A Book of Dust and Breath

Chapter Two

With the Spring Equinox behind and summer just around the corner, each day stretched longer than the one before. The enormous orange fireball of the sun still burned upon the western horizon when Max's bike ripped apart the silence around his country home. His tires sliced a path through the red buds that covered the road where it curved sharply to the right. He waved at Norris, the old farmer who lived in the picturesque centennial home a mile from him.

He took the left into his long, gravel drive, parking near the humble kitchen door. Plenty of room remained for a visitor to park though really only one visitor ever came and he never drove. That day, a row of waffled boot-prints announced his presence.

Silencing the engine, he left the key in the ignition and walked around to the wide covered porch on the front of the house. The ivy had already turned green and crept a little further up the trellises on the sides, creating a fairly private space. It needed to be trimmed soon. Left unchecked, it would find its way through every nook and cranny, even trying to take over the attic. He had learned the hard way how tenacious the spreading vine could be.

As expected, he noted a pair of muddy boots propped up on the white porch rail. Daniel sat in one of the oversized wicker chairs, drinking a bottle of Vernor's ginger ale. He held it up when Max reached the bottom step.

"This is the best fizzy drink I have ever had in my entire life, but it isn't half as good as a beer."

"Hello, Daniel. Nice to see you. Make yourself at home," Max said.

Daniel took a drink and used the bottle to point at Max. "You are happy to see me." He stood up and held his arms wide.

Max grinned, shook his head, and accepted his friend's embrace, slapping him on the back in that weird way that men always did and women never would.

When Daniel offered him one of his own beverages, plucked from a bucket of ice, he took it and leaned against the porch rail.

Plopping down in the chair, Daniel said, "So, clearly, you're still living the life of a monk." He shook a lock of his thick, shaggy brown hair away from his eyes. With skin so fair, it would be easy to believe he hadn't seen the daylight since the last time he'd visited Max.

How long had it been? A month? Six? Surely not that long. Time had a way of being slippery and hard to read for those such as them.

Max unscrewed the orange lid, careful not to let the drink foam over and make a sticky mess. "Like a monk? One dedicated to prayer and obedience? Yes. You would do well to live more like me."

"I would go crazy and die inside living in one place with nothing but a huge house full of dusty books to keep me company."

If only it were so easy to die and be done with it, Max thought. Aloud, he stated with conviction, "My books are never dusty."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "How's the harvest?"

"I had a runner today. Followed by a total dish."

"What's this? The monk noticed a woman?"

Max took a long drink. "A good student takes time to appreciate the work of the master. Anyway, the harvest is... you know... seven billion people. They live. They die. They are invariably surprised by what comes next, especially the ones who think they know. More people are born to replace them. What about you? Your boots are dirty."

"Life is dirty, my friend. Hard to understand, I suppose, when you spend your spare time wiping dust from books, but it's true. I've been out west. Interesting times in the land of the free. I think a few of them are starting to realize that they weren't included in that concept, and they don't seem thrilled."