The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 59: Season of Lights

Chapter 59: Season of Lights

The property coordinator of the Unitarian church was always the first to arrive on the scene this time of year, on the off chance he might catch the culprits in the act.

                The cameras went to black sometime during the night, never the same time. His yearly call to the preacher became so routine they planned breakfast around it. It was a way to kill time for the mess to inexplicably disappear as quickly as it arrived.

On Dec 1st, in a in a blink of an eye, the sanctuary was transformed.

                The preacher greeted the coordinator with the usual, "How bad is it?" to which he replied, wiping his hand over his eyes, "Same as last year. Just a lot more candles."

40 years or more this had been going on.  Today he was actually about to question two witnesses who lingered to stare at the parade of candles coming out of the building and onto the stairs.

Had they seen anything? No, but.... makes sense. Well, yes. A few of the members were victims after all. Lots, if you look back at the years. Fewer now than there used to be.

                I mean, in the old days it was merely considered a social disease. Some folks considered it God's punishment to a whole group of people. Never mind it didn't just hit one group of people.

                At the mention of this the coordinator watched a change come over the gentlemen before him. Quiet, thoughtful. "Did you work for the hospitals, then?" he asked, because they had the air of someone from the trenches of those days.

The darker one made him shiver with his unyielding stare. His answer was almost a growl," We volunteered. Volunteers
were scarce then."

His prim companion gave a shutter, his eyes haunted. "Except for nurses of a certain orientation. The absolute devotion." He closed his large eyes, his face working as if he were about to cry.

                "Oh, why is that?"

                "The straights wouldn't touch those men," the dark one barked.

To which his partner in a bow tie replied," They weren't men at that point. They were the walking dead, left to suffer alone, to die alone." The dark one touched his sleeve, and then squeezed his shoulder.

                "Those nurses remained."

                "Quite."

                "And us."

                "...yes..."

                The coordinator at this point, felt forgotten, in the midst of a private conversation. The Black Plague was brought up with similar tones, and some allusion to the current pandemic. But there was just something about the horror and misunderstanding and...total human injustice...of the event that held these men in its grip.

                "It was a terrible disease, made more terrible by how the victims were treated. Just to pass with dignity, to have someone just there. Instead, they were put out like garbage, like a scourge themselves."

                The coordinator eyed the two suspiciously. "You two...didn't have something to do with this, did you?"

                They balked. "Two people, by themselves?'

                "A Flash Mob?"

                "Forty years of a flash mob?"

                The coordinator shrugged. "I suppose not."

                They didn't reply, but just regarded the flickering lights. The coordinator signed," I mean, people would have left the candles, given the chance or permission. We would have, but we don't have the budget for so many."

                The candles were on every surface. There weren't just thousands, there were tens of thousands.

                "You know the odd thing? Given time it just disappears, in a wink of an eye! And then an enormous donation is left, with a note requesting the majority put toward some related neighborhood charity. Inexplicable! The whole thing!"

                The darker one, at this point, had made a very pained face and whispered to his colleague who nodded and looked up at the man. "Good morning, sir. I think perhaps we've stayed as long as we can."

                "Have to go post this, have you?"

                That earned him worse scowls. "That is unnecessary, nowadays," he uttered, insulted. "At least, that is what I pray. Seasons Blessings, my good man. Come on, dear boy."

                The coordinator scratched his head, catching the last of the conversation they walked away.

                "I never feel like catching breakfast after this, angel."

                "No, sweet boy. It's one of few things that kills my appetite."