The Gap

As much a part of the history of the place as anything else that happened yesterday; James occupied a gap somewhere between the forgotten military garrison and the spawning stories of victories and repression, depending on the voices behind the tale. Who would really know? Ultimately the degree of our participation is measured in the history of tomorrow. What had once started as his habit, became a section of land that James took responsibility for and protected.

As James' eyes became more attuned to the failing light, he saw what he had come to expect on his walks. Mutt saw, or sensed, it as well, and drew close to James' heel before venturing away again as they moved toward the horizon.

Casting a muted silhouette against the sky, there was a solitary figure sitting along the ledge of the cliff, his legs dangling over freely, touching the void, looking out towards the sea. Bracing his hands on his legs in front of him, James could see the man's square broad shoulders covered in a light colored jacket. James whistled and called out, "Mutt, back." The dog's return was immediate and certain.

"G'day." James called out.

"Hey," the stranger responded offering an indifferent wave, without looking away from the sea.

"You 'right mate?" James persisted. Walking towards the man, with his palms extended up, he offered, "Is there anything I can do for ya' mate?"

A silent nod was unable to convince James that the stranger was responding to the question or to some other question posed from afar.

"Ya' know mate, I just live up around the way, why don't you come 'round for tea and tell me about it?"

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Just as happy here with the sea and my thoughts. I'd just as rather not impose upon you."

"No imposition mate. Com' on."

"Have a good night. Enjoy your tea. No reason to feed a stranger, besides I've got means enough to find my own."

"Fair enough, but The Gap here has taken more than it's share of troubled souls; if it's all the same to you I'd be happier making a new friend than either one of us facing regrets."

"All the same, I'm fine. Besides, this isn't' about you. G'night."

"Hey, it's just me and me dog Mutt, we're just heading back for our tea. We could use the company."

"Mutt's the dog's name or just what you call him?"

"It's his name and what I call him," James chuckled.

The man nodded his head and continued to look away from James.

"It's actually short for mutton," James continued, sensing a restlessness beyond the indifference of the stranger.

"Funny name for a dog."

"My cousin from across the ditch gave him to me, other than the dog, the only good to come from New Zealand is Mutton. But as a pup he chased more than he herded, he was no good with the mutton, so I took him."

The man nodding said, "Should've called him 'Lucky'; lucky the station hand didn't give him a bullet."

"Well, that's sort of why I took him. Don't do any good letting creatures die before their time, know what I mean?"

"I suppose," the stranger said nodding, "like I say 'Lucky' seems to fit."

"Last dog was 'Lucky', so that wouldn't do."

"Can't be lucky twice?" the man asked still looking across the water.

"Well some can. Mutt deserved something different. We all do. You looking for better luck?"