...Herman’s Dilemma...

They’ve been sitting there 

for some time now. 

Just sitting. 

Nothing’s been said. 

Time passing…

Evaporating without notice. 

Two old men in quiet contemplation. 

I myself have noted 

the long extended silence 

since their last words. 

Then again, I’m just here 

working on machinery. 

It’s an old folks home, 

and just passing through, 

I’m still conscious of the 

time between this and that; 

   here and there. 

They on the other hand, 

no longer possess this and that… 

They have no time 

between here and there. 

When you reach their age, 

time falls away to infinity. 

The long slow glide to darkness. 

So what does it matter to them? 

What matter of time? 

What time? 

I’ve overheard that 

the one in the wheelchair 

is 107 years old. 

107 years compared to a 

ten minute lapse in conversation. 

Yes, the two of them have 

sat there in quiet communion for…

It’s a period of time which to me, 

   seems ages, 

and just when I feel 

they’re about to dissolve 

into mutual obscurity, 

the ancient one speaks. 

Yes, with a clear distinct voice 

he utters, 

“I guess something happened… 

You and I just didn’t catch on. 

We just didn’t catch on.” 

Kinda sad it took him 107 years 

to come to the sudden epiphany 

so many of us have known all along. 

Perhaps it’s sadder that 

we got there far too soon. 

107 years of blissful ignorance 

and I envy him. 

A day passes. 

A full 24 plus hours 

since I last saw Herman. 

He’s now 107 years old, 

plus one extra day. 

24 hours ago I was working on 

this exact same machine. 

24 hours ago, Herman was 

sitting in the exact same spot, 

with the exact same companion. 

During this 24 hour period, 

I’ve finished one day’s work, 

driven home to spend 

the evening with my wife, 

shared her bed, 

risen to return to work 

and proceed through a day of activity 

which has brought me here, 

once again to kneel on the floor 

a short distance away from a 

   107 year old man. 

Throughout this 24 hour period, 

I’ve found myself pondering 

what Herman has been doing. 

What portion of this one day’s passing 

has he spent sitting as he 

does at this moment? 

I want to hear his voice. 

I want to hear what a 107 year 

plus one day old man has to say. 

Some twenty odd minutes of silence passes, 

and just when I’m certain I’ll be treated 

with no further epiphanies, 

Herman puts forth 

a question to his companion. 

“What are we doing in here?”

It is a question of directness 

that startles not only his companion, 

but myself as well. 

He asks again and 

there is an element of anger 

mixed with confusion.

“What the hell are we doing in here?” 

His younger yet still ancient partner 

makes a face conveying his initial inability 

to comprehend what Herman has asked. 

Again he raises his voice, 

“What are we doing in here?!” 

His friend does his best to ponder this 

but his only response is a muffled 

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what are we doing in here?”

This time Herman’s friend manages 

to focus on the question 

and musters a return question 

to clarify their dilemma. 

“What’s your job?”

This startles Herman. 

Indeed, his confusion doubles. 

“Well I don’t know. 

What is my job? 

Do you know?”

“No,” responds the less ancient one.

“I don’t know what my job is either.” 

Herman’s not listening to him now. 

He’s been given yet 

another problem to solve. 

“What’s my job? 

Nobody told me what my job was!”

There’s a short pause of quiet, 

and then his voice rises again. 

“What are we doing in here?

Huh? Who put us in here?” 

It occurs to Herman his friend 

isn’t going to be of much help. 

He needs to find someone 

who has answers. 

He turns about in his wheelchair 

and heads to the nurse’s station 

where I am working. 

Soon, I see him pass around 

the end of the counter. 

“Hey! Hey you!” he bellows at me, 

“Hey! Who put me in here? 

What the hell is going on!” 

I am dumbfounded as to how to respond, 

but before I am truly put on the spot, 

a nurse, familiar with Herman, 

steps forward to save me. 

She kneels down on the floor 

and takes Herman’s hands in hers. 

“Herman,” she states in a soothing manner, 

“What’s the matter?” 

A disturbed look comes over Herman’s face. 

He knows this woman but, 

   doesn’t know her. 

“Who put me in here?!” 

The nurse squeezes Herman’s hands 

ever so gently and gazes 

directly into his moist eyes. 

With this, his eyes wander off 

to the ground at the wheelchair’s side. 

“Herman,” she says calmly, 

“Linda put you in here.”

“Linda?” he responds. 

“Who’s Linda? 

Where is she?” 

Linda’s your granddaughter. 

She’s over in Iowa. 

You have to stay here ‘til the harvest is over.” 

Herman tilts his head, “The Harvest?”

“Yes Herman, you have 

to stay here ‘til it’s over.” 

She rises to return to her desk 

and after a quiet period, 

Herman spins his wheelchair about 

and heads back over to 

his friend at the sunlit window. 

Before he’s even there, 

Herman starts to bellow again. 

“Hey!   Hey Linda put us in here!” 

His friend’s expression actually 

bristles at this news as I’m pretty sure 

he doesn’t know any particular Linda. 

“She did? 

Well I be damned.”

“Yea,” continues Herman, 

“We have to stay here 

until the harvest is over.”

His friend is truly bewildered now. 

“Well when’s that?” 

“I don’t know, continues Herman, 

“but we have to stay here until it’s over.”

There’s a short pause as both of them 

slowly shake their heads.

Just then yet another dilemma 

   occurs to Herman. 

He cranes his head over at his friend 

and states,  

“I wonder if they’re gonna feed us ‘til then.” 

With this, the conversation 

dies away to silence 

and fiddling with my work, 

I pause to glance one last time 

at the nodding head 

of a 107 year old man. 

Yes, I figure it’s a shoe-in Herman 

will make it to harvest. 

Then again, 

I’m fairly assured that 

everyone here at the home 

will make it to the ultimate harvest. 

Some sooner than others. 

Ó03 Jack David Hubbell