Copyright James J. Doyle, Jr., a.k.a. Grandpa Jim

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know. It just sits there eating.”

“What?”

“The box says, ‘Corn Pops.’ We sample those sometimes. When no one’s around. Like now, when it’s so quiet.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not human. Well, sort of, with wings, I guess.”

“You two, it’s time to wake the humans downstairs.” The angel points to the two mice.

They look at each other and touch nose whiskers. “How does it know our language?”

“Enough, my little friends. Go down and tickle their toes while I get ready.”

The two small ones scurry off as the angel smiles and says, “I’m always curious who he chooses for me to work with.”

* * *

“Are you awake?” Penelope nudges her husband.

Nimrod yawns. “I am now,” He stretches, “That was a nice nap.”

“It’s so quiet.” Penelope slides out of the bed and into her shoes. “Let’s see what’s happening upstairs with your brother and his wife.”

“Sure.” Nimrod stands, hopping to get his shoes on.

They climb the spiral stairs and move into the kitchen, where an empty bowl of cereal sits on the table.

“Hector!” “Clarise!” They call the names and search the house, ending at the door to the garage, which opens without them touching the handle, to reveal a tall person with a slight hunchback in a crinkled pearl-white garment standing erect.

“It’s time to leave,” the figure says with a calm voice.

Wide-eyed, but curiously unstartled, they say together, “Who are you?”

“You can call me ‘Cauliflower’. I’m your guide for this trip.”

“Guide? Trip?” They say together.

“It will become clearer on our drive. Your brother’s SUV will do nicely, and. . . .” Cauliflower pauses as two small mice scuttle between their legs and into the open back door of the waiting automobile.

Nimrod and Penelope turn to each other and shrug their shoulders.

“Why does this not seem odd?” Penelope asks.

“I don’t know,” Nimrod answers.

“It will,” Cauliflower states, moving to the SUV. “We need to start now because we need to stop for gas. It’s a long trip to Dallas. You two can take turns driving. I’ll sit in the back with the mice.”

* * *

“I don’t understand. The gas was free.” Nimrod scratches his head while Cauliflower bags their snacks and drinks. “And now this.” Nimrod points to the sign in front of the register: TAKE WHAT YOU WANT, IT’S ON THE HOUSE. “The gas is free. The food and drinks are free. And where are the people? No attendants, and there hasn’t been another car on the interstate. Not one. This never happens.”

Penelope nudges between Cauliflower and Nimrod. “I found the cherry Coke and pork rinds, Nim. Your favorites. I’ll drive for a while, so you can snack.”

“Thanks, Pen.” Nimrod picks up a bag and walks beside Cauliflower to the car, bending closer for an answer. “What’s up?” he asks.

“Hopefully us.” Cauliflower responds, opening the car door for the two mice who jump into the back, each with a bag of nuts between its teeth. “But we have a way to go yet.”

The mice wiggle under the belt of their shared captain’s seat, carefully slice a hole in each bag, extract a peanut, hold the nut in their small hands and begin to nibble.

“You two be careful.” Cauliflower shakes a finger at the diminutive rodents. “Do not make a mess.”

“Can they understand you?” Nimrod asks.

“Of course. They can me . . . and you. You’ll find they communicate quite well.”

Nim shakes his head, walks around the car and slides into the passenger seat as Penelope presses the starter and edges the SUV out of the parking lot and onto the freeway.

* * *

“Stop there ahead.” Cauliflower points. “We can pull off where it says WAIT HERE. There are some things I’d like to show you.”

“What is this place?” Penelope asks. “The smoke rising from the big pots on the tables. Those long lines of people stretching across the highway and into the distance. They’re all dressed alike. White pants and white shirts. What’s going on?”

“You could call it a ‘Soup Kitchen’,’’ Cauliflower answers, opening the door. “Let’s walk over to where they’re serving.”

The group stops next to a table, the mice climbing onto the top. Soup is being dispensed from huge pots by ladlers in starched white aprons, who bow and smile meekly, between clenched teeth, as each waiting individual lifts a bowl for soup.

“This is hard, hot work,” Nimrod observes. “Do the workers dispensing the soup get a break?”

“Not until the lesson is learned,” Cauliflower answers. “That could be days, weeks, months. Each person is different.”

“Lesson . . . months . . . different . . . why?” Penelope asks.

“The ladlers are the prideful. They learn humility by serving the hungry.” Cauliflower points to the next person in line. “There’s more than that going on here. Watch.”

At the front of the line, the individual licks her lips and begins to reach her bowl up for soup, then stops and lowers the empty bowl, steps back out of the line, and motions the person who stood behind her to move forward, as she turns and starts the long walk to the back of the line.

“That person, who looks very hungry, just gave up the front spot in line.” Nimrod shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

“She does.” Cauliflower adds. “The envious learn kindness by giving their place to others.”

“But that’s a very long line to have to start over again,” Penelope observes.

“For good purpose,” Cauliflower begins. “By waiting patiently in that line, the wrathful learn to manage their anger.”

“Pride, envy, wrath. . . .” Nimrod begins.

“To humility, kindness and patience.” Cauliflower fills in. “The first three deadly vices to the first three lively virtues. The soup kitchen is a wonderfully integrated process.”

“Does anyone every eat?” Penelope asks.

“Of course.” Cauliflower gestures to the picnic tables full of individuals consuming bowls of soup.

“And then, after they eat, what happens?” Nimrod asks.

“Good question.” Cauliflower smiles. “Sometimes the soul gets up, walks all the way back to the start of the line, and begins the wait over again. Other times the person, when reaching the front and enjoying a bowl on the tables over there, is tapped to come and serve in the kitchen. And finally, when these lessons are learned, the individual moves on.”

“Where do they ‘move on’ to?” Penelope asks.

“That is what we’ll see next,” Cauliflower answers. “Now, back to the car and on our way.”

“But the lines are blocking the road.” Penelope waves at the crowded ranks crossing the interstate. “How do we get across?”

“No problem. The mice will clear the way.” Cauliflower glances down at the wee ones who have been scurrying between the feet of the larger persons. “Catch and Me, it’s time for you two mice to get to work. Please ask the penitents to make room for the pilgrims.”

The two furred ones scurry toward the lines on the roadway, squeaking, jumping, hopping and turning summersaults. Amazingly, the lines part, opening a space.

“We’d best hurry. Those two are an act, but the novelty may soon wear off.”

“Catch? Me? How cute! Are those their names?” Penelope asks.

“Yes, their names are Catch and Me, although I have trouble telling then apart. Now quickly, jump in and let’s be off. We can stop for our little friends on the other side.”

* * *

Penelope, who has been driving for about an hour, looks into the rearview mirror at Cauliflower in the back seat. “Are we going to stop?”

“No need. Just slow down a bit.” Cauliflower stares to the right out the window. “The trail should be angling back about now. It will run parallel to the road for the rest of the way. Yes, now you can see the markers, the flags and the beaten footpath.” The guiding angel points. “And we’re about to pass a runner.”

“He looks exhausted,” Nim observes. “Emaciated, wasted. Is there water, food?”

“We’re approaching a rest stop.”

“I see it. But there’s no one manning the station. And. . . .” Nimrod squints to read the sign. “It says: ‘No Water or Food.’ But that runner can’t keep going.” As Nim swivels his head to scan behind, the exhausted person falls to the ground. Nimrod turns to Cauliflower. “What is this?”

“You could call it an ultramarathon. 31, 50, 100 miles and more for some runners. Running without rest, without water or food, until they fall, unmoving.”

“What happens, then, to the runners?” Penelope asks.

Cauliflower points forward. “Up ahead. They’re picking up a runner.”

“I see.” Nimrod says. “It’s an ambulance of sorts. The crew is out, lifting the fallen runner, strapping the person face down onto a gurney, shoving the gurney into the back, closing the doors. Now, it looks like they’re driving to get back onto the interstate.”

“We’ll pass more of the ambulances as we get closer to Dallas. We’re all going to the same place, and the last of the seven tests.”

“Seven tests?” Penelope asks.

“Yes, you witnessed the first three tests at the soup kitchen. Pride to humility. Envy to kindness. Wrath, anger and impatience to patience. Now you’ve just observed the ultramarathon and the next three tests.”

“Which are?” Nimrod asks.

“Sloth or laziness to diligence. Gluttony or intemperance to temperance. Greed or lack of charity to charity.”

“Please explain,” Penelope pleads.

“The runners,” Cauliflower begins, “are the slothful who have raced without rest to trade the laziness of their base inclinations for the diligence of focused, unceasing determination and drive. In hunger and thirst, without water or food, their gluttonous and intemperate motivations have been transformed to the temperance they so often shirked and avoided. Finally, flat on their faces and bound, in the dark of the ambulance, they recognize their own immoderate, uncharitable and greedy desires, embrace their true natures, and gather to themselves the values of charity, of giving, sharing and willing the good of others.” Cauliflower pauses. “Sloth, gluttony and greed are themselves closely related. The three are purged in a single race: sloth to diligence, gluttony to temperance, and greed to charity. It’s a difficult, but effective, process.”

“And then?” Nimrod asks.

“Ahead you see the Dallas skyline, Reunion Tower and the last test. Drive on.”

* * *

Cauliflower points. “Pull past these ambulances and toward the front parking.” 

“The runners are getting out and walking.” Nimrod leans into the car window as they pass. “They appear to have revived.”

“They’ve recovered enough to face their last challenge. There are elevators inside to take them to the top of the tower. Everyone out. We have a special lift just past the sliding doors. It’s time.”

* * *

The elevator door opens and they step onto a small platform, facing a red wall.

“Why is it so hot?” Penelope reaches a hand, touches the wall and pulls back immediately, blowing on her fingers. “That’s not a wall. It’s clear, and those are flames on the other side.”

“A very special glass-like material,” Cauliflower explains. “Hot to touch here, much hotter on the other side. There the floor is moving. The whole outside of the tower rotates, except for the elevator core.”

“I see forms through the red and flames.” Nimrod steps back, his eyes wide.

“Our marathon runners from the soup kitchen,” Cauliflower states. “They’ve been purged of the first six vices. Only one remains.”

“One?” Penelope asks.

“Lust, the last.”

“But . . . but. . . .” Nimrod stammers. “Some are holding hands, smiling, talking together and looking out. Those two are moving away, toward the far wall?”

Cauliflower’s voice is steady. “As the last vice burns, virtue blooms. Lust to chastity, charity and love. The ones holding hands and smiling have been cleansed. The wall is no longer a barrier to them. They are ready for the next step.”

“Step?” Nimrod and Penelope voice together.

“Right behind you. The narrow door. Open it.”

Nimrod and Penelope open the door, revealing a tight spiral staircase.

“Step on and up.”

They begin climbing, a cool, white mist forming around their feet.

Cauliflower reaches down, lifts the two mice in one hand, and slowly pushes the door shut.

* * *

“What’s tickling my toes?” Penelope opens her eyes, peers down at her feet and nudges her husband.

“Huh?” Nimrod pushes himself on his elbows, blinks and focuses. “Catch and Me, what are you doing?” He turns to his wife, a blank look on his face. “Where are we, and how do I know these mice and their names?”

“Nim, we’re back.”

He shakes his head. “I remember,” Nimrod says slowly. “I remember Cauliflower, Catch and Me, the soup kitchen, the marathon runners, Reunion Tower. I do remember. Was it a dream, Pen? Was it?”

The mice squeak excitedly and raise their little hands, thumbs up.

Penelope and Nimrod laugh and smile knowingly at each other.

“The stairs. . . . “ Nimrod begins.

Penelope raises a finger to her lips. “Shhhh.” she whispers. “That, we keep to ourselves.”

Hearing sounds upstairs, the two swing their feet around and stand into their shoes. Catch and Me jump down, wait and follow. Passing the patio door, Nim and Pen stop. Nimrod slides the door open. “Catch and Me, you are good friends and we care for you very much, but the people upstairs will not understand. It is best for you to stay outside. We will visit and we will bring you little bags with the nuts you like.” He nods to Pen who nods back. “Please stay safe and we will be visiting.” The two mice scamper over their feet, squeaking sadly as they scurry away through the door and disappear under the bushes. Nim wipes a tear. “You know, Pen I think I’m beginning to understand what they say.”

Penelope touches his arm and says, with a grin, “It’s all in your head, Nim. It’s all in your head.”

They laugh, bend close, kiss lightly on the lips, and are immediately interrupted by heavy footfalls at the top of the spiral staircase. 

Tilting their heads, they yell, “Hector and Clarise, we’re on our way up!!”