Story for my departed

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By

Lucas Millhouse (Summer 2007)

            “Build my pyramid!”  The evil pharaoh chanted.  The whip cracked once again over the slaves, as it had many times before that day.  This time flesh separated.  An old man screamed out in pain and dipped towards the floor, recounting his balance.  Times weren’t always like these.  Smells of wet wheat and dry grass sifted through his memory once again.  He longed to be home. He longed for something familiar and normal.  Not this! Not the whip again!

            “What the hell do you think you are doing?  You are to build my husbands pyramid.”  The yell from atop the brick complex came screeching down upon all of the laborers, bouncing off of their sweaty hides.  It’s too late for mercy.  It’s too late for justice.  Only thing to do now is to grin and bear it, if that were possible.

            “I am building, as fast as I can.  I am only one man.”  Feeble retorts made no dent in the mindset of the Pharaoh and his wife.  At times it seemed like Pharaoh didn’t think for himself.  He seemed to be a puppet in the hands of his all knowing and controlling wife.  Sadness filled the man’s heart as he thought about this.  A man must be in control of his own heart, of his own family, and not be swayed to and fro because his spine is not stout enough.   Building a kingdom takes back bone, in more ways than one.  One must be able to stand before he/she walks or runs.  Must the kingdom be patient while muscles are taught their jobs?  Must the heart learn to be a few steps ahead before it can keep up with the body?  What about those missed steps?  When will there be time to learn those?  None, if you are constantly hauling bricks.

            Sweat dripped into his eyes.  He made it to his feet once again, tired and burning. Heat from the sand slowly spilled in from the sides of his sandals. No escape from anything.  Will becomes a factor in such times.  Once a lion, the man whipped into submission by more than just a lousy task master, he cowered, scared and broke into a corner licking his wounds, forgetting that plotting an escape was an option.  Who would want to escape, except those who knew better.  He trudged on, pushing the boulder like brick up the landscape of the pyramid.

            A knee gave out. “AAAAAhhhh!  Help me please great one!  Have mercy on your loyal servant!”  He let go of his portion of the load and jogged over to the injured man.  The man screamed in pain.  There was no hope.  At a glance he saw that the knee of the man had finally buckled under the pressure of the Pharaohs task.  Bone tried to protrude through skin.  “That man will soon die.” He thought. “He’s no good to anyone now.” A deep sigh ensued. “I wonder if he had all steps mastered before his time came. 

            Who knows…

            The thought of his light timber house and dusty steps gave way through his memory.  Comforting for only a moment, and then passing through the thought went.  Alas, another memory giving only momentary pacification.  Still the burden weighed him down, constantly, never ceasing.  Never knowing, always burning.  What will give relief next. 

            Heave, heave, he thought as his legs contracted and extended time after time after time.  Sand ground into his feet, in-between his toes.  Calluses protected him from re occurring wounds.  Calluses on his body protected him.  That was his problem.  Hardened areas of his body and soul blocked out all intruders and protected him from further injury.  How smart his body was without him realizing it.  How protective it was of itself. How hard it is to figure out what your body already knows,  especially when you push bricks all day.

            Making its way to the top, the brick slid with every push of the slaves.  The great grinding of the brick on top of the set mortar shook pebbles loose, sending them gently bouncing off the sides of the massive step like structure.  The old mans mind broke free.  He started to whisper…”Freedom, let me be free.”  Once again he said it, but louder.  “Freedom, let me be free.”  It started to catch on.  The man switched positions on the brick and started forcing his entire body against the brick, in a different direction.  He groaned and grunted and started to scream as his whole body flexed into the rock.  Few others were brave enough to join in, but they did, fearless and bold.  “Push.”  “Let me be free!”  The rock slid, closer and closer to the edge of the pyramid.  Others, pushing bricks below staggered and looked up in awe, their minds being saturated with new ideas.

            Again, sweat sopped hands pushed into the brick.  It slid and ground to the edge, where it teetered for a moment.  The task masters whip cracked, spilling more blood, but everyone being so entranced with what was happening, no one figured some lashings mattered.  The earth went quiet and the wind gave one final gust.  The brick slid and fell, tumbling, bouncing, shattering and exploding into a cascade of cosmetic destruction, devastating the pyramid.  Others pushed their big tasks off of the pyramid as well, only to be whipped and almost killed in the process.  Some could argue that they were justified, some would not.  The old man simply thought “When you’re done pushing, you’re done.”

             And so he sat on the edge of the pyramid, listening to the chaos and happiness around him, and he found a moment to breathe and stretch his fatigued body.  He peered down at the devastation the heavy cement brick had made and though to himself “All things must be done in order. If one brick is unstable, the pyramid could crumble.” 

            So he wept. He wept so people might understand. Wept for a day when things could be normal.  Wept for a day when things were steady.