John Taylor had acclimated to life in Flugerton with the constant challenge of readjusting his perception on many topics, from the mundane to the esoteric. At first, when people would do something that seemed odd or illogical to him he used to just blurt that out. He had earned his share of blank stares, annoyed looks as well as amused outbursts from pitying smiles to all out laughing fits. So he got a bit more cautious over time, when he was trying to inquire about an unusual habit, especially when everyone else seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world. One of those things that perplexed him for a long time was the common use of artificial light. Even small children would go into dark rooms and just clap their hands twice and the lights would come on. Not only that, they would come on at different light levels depending on who did the clapping or what their intentions were in the room. Another double clap and the lights would go out.
One evening as he was meeting with Edie May for a study session at the Lilly-Book he got the perfect opportunity to find out about it. Edie May led him into the book hall, clapped her hands and the lights came on.
“How did you do that?” Taylor asked right out.
“Do what?” Edie May asked back with a knowing smile on her face.
“The lights,” Taylor insisted, “how do you make the lights come on, and why the clapping? I tried it before and it does not work for me.”
“Really?” Edie May was trying not to show her amusement too obviously, “Even the little ones know how to do it.”
“I’ve seen that.” Taylor had some difficulty not to get impatient. He decided to let Edie May have her moment of humor.
“Come here, I’ll show you,” she finally agreed.
“It was a long time ago, when chaos was spreading and the war parties started to sabotage each others infrastructure, that one day without any warning the lights went out in Flugerton. Somewhere between here and the main grid the power cords had been destroyed. Of course nobody thought of repairing them because for the rest of the world this area had been abandoned and deserted and that was just all right with our ancestors.”
“For three days the nights were dark if it were not for the candles that were put up all around the camps and villages. In the evening of the fourth day one of the little ones came home after spending some time with the Lilly-Book, which was still running off its solar power supply. He walked into the dark living room, clapped his hands twice and the lights came on.”
“Nobody had an explanation for this strange phenomenon. They asked him to come to another house and the same thing happened. He clapped his hands, and the lights came on. Of course everybody tried to do like he did but no luck. The little guy seemed to be the only one who had power over the lights.”
“When they asked him how he did it he just said, ‘I saw it in the Lilly-Book.’ This of course surprised everyone because many had studied the Book and there were quite a few masters among them but even those were not able to do as the boy did without any effort.”
“So, they went to investigate and asked him to show them the page in the book where he had learned to control the lights. They opened the Lilly-Book and to everyone’s amazement he did not recall any Abraham material or even drawings of Abrahamster but he showed them the part of an ancient television broadcast that was interrupted by nervous little sketches that seemed to paddle merchandize in a very loud and annoying fashion. Can you imagine their looks when the people saw this?”
She started a short movie clip on the Lilly-Book of various people clapping electric lights on and off with a little electrical Clapper contraption.
“Not knowing what that device was, the little guy just thought that this was the obvious way to get the lights back on. In his innocence he believed and expected the lights to come on and so they did. It took a few days of sending the boy from house to house to turn the lights on and off until after many trials more and more people found the believe in their mind to replicate the effect. Today it’s one of the first things little children learn and nobody even asks why it works anymore.”
Taylor stared at Edie May with his mouth and eyes wide open. It took a long while of silence before he regained his speech. “Wow!” was all he could utter for the moment. He didn’t even care to voice his next question “Yes, but how?” He just knew that there would not be an answer that he could comprehend at that time.
Later that night when he was alone with Lilly Ann he asked her about it.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “None of us would be able to turn on one light bulb if we ever thought about the why and how. Sometimes simple faith is the only thing that stands between us and darkness and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
One day the ice-man didn’t come. It had been unseasonably warm for almost two weeks and everyone expected Tom the ice-man to show up at their doorsteps every day to keep those ice boxes filled and their content cool and fresh. Yet, that morning Tom was nowhere to be found. Ice was one of the great conveniences in Flugerton. Without a regulated supply of electricity for every house blocks of ice afforded them the every day luxury of cool beverages and unspoiled food even during the hot summer months. Most people took the daily delivery of ice for granted, very appreciative, certainly, but without much further thought as to how it got there or where it was coming from.
Lilly Ann, in her role as town reporter, was curious what the reason might be for a day without ice that the whole town was facing.
“I wonder what’s up with Tom,” she said to Taylor when noon came around without the icebox having been refilled, “he always lets us know in advance when he is out for a day or two. Wanna come along to pay him a visit at the Wal Star building?”
“Sure,” said Taylor, always eager to learn more about his new hometown, “what is Wal Star?”
“It’s just this old building from before the war,” Lilly Ann explained, “I think it was some kind of market. Part of the sign is still there, it says, ‘Wal’ and a star, so we call it Wal Star.”
“I can’t believe it,” Taylor laughed, “you have a Wal*Mart here? That’s one of the few remaining chain stores in the country, Wally World. I have to see that.”
Happy, but somewhat surprised about Taylor’s enthusiasm Lilly Ann led the way to her van and off they drove to the edge of town. A short ride in the now smoothly running vehicle and sure enough, there it was. The Wal*Mart store had seen better days but the main structure was mostly intact. The vast parking lot had been reclaimed by the neighboring meadows and a small herd of goats feasted on the hearty green between broken patches of concrete. Lilly Ann did not want to risk getting stuck on the debris that cluttered up the front of the building so she parked the van at the entrance to the former parking lot.
She and Taylor cautiously made their way to the back of the building where Lilly Ann remembered Tom’s ice making operation. Turning the corner to the loading dock they spotted Tom sitting on one of the platforms seemingly in deep meditation. The sound of their feet on the loose gravel made him look up. He blinked his eyes a few times and waved at them.
“Hello, what brings you out this way on such a lovely afternoon?” he greeted them cheerfully.
“Well, we were wondering about the ice delivery,” Lilly Ann answered, “or better, why there wasn’t any today. Are you all right, Tom?”
“I couldn’t be better,” Tom laughed, “sorry, that I didn’t give any notice about the ice not coming today, but you see, the machine just stopped working early in the morning and I couldn’t get it started up again. I thought I’d meditate a bit, maybe I’ll get an idea how to fix it.”
“So, how’d it go?” Lilly Ann was curious.
“Nothing so far,” Tom admitted, “but with the two of you here that’s going to change, I’m sure.”
“You want us to meditate with you?” Lilly Ann inquired, “We can do that.”
“Actually, I thought more in the direction of John having been able to fix your car,” Tom said hesitantly, “maybe he can ha
ve a look at this old girl.” He lovingly patted the faded green cover of the diesel generator.
“I guess sometimes meditation alone is not enough, right?” Taylor teased him.
“No, no,” Tom disagreed, “you came here after all, didn’t you?”
“That’s some interesting logic,” Taylor shook his head, “but if it works for you I won’t argue. So, what am I looking at here?”
“It’s a diesel powered electric generator that supplies energy to the ice machine in the building,” Tom explained, “it’s been here for generations and it never failed to start up again when it ran out of fuel or if one of the drive belts broke or something. Someone had made drawings of both units a long time ago and we always went by them to fix it. This time is different, though. Nothing seems to be broken but it just doesn’t want to run. Look,” he said and pushed a button inside a little electrical box.
Somewhere in the innards of the generator housing they heard a groaning noise that swelled to a screeching.
“Turn it off,” Taylor winced, “you’ll fry the starter motor.”
He looked at the drawings that Tom presented to him. Somebody indeed had had a background in engineering, or so it seemed. These were detailed blue prints of the makeshift ice-making plant, complete with maintenance and trouble shooting procedures.
“You say this thing has been running for how long?” he asked Tom for verification.
“Longer than anyone can remember,” Tom replied casually.
“And it’s been running on what?” Taylor was getting a little worried.
“It’s a mixture of recycled frying oil, alcohol and fresh vegetable oil,” Tom confirmed Taylor’s suspicions, “Terry brings it when he goes to refill the cars in town.”
“How often do you adjust the valves on the diesel?” Taylor was afraid of the answer.
“Valves?” came the expected reply with raised eyebrows.
“Never mind,” Taylor sighed, “do you have any tools here?”
“We have all kinds of tools,” Tom confirmed proudly, “I don’t think they have ever been used.”
He opened the back door to the Wal*Mart store and led them into a dimly lit workshop. Taylor couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw the variety of tools that were neatly placed all around the room. It seemed as if someone had pulled all the tools that were left behind from the shelves of the automotive department and hung them on the walls for display purposes.
“Oh my,” he said, “This is going to be fun.”
He picked up a tool tray from one of the benches and began filling it with everything a man might need to build a diesel engine, not just to fix one. They went back out to the generator to see what the problem might be.
The proceedings of the next few hours looked very familiar to Lilly Ann. Taylor was up to his elbows submerged in the big engine and handed greasy and dirty parts to Tom, who in turn laid them out neatly on the loading platform. Tom and Lilly Ann looked at each other more than once, puzzled by the inventive curse words Taylor spewed from time to time while removing overly stubborn parts.
“Does the cursing help?” Lilly Ann teased him, “I could try it too if it does.”
“I’ll let you know for the next tough one,” Taylor grinned at her like a man who is having the time of his life, “maybe it’s easier if we both give it a go.”
Taylor spent hours with removing parts, cleaning them with alcohol and fresh oil, soaking up trapped fuel from the cylinders, reinstalling the parts and adjusting the valves according to the specifications found in the handbook. The shadows were slowly making their way down the hill slopes when Taylor came out from under the engine for the last time and wiped his forehead with a shop towel.
“Wanna give it a try?” he asked Tom.
“Oh, you fixed her,” Tom replied, “You start her up.”
“Let’s hope that we fixed her,” Taylor insisted, “but she’s your baby, so go ahead.”
Tom opened the electrical box that housed the starter button. His finger paused for a second.
“You sure about that?” he asked Taylor, his concern for the machine obvious.
“Only one way to find out,” Taylor encouraged him.
Tom pushed the button and the generator came to life. Three or four revolutions of the starter were enough to spark the ignition in the mighty motor. The first few explosions sent thick black clouds from the smoke stack but after only a few seconds the engine ran smoothly and quietly.
“Is she still running?” Tom was not quite sure.
“Purring like a fat old cat,” Taylor grinned.
“I can hardly hear her,” Tom complained, “and there is no black smoke coming out. How am I supposed to know if she’s still running?”
Taylor did not care to answer. He just laughed and closed the panels over the generator assembly. Inside the building behind them a big block of ice fell noisily into the capture trough.
“You’ll know, Tom,” he still laughed, “you’ll know.”
Lilly Ann had hardly spoken a word during all that time. She had a dreamy look on her face while she was watching Taylor in his element, surrounded by manmade technology. His diligent and methodic approach and his insightful understanding of complex mechanics seemed so foreign to her, but at the same time it was so comforting to see it in her mate. Every time he lifted his head from the task he was performing to look at her, grinning like a little boy at play, so proud that he was able to give something to their community, she could have jumped up and down for joy. Instead, not to alarm him, she sat there on the edge of the dock and treasured every glimpse she could get of him and every gaze he bestowed upon her, and she smiled.
For a brief moment Lilly Ann felt the sting of doubt, if Taylor would ever find himself truly happy in the secluded reality of Flugerton. His obvious love of technology and machinery seemed to be stifled in a society that was not too eager to solve every day problems with the help of technological contraptions, or so it seemed.
Following his heroic rescue effort at the icemaker plant, Taylor developed a magical attraction of broken technology. Not a day went by when he did not come across a car that needed a jump-start or a toaster blowing up when they were visiting friends for breakfast. He started to carry a basic toolkit with him to be prepared for minor repairs and so far he had been able to fix all but the most perplexing faults in all sorts of equipment. His reputation made the rounds and people marveled at his skills. It was good to have a handyman around everyone agreed, until someone got to thinking, that they didn’t have as many things go wrong before they had someone to fix them.
Taylor began to notice that fewer people crossed his way on his walks and whenever he was out with Lilly Ann. He didn’t think much about it until one day he left his tool belt at home because he hadn’t touched a tool in more than a week. Walking out the door it came to him, Law of Attraction. Was he really so insecure that he needed other people to need him, even if it was just to fix their stuff? Ridiculous!
Taylor went back into the house and picked up his tool belt. He went into Lilly Ann’s back yard to find a suitable piece of metal and a length of rope. An orphaned wheel off a child’s bicycle fit his bill perfectly. He went out the front gate up to the mighty willow tree in front of Lilly Ann’s house. He slung the rope over the lowest branch and perfectly balanced he tied the wheel to the rope. He fastened the tool belt onto the wheel and with short pieces of strings from his pocket he tied up his tools to dangle from the belt. Satisfied with his work he hoisted the assembly ten feet into the air and tied the rope to the tree trunk.
Lilly Ann had watched Taylor from inside the house since he had come back into the house from his aborted walk. She was wondering what made him change his mind and she got curious when she heard him rummaging in the back yard.
“What are you doing?” she asked Taylor looking out through an opened window.
“It’s a sign,” Taylor winked at her.
“A sign for what?” she asked
.
“A sign that nobody needs to be afraid of John Taylor breaking their stuff just so he can have something to fix,” he looked at her a bit embarrassed.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said, “you can’t go against Law of Attraction, everyone knows that.”
“I know,” he conceded, “but I had the impression that people started to avoid me. So, here is the sign that I am officially hanging up my tool belt. If something breaks from now on and I am near it, it won’t be my doing.”
“You are being silly,” Lilly laughingly chastised him, “on the other hand, this looks pretty, like wind chimes. I like it.”
Taylor turned around to look at his work from a new angle. It really looked interesting, almost like a piece of art.
“You really like it?” he turned to Lilly Ann.
“Yes,” she said simply and closed the window.
Taylor stood there a while longer contemplating this new turn of events. There must have been something in the air or in the water he tried to convince himself before he went back inside.
A few days later one of the young cowboys from the Turner Farm came charging into town and brought his horse to a sliding stop on Lilly Ann’s front lawn. He jumped off before the horse had come to a complete halt, ran up the stairs and started banging on the front door.
“Jimi, what’s going on?” Lilly Ann asked the breathless boy when she opened the door.
“It’s Mr. Turner,” Jimi could hardly get the words out, “we were removing a fallen tree on the pasture behind the farm. The tractor stopped and the tree fell on Mr. Turner. He is trapped. We can’t get it started again to lift off the tree. Is Mr. Taylor here, he can help.”
“I don’t know,” Lilly Ann said with a concerned face, “John doesn’t want anything to do with fixing things anymore.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Taylor came running from the fence gate carrying a bag filled with tools, “get in the car, I’ll help if I can.”
They both jumped into the old van and Lilly Ann drove into the road with gravel flying behind them.
“Easy there,” Taylor cautioned, “we won’t do them any good if we kill ourselves on the way to help.”
It was a short, wild ride to Turner Farm. Coming closer to the property they could see people running back and forth gesticulating and yelling. A few horses had been strapped into a harness and several men tried to get a grip on the tree to lift it but to no avail. The big trunk threatened to slide further down and crush the unconscious Frank Turner if it was moved the wrong way.
Taylor jumped out of the car and ran over to assess the situation. The heavy chain was still wrapped tightly around the tree but the hydraulic arm of the tractor stood limp with no pressure to work its magic. A quick look under the hood confirmed Taylor’s worst fears. The cam timing chain had broken while the engine was under heavy load, which left several valves and cylinder heads badly damaged. He knew that there was nothing he could do quickly here to salvage this engine.
He turned to the closest farm helper.
“Is there another tractor we can use?” he asked urgently.
“There is another one in the barn,” the man confirmed, “but...”
“No time for buts,” Taylor said firmly, “show me.”
They both ran off to the nearby barn and the man pointed at a huge farm machine that was covered under thick dust and straw clippings. Taylor did not pay attention to the objections the man was yelling after him. He ran to the tractor, yanked off half a bail of hay from the cabin and jumped into driver’s seat. Without even so much as a thought he turned the ignition and pushed the starter button. With roaring engine, dragging a dramatic cloud of dust and hay behind him he raced the huge vehicle onto the pasture.
Taylor drove the tractor past wide-eyed farm workers and family members close to the fallen tree where Turner was trapped. Three of the workers came running to help him affix the chain to the wide forklift on the front loader of the tractor.
“Stand aside until the tree is raised up enough,” Taylor yelled and jumped back into the vehicle. For a second he studied the levers and wheels to find his bearings. He gently pulled up one of the levers, which promptly raised the fork until the chain was tight. Taylor stepped on the gas pedal to increase engine power and without hesitation he raised the lever to its full extent. Slowly the mighty tree began to move, lifting its crown from the ground. People who had been watching the proceedings with open mouths from a safe distance rushed in to retrieve Frank Turner from his trap.
“Frank is all right!” someone yelled from the other side of the tree.
Almost at the same instant Taylor’s tractor erupted into a series of deafening explosions before it quit with a heart-wrenching screech. Steam and boiling water bubbled out from under the hood and thick black smoke billowed from under the drive train.
Taylor quickly jumped off the farm machine and sprinted to a safe distance. Lilly Ann ran up to him.
“Are you all right?” she asked him, “That was quite a show!”
“I am all right,” Taylor answered, “but what is wrong with that thing?” He pointed at the second broken tractor.
“I think David tried to tell you when you went into the barn,” Lilly Ann grinned at him with raised eyebrows.
“Tried to tell me what?” Taylor asked David, who had caught up with them.
“That tractor,” David hesitated, “I tried to tell you, that tractor hadn’t been driven since, since, ...” David’s voice trailed off, realizing the impossibility of what he was about to say.
“Since?” Taylor asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
“Since ever,” David blurted out finally, “half the engine had been used as spare parts for the other one. Nobody ever put fuel into it.” He obviously didn’t care to further contemplate these facts so he just turned around and joined the others who had started to cut the tree into pieces to remove it the old fashioned way.
Lilly Ann could not stop laughing at Taylor’s incredulous face and stuttering attempts to find a reasonable explanation for what had happened. She finally slapped his shoulder and dragged him to the house where Frank Turner had been carried to.
“Let’s say hi to Frank,” she encouraged him, “he is going to get a kick out of that one.”
“Do you think we have to tell anyone?” Taylor asked shyly.
“No, I don’t think we have to tell them, everyone already knows,” Lilly Ann laughed some more, “You should have seen the faces as you came flying out of the barn on that roaring monster that everyone thought had been dead forever. My hero on his rusty steed.” Lilly Ann danced around him fighting imaginary dragons.
Frank Turner was sore but already on his feet when Taylor and Lilly Ann came to the house. He took Taylor’s hand and shook it vigorously. Both men looked long into each other’s eyes and shook their heads. No words were necessary.
That night Frank Turner celebrated his new lease on life. Everyone for miles around was invited. Taylor’s rescue was wrapped into more stories that evening than there had been people present to whiteness it. Every time it was told it got bigger and wilder as the laughing and hollering rang through the valley.
“So, what did really happen?” one of the late arriving guests asked.
“I don’t really know,” Taylor said with a wink to Lilly Ann, “maybe we have to wait until we can read it in the Chronicle.”
That night on his way to bed, Taylor clapped off the lights and kissed Lilly Ann, “Good night.” It was just the way things were. He had more important things to spend his time with than figuring out how every little thing worked.
Chapter 15: I Like You Pretty Good