To Harry Bemish, it was a day like any other of his life. Harry Bemish was a low key kind of man, went to the same job everyday, carried his briefcase with some work and a lunch that his wife of 27 years made for him every morning. It was routine, but then Harry Bemish loved his routine. He liked the predictable nature of his life, and felt secure in the predictability.
But there was a fly in the ointment of Harry Bemish's existence.
When Harry was a small child, he spent time with his grandfather. The old man lived on a small farm outside the city, and Harry had very fond memories of his boyhood there, spending long summer days fishing with the old man, learning to shoot a .22 rifle, walking in the woods with the old man who would identify the different trees to him. These memories lived in his mind, and sometimes in the course of one of his safe and predictable days at the office, he would think back to what it was like to have a nice fat perch on a line, or to smell the sweet distinct aroma of the wisp of gun smoke that curled from the breach of the old bolt action the old man used. Down deep in Harry Bemish, there lived a feeling of discontent. It was small, but there. Like a dim spark waiting for a breeze to burst into life, it smoldered.
Then one day, a breeze blew.
On the way home from work, getting off the bus at his appointed stop where he got off everyday, he stopped off at the small hardware store on his walk home. He remembered that he needed a new switch for the bathroom light, so the stop at the hardware store was a needed variation from Harry's routine. Finding what he needed, he went to the front of the store, and while going to pay for the switch, he saw it. It, being the wooden display case of the pocket knives. All kinds of knives. Big knives and small knives. Wood handles and bone handles. They reminded him of the little knife his grandfather had always carried. Just a small two blade jack, with bone handles. It was then, Harry did something completely out of character. He bought a pocket knife on a whim. He picked a small serpentine two blade jack that seemed to be just like the one his grandfather had carried. Harry remembered how the old man carefully reamed his pipe, whittle a toothpick after a meal, cut a piece of string, trimmed an end off some fishing lone after tying a blood knot. Harry paid for the knife, and immediately dropped it in his pocket. Walking home, he slipped a hand into his pocket and gently fingered the jigged bone , exploring the texture like a worry stone. Strangely, having the little knife in his pocket made him feel more complete. More able to take on the small problems of the world.
Once home, his wife told him dinner was ready, and afterward he replaced the bathroom switch. He was just settling down to watch a little TV when the phone rang.
"Hello?" said Harry.
"Mr. Bemish?" a voice asked.
"Yes, speaking." said Harry.
"Mr. Harry Bemish?" the voice asked again.
"Yes, this is Harry Bemish, what do you want?" Harry asked.
"You don't know us, Mr. Bemish, but you will. You now belong to our fellowship. You need to be properly inducted to the brotherhood." the voice said.
"Brotherhood? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't belong to any brotherhood. I never even joined a fraternity in college!" Harry told the voice.
"Oh, this is way beyond college. You now belong to us. A member will call on you shortly. He will ask you what is good about legumes. You will say, 'they fit in a pocket nicely'. Then you will be taken to a place of initiation."
With no more fanfare, the voice on the phone hung up.
"Who was that, dear?" his wife asked.
"Oh, some nut case. Nothing to worry about." said Harry.
Harry and his wife just started to watch one of their favorite TV shows when the doorbell rang. Mystified as to who would be disturbing them, Harry went and opened the door. He was shocked by the fat man in a dirty white linen suit and a red Fez on his head, standing on his front porch.
"Good evening, Mr. Bemish. What do you know about legumes?" The man in the Fez asked.
Still in shock, Harry found himself saying, "They fit in a pocket nicely."
The fat man in the dirty white suit laughed. "Indeed they do, Harry my lad. Indeed they do. Shall we go now? "
"Go?" asked Harry, and then he saw a 1955 Cadillac limo at the curb in front of his house. In spite of himself, he was intrigued. "Go where?"
The fat man in the dirty white suit and Fez leaned in close. "Why to your initiation into The Cult. This may be the most important evening of your life, my dear lad. "
Suddenly, Harry had the epiphany that he was tired of his predictable life, and humdrum existence. He turned and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door.
"Harry, where are you going? " his wife asked in alarm.
Harry looked at her, and said, "I don't know."
"When will you be back?" she asked in growing alarm.
"I don't know!" said Harry with a grin.
In the old Cadillac, the man in the red Fez told Harry that he would have to wear a blindfold to the secret location. Harry nodded, and the blind fold was put on. The rode in silence for a while, and Harry lost all track of time and direction. When they stopped, he was led, still blindfolded, down steps that felt like stone, and the air took on a damp chill. But then it was warmer after passing though some rooms. When they stopped, the blindfold was removed, and with a shock, Harry found himself in a subterranean chamber, filled with people in black robes. A table was set up at one end of the room. An old man with a white beard came forward to Harry, and asked him if he was ready to join the Cult.
Harry was mystified. Then the man in the black robes explained.
"You see, Harry, we've been watching you for a very long time. When you were a boy, your grandfather introduced you to something, and we've wondered if it would ever take. Today, you took a step in fulfilling your heritage. You bought a pocket knife. But not just any pocket knife. You bought a Case peanut. A Case peanut like your grandfather taught you to whittle hot dog sticks with when you were a small boy. And how to gut and clean panfish caught on a cane pole."
Harry was amazed, and to his further amazement the people standing around all took out a small serpentine jackknife very much like the one he'd bought that day. There were bone handles of all descriptions, and textures. There was smooth bone, jigged bone. There were stag handles, and pearl handles. There was even yellow handles. There was old carbon blades with gray patina, and shiny stainless blades. Harry had never seen that many Case peanuts in one place. But then Harry realized that he didn't even know where this place was. The white bearded old man sensed his confusion, and patted him on the shoulder.
"It will all be clear in a little while. But now, we will initiate you into our order. The same order your grandfather was a member of. In fact, let me show you something."
The old man took Harry by the arm and walked him over to the far wall, where a huge wall shelf was honeycombed with small dark blue velvet cubbyholes just big enough to hold a silver shot glass. Some of the shot glasses were turned upside down.
"Those are the ones who have passed on. We keep their glasses to remember and honor them. Come, look at this one down here." the old man said.
Harry bent down and looked at the silver glass. At the old man's urging, Harry picked up the upside down glass, and was amazed to see his grandfathers name engraved on it.
"Yes, that was your grandfathers glass. He was a member here for many decades. As you will be if you wish. "
Ever so gently, Harry replaced the silver shot glass in it's velvet place. Then he looked up at the white bearded old man.
"Yes, I wish it." said Harry.
So Harry Bemish became a member of The Cult, and his life became a little less ordinary. Sometimes during his day, he would slip his hand into his pocket, and feel the jigged bone, and thought of the people that he shared his secret hobby with. He thought of the meetings in the underground chamber, where they would show their latest peanut purchases, and talk peanuts. And talk of recruiting more members.
But most of all, Harry learned the value of a good legume.
But there was a fly in the ointment of Harry Bemish's existence.
When Harry was a small child, he spent time with his grandfather. The old man lived on a small farm outside the city, and Harry had very fond memories of his boyhood there, spending long summer days fishing with the old man, learning to shoot a .22 rifle, walking in the woods with the old man who would identify the different trees to him. These memories lived in his mind, and sometimes in the course of one of his safe and predictable days at the office, he would think back to what it was like to have a nice fat perch on a line, or to smell the sweet distinct aroma of the wisp of gun smoke that curled from the breach of the old bolt action the old man used. Down deep in Harry Bemish, there lived a feeling of discontent. It was small, but there. Like a dim spark waiting for a breeze to burst into life, it smoldered.
Then one day, a breeze blew.
On the way home from work, getting off the bus at his appointed stop where he got off everyday, he stopped off at the small hardware store on his walk home. He remembered that he needed a new switch for the bathroom light, so the stop at the hardware store was a needed variation from Harry's routine. Finding what he needed, he went to the front of the store, and while going to pay for the switch, he saw it. It, being the wooden display case of the pocket knives. All kinds of knives. Big knives and small knives. Wood handles and bone handles. They reminded him of the little knife his grandfather had always carried. Just a small two blade jack, with bone handles. It was then, Harry did something completely out of character. He bought a pocket knife on a whim. He picked a small serpentine two blade jack that seemed to be just like the one his grandfather had carried. Harry remembered how the old man carefully reamed his pipe, whittle a toothpick after a meal, cut a piece of string, trimmed an end off some fishing lone after tying a blood knot. Harry paid for the knife, and immediately dropped it in his pocket. Walking home, he slipped a hand into his pocket and gently fingered the jigged bone , exploring the texture like a worry stone. Strangely, having the little knife in his pocket made him feel more complete. More able to take on the small problems of the world.
Once home, his wife told him dinner was ready, and afterward he replaced the bathroom switch. He was just settling down to watch a little TV when the phone rang.
"Hello?" said Harry.
"Mr. Bemish?" a voice asked.
"Yes, speaking." said Harry.
"Mr. Harry Bemish?" the voice asked again.
"Yes, this is Harry Bemish, what do you want?" Harry asked.
"You don't know us, Mr. Bemish, but you will. You now belong to our fellowship. You need to be properly inducted to the brotherhood." the voice said.
"Brotherhood? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't belong to any brotherhood. I never even joined a fraternity in college!" Harry told the voice.
"Oh, this is way beyond college. You now belong to us. A member will call on you shortly. He will ask you what is good about legumes. You will say, 'they fit in a pocket nicely'. Then you will be taken to a place of initiation."
With no more fanfare, the voice on the phone hung up.
"Who was that, dear?" his wife asked.
"Oh, some nut case. Nothing to worry about." said Harry.
Harry and his wife just started to watch one of their favorite TV shows when the doorbell rang. Mystified as to who would be disturbing them, Harry went and opened the door. He was shocked by the fat man in a dirty white linen suit and a red Fez on his head, standing on his front porch.
"Good evening, Mr. Bemish. What do you know about legumes?" The man in the Fez asked.
Still in shock, Harry found himself saying, "They fit in a pocket nicely."
The fat man in the dirty white suit laughed. "Indeed they do, Harry my lad. Indeed they do. Shall we go now? "
"Go?" asked Harry, and then he saw a 1955 Cadillac limo at the curb in front of his house. In spite of himself, he was intrigued. "Go where?"
The fat man in the dirty white suit and Fez leaned in close. "Why to your initiation into The Cult. This may be the most important evening of your life, my dear lad. "
Suddenly, Harry had the epiphany that he was tired of his predictable life, and humdrum existence. He turned and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door.
"Harry, where are you going? " his wife asked in alarm.
Harry looked at her, and said, "I don't know."
"When will you be back?" she asked in growing alarm.
"I don't know!" said Harry with a grin.
In the old Cadillac, the man in the red Fez told Harry that he would have to wear a blindfold to the secret location. Harry nodded, and the blind fold was put on. The rode in silence for a while, and Harry lost all track of time and direction. When they stopped, he was led, still blindfolded, down steps that felt like stone, and the air took on a damp chill. But then it was warmer after passing though some rooms. When they stopped, the blindfold was removed, and with a shock, Harry found himself in a subterranean chamber, filled with people in black robes. A table was set up at one end of the room. An old man with a white beard came forward to Harry, and asked him if he was ready to join the Cult.
Harry was mystified. Then the man in the black robes explained.
"You see, Harry, we've been watching you for a very long time. When you were a boy, your grandfather introduced you to something, and we've wondered if it would ever take. Today, you took a step in fulfilling your heritage. You bought a pocket knife. But not just any pocket knife. You bought a Case peanut. A Case peanut like your grandfather taught you to whittle hot dog sticks with when you were a small boy. And how to gut and clean panfish caught on a cane pole."
Harry was amazed, and to his further amazement the people standing around all took out a small serpentine jackknife very much like the one he'd bought that day. There were bone handles of all descriptions, and textures. There was smooth bone, jigged bone. There were stag handles, and pearl handles. There was even yellow handles. There was old carbon blades with gray patina, and shiny stainless blades. Harry had never seen that many Case peanuts in one place. But then Harry realized that he didn't even know where this place was. The white bearded old man sensed his confusion, and patted him on the shoulder.
"It will all be clear in a little while. But now, we will initiate you into our order. The same order your grandfather was a member of. In fact, let me show you something."
The old man took Harry by the arm and walked him over to the far wall, where a huge wall shelf was honeycombed with small dark blue velvet cubbyholes just big enough to hold a silver shot glass. Some of the shot glasses were turned upside down.
"Those are the ones who have passed on. We keep their glasses to remember and honor them. Come, look at this one down here." the old man said.
Harry bent down and looked at the silver glass. At the old man's urging, Harry picked up the upside down glass, and was amazed to see his grandfathers name engraved on it.
"Yes, that was your grandfathers glass. He was a member here for many decades. As you will be if you wish. "
Ever so gently, Harry replaced the silver shot glass in it's velvet place. Then he looked up at the white bearded old man.
"Yes, I wish it." said Harry.
So Harry Bemish became a member of The Cult, and his life became a little less ordinary. Sometimes during his day, he would slip his hand into his pocket, and feel the jigged bone, and thought of the people that he shared his secret hobby with. He thought of the meetings in the underground chamber, where they would show their latest peanut purchases, and talk peanuts. And talk of recruiting more members.
But most of all, Harry learned the value of a good legume.
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