He stands outside, his hand raised to knock on the door. His appearance is unremarkable, but there is a quiet strength and gentleness in his bearing that is both appealing and comforting. He has one thing on his mind today:reunion. He wants it more than anything he’s ever wanted before.
Tap! Tap! He knocks with his hand, ignoring the ornate door knocker nearby. He pauses to listen. A cacophony of silence greets his inquiring ear.
“Are you there?” he calls out. “I’m here. May I come in?” He says it with respect, a plea rather than a demand. More silence. Inside, the lights go out, and he knows that he will have to try again tomorrow. But he is not deterred. He will be back tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes. He arrives at the door early, while it is still dark. Maybe today will be the day, he thinks, and a tingle of excitement runs down his spine. All is quiet and dark inside, so he waits. And then he hears it – faint sounds of stirring from within. Eagerly he raises his hand to knock. Maybe it will happen early, before the distractions of the day begin.
His heart pounds with excitement as he imagines the door opening. He thinks about what he will say, and how it will feel. The joy of the reunion feels almost tangible as he imagines holding out his arms. He pushes away his musings with a shake of his head. The sounds of a busy day arise from within, and he realizes that his hopes of being heard early in the morning silence will not be fulfilled today. He will try again later.
It is late in the day when he suddenly gets what he hopes is a breakthrough. He’s knocked on and off during the afternoon, when suddenly the curtains twitch. Eyes meet his, and he feels such an intense longing that he thinks it must surely be palpable. Surely this time the door will open. Surely this time the reunion will happen.
His love is so intense, his longing so raw that it almost feels like a physical pain. Surely those eyes can see it. Won’t that heart will respond and open the door?
But the reunion is not to be, not today. The curtains close, and the sounds of life within go on. He is bitterly disappointed. But he won’t give up. He will keep trying.
Inside, the curtains fall back into place. Just another of those travelling salesmen. No time for that today. The busy activity increases, and the sound of the TV drowns out the gentle sound of knocking.
The next day, someone else approaches the house. It is a salesman carrying a box of brightly wrapped packages. The man’s heart sinks. He’s met this salesman before. He knows that a reunion is unlikely if the salesman gains entrance.
“Don’t open the door!” he calls urgently. “You’ll be sorry if you let him in.”
“Move over!” the newcomer orders insolently. “You’ve had your turn. Better still, why don’t you take the hint and leave? You’re not wanted.”
Ever the gentleman, the man stands aside. The salesman’s knock is loud and insistent. It cannot be ignored. The curtains twitch, and a face peers out. The salesman makes sure his wares are enticingly visible. A moment later the door opens.
“Knew I’d get in,” the salesman sneers over his shoulder. “Suck rocks, LOSER!” He spits it out and shuts the door hard behind him.
The man is deeply concerned. He knows that this particular salesman leaves trouble behind him wherever he goes. Once he’s gained entrance, he almost never leaves without a sale. The man continues to knock.
“Send him away,” he pleads urgently through the door. “He’s trouble.” His pleas go unheard.
Inside, the salesman is wrapping up the sale, well pleased with his work. He picks up the pile of attractive, colorful boxes, and places them on the sideboard himself, where he knows they’ll be highly visible but not in the way. Experience tells him that they’re less likely to be moved and put out of sight there. He carefully arranges the boxes so the small identifying label on the bottom right hand corner of each one is not visible. Then he takes his leave, promising to return in a few weeks.
“You might as well give up,” he sneers to the man at the door. “This one’s mine.”
The boxes sit enticingly in view.
Go on, open me, the red one whispers. The label marked Pride is at the back, invisible. Temptation wins. The box is opened, the garment taken out.
Go on, put it on. There, you look great, don’t you. Wait till your friends see you. They’ll see that you’re really something special.
The red box goes back on the shelf. It is bigger now.
The orange and green box is next. Dishonest Gain. Not that it makes its identity known. Instead, it seizes its chance after a long, hard day.
Go on, try me, it urges. You’re only taking what is rightfully yours. You know you don’t get paid enough for all the work you put in. You deserve it. Go on, have some.
Mmmm, tastes really good, doesn’t it?
The orange and green box is satisfied. It will get used again. It, too, grows bigger.
Go on, spray some on. Tell her what you really think. She’s arrogant and thoughtless. You let her have it! And make sure others know to avoid her while you’re at it.
The perfume from the blue box smells really good.
Criticism. Hmmm, strange name for a perfume. Doesn’t matter. It smells amazing. Funny, there seems to be more in the bottle than before it was opened …
Sampling the contents of all the boxes takes several weeks. At first, it’s fun. But after a while, something begins to happen.
The boxes grow larger and larger, crowding the room. They become more and more demanding, their voices more insistent. Soon, keeping them satisfied is a full time job. Running from one to the next, taking their contents. It’s the only thing that keeps them quiet, but it never lasts for long. Looking after them is becoming very tiring.
Aha. Open the door and throw one out. No, that’s not going to work. It’s way too heavy to move. How did that salesman get them in here? I know, ignore them.
No way. The clamor increases to a deafening roar. The boxes are insistent; it’s impossible to ignore them. They are huge now, and no longer pretty. They are ugly and black. Moving around inside has become almost impossible. Panic sets in as the size and weight of the boxes becomes suffocating.
Outside, the man at the door can hear the sounds of terror inside. He knocks urgently. There’s no time to lose. The reunion must happen before it’s too late. A storm is coming. Violent wind from the approaching storm front slams into his back. He glances over his shoulder. The sky is black, with a green tinge at the edges. Lightning flickers menacingly as the thunder grows louder. It will be a nasty storm.
The man knows the salesman will come back with the storm. It’s the way he works. Then comes the hail, jagged bullets hurled at the earth, shredding everything in their path. Through the flashes of lightning, he can see the salesman approaching. He knocks desperately.
“Let me in!” His voice pierces through the storm outside. “Let me in before it’s too late!” He pounds on the door to be heard above the howl of the storm.
Amidst the terror inside, a dim awareness arises. The knocking is faint but persistent. A tiny flicker of hope kindles in the face of imminent, suffocating doom.
“Help me!” The faint, desperate cry from within pierces straight through the man’s soul. In a flash, he wrenches open the door and charges inside, two steps ahead of the salesman. He smashes through the boxes, and they disintegrate like popping balloons at his touch.
He arrives to find the victim pinned beneath the largest one, unable to move and about to suffocate. In a heartbeat, the box is gone, and he has what he has been seeking for so long: reunion.
He holds out his arms with a joy so intense that he wonders if he can contain it without exploding. His heart pounding from excitement and the intensity of such a close call, he finds himself trembling and his voice shakes a little as he speaks.
“It’s OK,” he murmurs soothingly. “You’re safe now. I’m going to stay here with you, and you never need to be afraid again.” He smiles as he feels relaxation seep in and a short time later, the sweet sleep of peace descends. The tempest still rages, but inside, all is well. The reunion is even better than he imagined.
Outside, the salesman slinks away into the storm. This time, he’s lost.