The Walking Man
/He was a simple man in the same way intelligent animals are simple.
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He walked the edge of the road, neither fast nor slow, but steady, like a man on an unknown mission. He walked without regard for the weather. He didn't seem to care whether the day was raining, snowing, or bright and sunny.
The clothes he wore seemed as unconcerned with heat and cold as he was. The same torn jacket, battered shoes, and worn-out corduroy pants were his all-weather outfit.
He wasn't a bum. He lived here. I drove past him often. Everyone around here drove a car, even if it was an old beat-up car. He walked.
Why?
One day when the rain was pouring down I stopped to offer him a ride. He stepped into the open passenger door without hesitation.
"Thanks. Usually people drive right on by. Sorry to get your car wet". "That's alright. I'll take you where you're going". "You can drop me off at the next intersection". "There's nothing at the intersection"? "Well really I'm going to the McDonalds next to the Post Office". "I'll take you there".
That was the end of our conversation that day. I left him at the McDonalds. I wondered why anyone would walk through a rainstorm to get to McDonalds. Did he work there? Was he meeting someone? I wondered.
I gave him many rides after that; whenever I happened by. His destination was always a fast-food place around the village center. He never said much. Sometimes he remarked on passing buildings. "That's where the hardware store used to be, or that place was a funeral home before the Rite-Aid went up". He seemed to know a lot about local history.
I guess he lived here his whole life. He was probably ten to fifteen years older than me. He'd seen many things come and go. He remembered them all.
I never knew his name. He never asked mine. It just didn't come up. I thought of him as the walking man. Many would assume he was a simpleton. He wasn't; though he was a simple man. He spoke rationally when he spoke. He watched with understanding everything around him, even if he didn't seem to have anything to do with any of it. He was a mystery.
The walking man walked to town, and walked away from town. I gave him occasional rides both ways. One day, on the way away from town, he asked me to drop him off at an address a couple of miles further on. "That's my brothers place. I live behind the house".
Over time he told me more.
His father had left house and money to his brother. The walking man was the older brother. The father thought the younger brother the responsible one. Younger brother was left in charge of the walking man.
Younger brother provided a small allowance, cast-off clothing, leftover meals, and a one-room shed behind the main house. If the walking man had any objection to any of this, he didn't say so. He didn't need much. He wanted less. He liked being outside, walking the roads, thinking his thoughts. Thoughts of more never crossed his mind.
Rejection never crossed his mind either. He told me once he couldn't go to McDonalds anymore. The manager said customers complained about his unkempt appearance. He told me this without complaint.
He had no complaints about anything.
He was a simple man in the same way intelligent animals are simple. Things happen. Nothing I can do about it. I'm happy. Life is good.
Years of rides went by. Then, I didn't see him for a long time. One day, while driving on the other side of town, there he was, walking a new road.
"Haven't seen you for a while". "My brother moved. It's a longer walk from the new place". "Well hop on in. Where to"?
I don't see him much anymore but I think of him. He has a blessing granted to very few: He's content. He literally walks through life, enjoying what joy comes his way, paying no attention to joys that don't come his way.
This is a wisdom often preached and rarely practiced. Maybe the walking man lacks the ability to do anything else. Maybe he chooses to do what does. I don't know which. Maybe it doesn't matter.
Simplicity is a grace in itself.
By K. L. Shipley
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