. “I guess not,” he replied and slid on the bench, his feet dangling above the ground.
“Why don’t you leave?” the boy asked.
“Can’t. Not until I find a replacement.”
“How long have you been watching?”
“Oh, since I was about your age.”
“That’s a l-o-o-ng time.”
“Yes, it is,” the old man said, standing for the first time in he didn’t know how long. His knees ached. His back was stiff. He took a step and grabbed the back of the bench to keep him from falling. He waited until he felt stable and then walked away.
“Where are you going?” the boy asked.
“To get a drink.”
“Who’s going to watch the man?”
“You are. Sorry kid, but I’ve done my time. Now it’s your turn,” the man mumbled.
"What did you say?" When the man didn't answer, the boy turned to the window. The man on the other side of the glass kept shoveling, oblivious to the change beyond the window.
"Hey, mister? How do I. . ." The boy stopped as the old man disappeared into a mist. He tried to stand but couldn't. It was like someone had put glue on the bench. He attempted to unsnap his pants to get out of them, but couldn't do that either. He turned toward the mist, which was gone, and then back to the man behind the window. The boy put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and began to count each shovelful.
