Silent Night
An aging sedan motored along an isolated stretch of country highway in the early hours of a peaceful Tuesday morning. It was moving steadily, but not speeding, for the driver was in no particular hurry to go anywhere, and his destination was uncertain at best. The driver, a young man approaching thirty, sat leaning slightly forward over the steering wheel to relieve the ache in his lower back. He didn’t realise he was doing this, however, as his gaze was regularly drawn from the empty road to view the heavens, billions of stars presenting themselves in the clear winter sky.
The young man found the view through his windscreen soothing, but it did little to alleviate his mood. Jarvis Millan was depressed. Nothing had gone right for him lately. It seemed incredible that a series of seemingly unrelated incidents could result in him being homeless, unemployed, broke and single, all in the space of a week. Yet here he was, driving through the desolate countryside at 2am. At least he still owned his car.
How did it come to this, he wondered, shaking his head slowly. He sighed and glanced at his fuel gauge. Less than a quarter tank. Not that he knew where he was going exactly, but he knew he wouldn’t get there without petrol. Better keep an eye out for a petrol station, he thought. There was little traffic on the road, he had lost radio reception a good half hour ago, and he hadn’t noticed any road signs. Only God knew where he was.
A large, faded billboard caught his headlights, the pale lettering proclaiming a non-descript roadside café was five hundred metres ahead. He suddenly realised he’d been driving for five hours and he felt like a break. Maybe the café would be open. He doubted it! But then, he supposed, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He slowed down and turned into the dark side road.
Before too long he saw lights ahead. A sizeable low-set building revealed itself, blazing like a beacon in the pitch-black darkness of the countryside. Jarvis slowed down and took the scene in. It was a good-sized café, more like an old-fashioned roadhouse from the depression era, and it had a petrol pump! That’s a piece of luck, Jarvis thought, as he examined the building to reassure himself that it really was open for business. His car rolled to a silent halt next to the ancient pump. He unbuckled himself, tugged the fuel hatch lever and opened his door.
Emerging slowly from the car, he grimaced as various muscles reminded him of the cramped position he had been in for many hours now without a break. As he rose and stretched, the stillness of the coolish night struck him with a feeling of déjà vu, of an almost religious quality, like being in a large empty cathedral. He slowly exhaled and looked around. There was no moon, and outside the circle of light cast by the aged overhead fluorescent tubes, there was a wall of darkness where nothing stirred, not even a cricket chirped. He closed his eyes for a moment and immersed himself in the blessed tranquillity, something he relished after the chaos his life had been for the past month. He opened his eyes again as a slight breeze brushed against his cheek. Ah, where was I, he wondered sleepily. Petrol. Must refuel.
As he walked to the rear of the vehicle, he checked his wallet for cash. One hundred and twenty-five dollars and some change. Good, At least he could pay for fuel and perhaps a snack. He filled his tank and noted the cost; forty-three dollars. He grunted. There goes a third of my existing finances, thought Jarvis and walked the short distance to the roadhouse entrance.
Pushing open the wooden-framed glass door, he expected the short jingle of a small bell, and the creak of hinges, just like the doors shops used to have in his distant childhood. When nothing happened he inspected the doorway. Ah, there was a bell, but it had been knocked too hard on its small peg and was caught up. He resisted the urge to free it.
Continuing his brief inspection, he noticed well-oiled door hinges, hence, no creaks. Giving a short nod of approval that his entrance continued the unbroken silence, Jarvis entered the roadhouse. He was starting to enjoy the stillness of the night and the otherworldly atmosphere it created for him. He knew, logically, that the stillness of the night could be, must be, broken at any moment by any number of trivial events. Still, he would quietly carry on, moment to moment, and see what happened.
Walking to the service area that doubled as the café counter, he looked for any signs of the attendant. Nothing. But he did spy a pot of percolated coffee sitting on its hotplate at one end of the counter next to a small jug of milk, a bowl of sugar sachets and a small tray of assorted cups and mugs. ‛$2.00 bottomless coffee’ a small handwritten sign stated. Jarvis once more gave a nod of approval and allowed himself a brief smile. This is nice, he thought. Not like the uptight madness of the city. Near the coffee was a large plate with a transparent plastic cover over it, under which were several large slices of good-looking carrot cake. He now noticed another handwritten sign stating ‘Cake $2.00 please help yorself’. Despite the spelling mistake, it piqued his interest. As no one seemed to be about and he was in no particular hurry, Jarvis helped himself to a large mug of milky coffee, a piece of the cake and some serviettes.
Feeling somewhat childish, Jarvis was very careful not to make any sounds lest he break the silence and lose his solitary late-night challenge, and was breathed a mental sigh of relief as he slowly, silently, slid sideways into a sunlight-faded red vinyl booth near the front window. He glanced up and looked out towards his car. No change there. He stared out at nothing in particular and sipped his coffee. He relaxed. He didn’t know where he was exactly or what the time was, but he felt it was the exact place he needed to be at this moment. It was a place outside of space and time and here he could rest, gather his thoughts, and plan where he was going from here. A timeless place.
He started to slump comfortably into the foam-padded vinyl of his seat and stared out of the window. A lone moth erratically circled the light above the petrol pump, silently intent on its own blazing oblivion. Jarvis watched the moth and allowed his mind to wander.
After a time, he was drawn back to the present by a sudden vibration in the inner pocket of his jacket. He drew out his mobile phone. A text message. More bad news, no doubt. And just when he was feeling at peace for a few moments. He thumbed a button and stared indifferently at the tiny screen. It was from Tanya who, up until a week ago, had been his girlfriend for the past three years. He sighed and started to scroll down the screen, prepared somewhat tenuously for the inevitable bad news. Oh, God, what next, he thought briefly. Were they going to take his birthday away? He didn’t have much left to lose except his ten-year-old car and the dwindling funds in his wallet. The message read, “Jarv, Kelly rang. Collins ratted to Director. Reynolds set you up. Others involved. Big investigation. Sorry I overreacted. Come back please. Love, T. ps Richard rang. Said your request was approved?? Again I’m sorry. Love T”.
Jarvis stared at the small screen for a few moments and felt a strange warming wave of suppressed relief slowly wash over his entire body, spreading slowly from the back of his neck, tingling downwards, spreading out to his extremities. He suddenly felt more relaxed, calm and sleepy than he had felt in a very long time. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling.
His brief meditation was disturbed by a noise. Jarvis opened his eyes and looked expectantly towards the door behind the service counter. What was that? A muffled thud? Jarvis thought he could just make out the sound of someone moving about at the back of the building. Working in the kitchen, perhaps? He heard a few more indistinct sounds and watched the kitchen door. There was a glass panel in the top half of it and he half expected someone’s head to suddenly look out just before they pushed it open. Would they be middle-aged? A man or a woman? What sort of person ran such a place in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, he wondered? Would they have a brief look of surprise on their face when they saw him sitting there? He watched and waited for another minute but no-one appeared. Oh, well, they must be busy with something, he thought.
Even thought he was a friendly person and liked to strike up conversations with strangers, Jarvis wasn’t going to sit there all night waiting for an appearance. He finished his coffee, cold by now, and brushed the remaining crumbs of carrot cake from his mouth. He’d enjoyed it, in an abstract kind of way, and had been just what he needed. He moved to the counter near the till and placed a fifty dollar note on the surface with his used coffee mug on top. By his reckoning, he owed forty-seven dollars, so he didn’t mind leaving a three-dollar tip. He would have had to pay double the price for coffee and cake in the city, so why not be a little generous he thought. The owner would appreciate it. Karmic circle and all that. Yeah, Jarvis was feeling a little better.
It seemed that over the last few days, he had been vindicated. His friends must have been very actively stirring up trouble on his behalf, and he knew he was a very lucky man. And Tanya was sorry! That was unexpected, especially after the way she threw him out. However, Richard had come through! His friend was a finance manager at the company he had his private superannuation with and his request for a part payout of his private fund would see him through financially for at least a year. That was nice.
But Jarvis wasn’t going back. He’d had enough of the high pressure world of private enterprise. Six years was quite enough. He deserved a break, a change. Maybe he’d go back into the Army for a year or two. The Army still sent him a letter each year reminding him that his old technical skills were still wanted. Jarvis smiled weakly. It was good to be wanted. His eyes refocused and he realised he was still standing at the counter, staring at his money under the dirty mug. Time to go. Jarvis straightened himself up, stretched, and moved to the door with the defunct bell. He glanced towards the door leading to the back kitchen.
“Thank you!” he called out. “I’ve left money on the counter. Bye!” And he walked out the door.
Returning to his car, Jarvis felt content. Not because of the events of the past few days, but because of this place, this night. As he bent down to climb in, he glanced up and saw the stars, billions upon billions of them, like a seamless extension of the darkness that started outside the light of the roadhouse and stretched into infinity. Jarvis smiled as he sat, fastened his seatbelt and turned the ignition. For some strange reason he couldn’t fathom, he felt happy to be alive. He knew intuitively that his luck was changing. With his headlights cutting a luminous path through the silent, timeless dark, Jarvis drove off in no particular hurry.
At that exact moment, the door behind the counter burst outwards. An enormous unkempt man in stained, torn overalls, his bloodshot eyes glaring charged into the counter area. He saw the car leaving the petrol pump and propelled himself over the counter, his madly flailing body sending the coffee percolator and everything else on the counter in a spray of destruction all over the roadhouse floor. With an explosive roar of insane, primeval rage he stumbled into the booth where Jarvis had been seated, his body crushing the booth’s table in a sickening crunch of aging chipboard.
Growling like a beast mad with pain, his roar growing louder with each irregular breath, he lurched upwards, hurling himself at the exit door nearby. He flung the heavy door back with explosive force, the hard edge smashing into a flimsy display stand of faded postcards that went crashing across the room sending cards scattering in all directions. The small brass bell now chose to dislodge itself and jingled merrily at the man’s exit.
The man shambled as fast as he could, limping heavily as he pursued the departing vehicle. Realising he had no chance of catching it, he slowed and stopped at the edge of the light. He glared angrily at the receding taillights. They mocked him, and his failure to catch them, two red eyes twinkling fixedly as they disappeared into the inky blackness. The man continued to stare, his eyes feral, wide and unblinking, his teeth grinding audibly, his body heaving from unsuppressed anger. He could hear the car, fading into the distance, but soon the night was silent again. After a few moments, his rage spent, the hulking figure turned slowly and limped back inside the illuminated, silent building, his night’s work incomplete.
