SUNSET  (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks

Bennie drew back the curtains and observed the sky with an expression of weary disapproval. Even had he not heard the steady patter of rain on the windows and roof, the subdued light of a sunless day was only too evident. He stared upwards at the blanket of grey clouds hoping to see a chink of blue that might gradually widen to allow in the sunlight of a summer that wasn’t quite over. Perhaps, he thought, it already was, this was the fourth such day, each one a little shorter than the one before and made even shorter by the grey shroud above. He was by no means sure of when Summer officially gave way to Autumn but, informed by his own notions of how things should be, knew that Summer was unlikely to continue past the second week of September. He consoled himself with the thought that Autumn sunsets were often the best.

         Seven years retired from his job in the car factory he had, at first, struggled to fill his time. His friends had immersed themselves in their hobbies but he had none apart from football which only required his attendance every other weekend on the terraces of Copford United. Golf was too expensive and other sports requiring more rapid movement were no longer an option. As the years drifted by he divided his time between home improvements and gardening. Both provided the satisfaction of a job well done but it was only work, and unpaid work at that. Nevertheless, at the end of each day he would take pleasure from the sight of his manicured garden which was best viewed from the patio he had repaved and equipped with the usual garden furniture and a heater for winter. His sitting out there after tea had become a ritual which while a just reward for his daily endeavours never seemed enough. Then he discovered the sunset and saw with new eyes what for so long he had taken for granted.  The sun which was setting over the roofs of the semi-detached house at the bottom of his garden now dipped lower into a gap where there were no houses, just a long sloping view across town and the countryside beyond.

         In a faraway place, he was unable to identify, behind a distant ridge, the sun met the horizon in a mackerel sky of vivid pinks and blue. From that moment he was hooked and the sense of wonder he had as a child returned with the added force of an epiphany. He had been given a wonderful toy not his to command but his to admire and wonder at. He was in awe, and had it not been for the passing of two thousand years he would have bowed his head in worship. But what was he to do with this great gift? From the start he realised that the sight of each and every sunset was too precious to be lost, that each must be photographed and that although his back garden was adequate for this purpose there were many other places where better views were to be found.

         And, so it was that in the evening twilight he was to be found in a variety of places where the setting sun could be seen to best advantage, where the landscape below had a beauty that was a fitting place for the greater beauty above. It was on one such evening that he met Cyril and realised that he was not alone, that there were others just like him and that one of them, a Texan billionaire, had founded the ‘Luminary’.

         The true purpose of this organisation is still unknown. For some it was a source of knowledge, a tool for scientific research and international cooperation, for others it was something akin to religious revelation. What is not disputed is that its website was a deep mine in which every aspect of the sun could be studied in ever increasing complexity, a labyrinth of connected ways that went sideways and down but never back. It was a journey from which there was no return. It was an addiction to which there was no cure and no demand for a cure. It was a world within a world, or was it the other way around. Of one thing certain, the sun that smiled on both worlds now shone more brightly than ever on Benny who committed himself, full time, in pursuit of all matters relating to the sunset. This is not to say that he was indifferent to other phases of the sun’s daily journey, but able to specialise in sunsets alone, he gratefully seized the opportunity to do so. That this left him with no time for home improvements or gardening soon became apparent in the neglected appearance of his house and garden. Reasoning that they were no longer important in his life he sold the house and purchased a camper van. In this he lived, studied and drove to the many far flung places unaffected by the glare of artificial light where the most spectacular sunsets were to be found.

         It was not long before the endless supply of photographs and memoranda sent by Bennie to the Luminary attracted the attention of its owner and founder, Big Jack Maguire. He was a man whose second great interest in life was stories, life stories, and having decided that Bennie’s extraordinary endeavours must be the consequence of an extraordinary life he insisted that Bennie visit him at his ranch.

         “Tell me your story,” he growled, and deeming this to be a demand rather than a request Bennie attempted to rise to the challenge by recalling his more memorable moments at the car factory and on the terraces of Copford United. That these proved to be a disappointment to Big Jack is only disputed by those who say that disappointment can not be defined by an emotion so wretched that the shedding of tears seems like a carefree frivolity.

         Frozen by the permafrost of deep despair he was, after forty days, catapulted back to normal functioning by a vision that told him that if Samuel could transform David from shepherd boy to King so might he raise the distressingly ordinary Benny to an eminence far beyond that of the world’s religious and secular leaders. The Luminary would become what it was always meant to be, what he had previously been too blind to see. From now on it would be the conduit of a knowing sun that informed every word and deed, and Benny, the vessel through which all solar revelation would be received.

(to be continued)

Copyright Richard Banks