Fixing Things
The pockmarked old van trailed its way through the dust to a corner of the parking lot and sat there shimmering in the heat, gathering energy to open a door. When it finally crumped open, the occupant took another few moments to drag himself out of the sagging driver’s seat.
Pulling the door shut behind him, he fished a crumpled page out of the pocket of his heavy duster jacket and consulted it closely. Glancing around the lot, he pointed a thick scarred finger north to get his bearings, grunted recognition and set off with wide measured strides to the opposite corner.
Barely halfway across, there was suddenly a small boy hopping alongside him, dirty sneakers taking three steps for every one of his weather beaten strides.
“Hey mister. Hey. What’s your name?”
“John”, a low rumble of a voice.
“I’m Michael, but most folk call me Mite, like on account of me being small.”, the boy orbited around his knees, fizzy with the energy of a small, curious satellite.
For a few strides there was no response. Then, “Mite could be short for Mighty, son.”
The child pushed a muddy hand through tangled locks, considering this idea. “Hey, yeah. Mighty.”
“As in, ‘Look on my works ye mighty and despair’”, without breaking his stride John took his hat off to gesture expansively at the empty parking lot.
“Uh, I guess… Whatcha doing?”
“Fixin’ things.”, he ran his hand through long greying hair and replaced the hat firmly to shade his eyes.
“Oh.” For a moment disappointment radiated from Mite, but it couldn’t hold long. “You from the electric company? We had power cuts all last week. Mom let us have candles. In our bedrooms!”
“Not electric son.”
They had reached the far side of the lot, where low buildings hid behind bleached rusty safety signs. The nearest hut stared balefully at the visitors with a pair of heavy metal doors. John considered them, scratching his bristly chin. His other hand fished out an enormous set of keys from his jacket, a heavy array of odd shaped hooks and spikes that clanked and rattled.
He selected a key and forced it into a rust-ringed hole in the closest door. Turned it with some force and dragged the protesting metal open. Against the hot dusty sun, the door left a black void that rolled oily cold air around his ankles. The boy shivered and sniffed as the chilled air engulfed him.
“Smells electric.”, Mite peered into the darkness at machinery hiding just behind the shadows, filling the space within.
“I guess.”, John stepped around the inquisitive boy and surveyed the tarnished equipment hunched in the doorway. He pushed away quietly crackling desiccated cobwebs and brushed off a layer of dust.
“That looks real old. Is that why it needs fixing? I’m seven… how old are you?”
John grunted in amusement, “I guess I’m a million years old, Mite”
He reached deeper into the doorway and grasped something inside. Placing one heavy boot on the threshold, he heaved backwards. Though his arm fully straightened under the strain, nothing happened. It didn’t appear to come as a surprise to him. He stopped and rubbed his palm ruefully.
“Figures”. From a pocket he fished an oil stained handkerchief, which he wrapped around his hand. He reached back in and took up the strain again. Mite hopped around him, trying to see what was happening in the darkness of the doorway. John exhaled steadily with the effort, the lines deepening on his weathered face. Slowly, with a metallic sigh, something began to move.
As he pulled back, a lever inched into the sunlight, scything down out of the doorway in an extended arc as long as he was tall. Once it was far enough over, he swapped from pulling to resting his weight on it, forcing it further down until it was parallel with the ground. As the thick blade of metal moved, a casing within the machinery was thrust forward, pushing outwards into the light like an opening drawer.
Mite tried to tiptoe high enough to see what was in the protruding box, but even bouncing on his toes didn’t bring him above the top of the casing. From behind him, John easily reached over his head and into the gap, and with a brief tug pulled out a dense slab of wires and circuit boards.
“What is it? What is it?”
John contemplated it for a moment. “Broken, that’s what it is.” He turned away from the open door and began striding back to the van, the machinery swinging in his fist by his side.
“Can ya fix it then? I tried fixing our radio once, but it didn’t work. Mom was cross.”, Mite stared at the device in concern.
“‘Course I can fix it.”
“Is that what you do? Fix them things?”
“Someone has to. These days, they sit in their offices tippety-tapping at their keyboards, trying to fix stuff without leaving their desks.” He mimed typing delicately in the air with the heavy fingers of his free hand, “You can’t fix everything that way, Mite. Someone has to get out here and do it.”
At the van, he heaved open the back door and tossed the mechanism carelessly into a bucket already overflowing with battle scarred wires and tubes. Tools and boxes lay in tangled stacks filling much of the space around it. Along one side of the interior, a grid of shelves held parts and pieces half visible through dirty plastic drawers. Without consulting the worn lettering on its front, he selected a specific drawer, opened it and pulled out a circuit board that looked only slightly less worn and battered.
“You’ll do”, John announced to the device. He shut the van door with a bang and once again set off across the parking lot with Mite trailing along behind him. The dry afternoon sun lit the dust kicked up in their wake like the trail of a wayward comet.
The new part clicked into place with a pleasant snick. After resisting movement for the first time in years, the lever seemed less reluctant to move this time, and obligingly swung up and back into the depths of the doorway. As it did so, the drawer slid back into place. Almost at the limit of the lever’s travel, John hesitated and looked down at Mite.
“Watch this, kid.” his arm deep in the machinery, he pushed the final inch. A muffled clunk rewarded his efforts. For a moment, everything was still.
A glow, the orange of ancient valves and the warmth of vintage radios flowed like treacle from the machinery. It built like an accelerated, silent sunrise, bursting from the doorway, filling his face with light. The brightness chased shadows from the lines on his skin making him suddenly appear decades younger, yet at the same time sharp with the light of ancient stars. As it intensified, the light lost its warm tones and became white, then searing blue. Though there was no heat, it felt like a force blasting from the doorway, washing though closed eyelids to burn on the back of their retinas.
Then it was gone. And the world… shifted.
John looked down at the girl blinking uncertainly at him.
“Is it fixed?”, she asked.
He looked around the dappled glade briefly, “Yes, Mi-”, swiftly corrected, “Mote, I think it’s fixed”.
Mote fluttered her wings, unsure. She stared at the shrine, chewing her bottom lip. “But nothing happened!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” With a grunt he rolled the stone back across the entrance, hiding the crystals within from view.
He strode back to the cart, with Mote orbiting busily around his shoulders on youthful wings. Her disappointment didn’t survive half the walk across the glade.
“Hey, what’s your horse’s name? Do you ride him? Is it a him? It looks like a boy to me.”
“His name is Dodge. He just pulls the cart, I wouldn’t make him carry me.”
“He looks strong. Does he take you far?”
“You couldn’t imagine, Mote.”, he swung up into the seat at the front of the cart and took the reins. As he did so, he checked his pockets reflexively, and pulled out a small packet, “Want some gum?”
“What’s gum?”, she asked, eyes wide at the foreign patterns on the tightly wrapped object.
“Just something from another place. Bad habit. Best not I guess.”, he paused, putting it away carefully. “Well, thanks for helping me, Mote, it was nice to meet you. I have to go now.”
“To other places? Now?”, she looked crestfallen.
“Other places, yes.”
“I wish I could go. Travel somewhere different. See something new”, she sighed theatrically.
“Mote, sometimes the new things are all around you. You just don’t notice.”. His head barely moved, but his eyes scanned around the softly lit greenery, the open flowers, the humming insects, taking in each sunlit detail. With a grunt of approval, he flicked the reins lightly and Dodge shambled into a walk that could cross continents.
She watched him go, thoughtfully. “I guess”, then with a practised flick of her wings turned a somersault and flew off into the cool woods, dancing lightly between the trees, “Mom! Mom! I met a new person! He fixes things!”
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