Thomas                  by Ken Lehnig

Thomas Coney lived alone as a bachelor in the old house on the top of the bluff, a two-story place with gables and old leaded glass windows popular a century before. It was the well-kept and tidy house at the north end of the lane outside the village The younger folk, with children of their own, had always known kind ole Tom to live there. The older folks could not quite remember him or his parents or, in fact, the very house he lived in. No one had a memory of when it was built or by whom. The thoughts of him and his house came and went like the evening fog that rolled in from the cold North Sea. 'Our Thomas…'they would say '… is a bit of a mystery.' Then they would cross themselves in case there was a curse for the saying ill of him or his house.

And then there was his dog that smart, happy, ageless, Sheltie that watched over Thomas's goats each and everyday-seven days and seven nights a week. Thomas it was said was in his eighties, So the oldest recollection would make him, but he still appeared young and strong of limb. His hair was black as ebony and his face smooth without the wrinkled care that the climate here marks upon a person in life- wear's furrow and crease.

The dog too was always spry and quick afoot as it danced to and fro to keep the wayward goats in line. It was never remembered as a pup, it had never been a pup, only the faithful servant it had just always been. Some said, in secret whispers, that the dog was evil. But that same dog would lead the goats down through the middle of town, each and every Sunday, while Thomas sat in his favorite and constant pew. That dog leading the living lawn mowers on to the Church lawn, keeping the church grounds the envy of every parish in Ireland. Some took to marking the grass for its length and found it peculiar that two inches it was always left, when it was in a goat to nibble down to the dirt. Did the dog order them in some ungodly way to such care? What dog, if of the dark realm, could walk hallowed ground? The dog would await the 'Go in peace' after mass was done, always laying on the topmost step, eyes flicking that way and this, awaiting his master and watching that no goat should stray.

No one would say a bad word against Thomas - so good a man was he. The oldest held their tongues lest it be called the failing of aging minds and could in itself be the grist of rumor and mistrust. It was so that, truth be told, others aged in a natural way and went on to their rewards looking road worn and painted. It was only the green of envy that had the tongues wag such as they did - that being a normal human failing. Thomas was, after all, one of them. Each and every Friday and Saturday he would come to the Brown Boar and share a pint or two. And did he not often buy a round, as was expected for every good man to do, to bless the prosperity of his little village? If one person should say "'Tis help I'll be needing." was it not always Goodman Thomas who said- let me help with your garden -or let me paint that- or fix this- or tote that? He too, our Tommy, with a voice like an angel, would often break out, when it wasn't expected, into a lively tune or funny tale - to the delight of all.

Thomas' goodwill even reached up to the Bishop himself. It was said His Eminence loved nothing more than a few days sitting and writing his special sermons in these same finely tended gardens and goat trimmed lawns of our local Church, sipping on a sweet coffee and munching on a fresh baked and buttered scone. This giving the village's good Priest a reason to find a special prayer of favor toward Thomas, his fine dog and those blessed goats.

Then one Saturday night Thomas came in late to the pub and stood the bar with a pint in hand saying he had something important to say. Even Father Brain was there that night. All fell silent thinking this was to be the night where he shall reveal himself.

Thomas said.

"I have been told by God to dig holes on my property. You will think me daft for the doing of it and you will, no doubt, speak ill of me for the very endeavor. I will lose you as friends and I know that I will not be welcome to come back here and be one of you after this night. I tell you this because I was told to do so. It makes me very sad having to say it- as well as the doing of it- for you know how fond I am of tidiness and of these peaceable nights here with you."

It was Father Brian who asked. " Why would God have you do this?"

It took Thomas some time to answer. He chewed his lip and made sad sounds in his throat.

"You all think me mad no doubt, or have reason to ponder my long comings and goings. As have I. Long I have been on this earth, heard the murmurs of heaven and the songs of Angels. I have prayed to be taken so weary have I became. I have prayed and been ignored but then came a voice so clear. 'Dig!' says it. 'Dig' says it again. On and on it says this voice, on through the night. Then, when fatigue came well to overcome me, it all comes clear. Out of one hole, that I am to dig, will step the Redeemer."

" Would that not be the Devil himself coming up from the depths of hell?" The priest asked.

"I would not presume to bandy words of theology with you, my learned Father Brian. 'Tis it not true that Satan was given this earth as his farm to reap and sow as he is able? Does not Ole Nick already walk the Earth? Why would he step out of a hole? The Lord said to me He, meaning the Redeemer, will come up from within a hole I will have dug,"

It was the innkeeper that asked. "When will you know to stop your toil?"

"You will know he walks amongst us when I stop digging," said Thomas in a strange quiet voice.

Every backbone gave a shudder that heard it. Surely none will forget its timbre. As like a specter had passed through each there that night. For the truth be told what man alive today is ready for the meeting of such a man.

Thomas left looking lost and forlorn. The tavern was quite the rest of the night.

The next day Tom sold the goats and he and his faithful dog began to dig. Soon there were holes everywhere on Tom's property. There were big ones and small ones and each hole subject to long discussions, by the townsfolk, as to the meaning as to its width and depth. Soon wagers were flying as to the dimensions of the next hole and the next. It wasn't long before outsiders came and joined in on the gambling. Weekly buses would arrive with money they were willing to spend win or lose. The village prospered.

When Tom had dug all the holes his own property could bare he started purchasing other properties. No one dared take advantage of him and he was able to purchase most of the fallow land around the village at just slightly above a fair rate. It was Tom, himself, that insisted that a profit be made on each and every parcel. There was no pesky and time consuming escrow-cash was exchanged- title exchanged and digging commenced. There should be no interrupting the lucrative wagering and tourist industry that had fed new life into the little village.

A village turning into a town rather quickly.

Many conspiratorial conversations began to spring up. It was Gene the Rigger that mentioned an oddity at the tavern Friday night.

"Has anyone 'sides me noted…." He took a great gulp of ale. "Seems I ain't seen Ole Tom at all. That is to say I ain't seen him a-diggin in the daylight. And we ain't seen him here. A'course he said he wouldn't be a-coming in here no more. It just seems odd not to see him at all…just and only the hole he dug."

The Women's Society, it was heard, made comment in an unscheduled discussion as to the question of the Tom's funds. The heated argument moved from the topic of 'How much?' to 'Where is it?' to the final exploration as to why Tom never married so that one of their sisters could have the man put away and use his money for a right and proper use.

At the church the Elders took some notice that Tom worked on the Sabbath as well. Although no one actually saw him working. The holes would still be dug in similar depths and widths as any other day. It was Mrs. Walker, the wife of the local attorney who pointed out.

"Seems to me that if it was that Tom was digging for the Redeemer that Sunday would bare more importance than the low order Tom shows it. Surely we should see him kneeling with humility in front of us all. It would be a reaffirmation of faith to the entire congregation."

The town leaders even started a little buzz. Mayor Bradley brought up the point…

"Should Tom stop digging it would be in the towns best interest to have someone secretly, perhaps at night, continue to dig."

There was a sinister element to the discussion as well. A conversation spoken in political speak that it may be necessary to permanently remove Tom from his duty. Of course that was only one of many options suggested and put on the table, for the benefit and well being of their fine little town.

It was the Bishop that trumped them all. In an edict sent to the church the Bishop wrote….

"…It is the Church's well considered opinion that the great sin of gambling has turned a God loving village into Sodom. The good Minister who has shepherded the people of the Village for over twenty years has been overcome with the total disregard of morals and the direct word of God as listed on the tablets carried down the mountain. The holes being dug by one Mr. Cooney, in the opinion of the Church, is not a holy work but the devious and evil machinations of the 'beast'. Gaming dens, adult bookstores, motels allowing unmarried people to cohabitant, and nightclubs serving cocktails and allowing dancing to earsplitting rock music, have cropped up due to the huge amount of money being created. Although the Church, too, has benefited from the increased contributions brought on by the illicit gain and subsequent guilt. I myself made a friendly and innocent bet early on but now see the 'dark one's' long range plan. Tom Cooney may be lost but the good people of the village can yet be saved…"

So, an organized group, with banners flying, descended upon the gambling halls and adult bookstores screaming judgments down upon the unholy.

Tom and his dog continued to dig.

The Village began to tear itself apart. Friends and families split from each other, crime increased, violence increased, Bankruptcies increased and the Government noticed and took action. Laws were passed that disallowed the betting on holes. The result was the gambling dens closed, the tourists stop coming, the adult bookstores closed, the nightclubs died. Most of the citizens left to the bright lights and vice available in the larger cities. In one month the Village was a ghost town.

Tom and his dog continued to dig.

A scandal fell over the Mayor because of his involvement with the element that brought the gambling in to the village. He took his own life.

The owner of the original pub ran off with a topless dancer, his wife closed the doors and went south to live with her sister.

The good Reverend made old by what he considered his failure to save the souls of those he felt were his charge. He had a stroke and was put in a home, his wife got a divorce and married a Free-Evangelistic television Minister, with whom she had secretly been in an Internet relationship for years, and moved to Nashville.

Then a very odd thing happened.

Tom and his dog stopped digging. Tom and his dog could not be found.

The Government made the village and the holes a National Park. Money again began to flow. Churches were built almost one against the other. The Redeemer was here on Earth and this was the place where He came back to Earth. No one knew who the Redeemer was or where he had gone, but faith ran high and miraculous healings were reported each and every Sunday.

Tom and his dog were soon forgotten.

Until…

No one ever counted how many holes Tom dug, but it was surly in the thousands. On January 1^st in the middle of the night all the holes were filled in. In fact there was no evidence that there ever had been one hole never mind thousands. Plants grew over places where holes had once been. The dirt was seamless and all looked very natural. The feat caused those few who woke up on the 1^st of January to stand with their mouths open.

God had surly made a statement.

The National Park status was rescinded. A Grand Jury was assembled to research the possibility of fraud. The rest of the citizens abandoned the village without giving their forwarding addresses.

The Sun was going down and the sky was beautiful. Tom sat on a rock petting his dog behind his ear.

"Well, that went better than we thought." The dog's thoughts whispered into Tom's mind like a warm breeze.

"Yeah. I have enjoyed our stay here." Tom increased the force of his scratching.

"Where did He go?" Thought the dog.

"Rome first…after that who knows?" Tom said.

"I guess we better go home…it’s time." The dog jumped up with his tail wagging.

Tom stood taking one last look at the sunset. He and the dog walked back up the path to their house. When they went in and closed the door the house faded away as the night laid down its blanket.

fin

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