Him’s Paradox

The Paradox
Chapter 1
Whilst on a business trip in Northern Ontario, Canada, I chanced upon this unusual story. The theme of this tale is a paradox, which concerns three very different people. One of them lived the life of a dreamer. You could say, a total dreamer, who lived his life in seclusion, yearning for the one love he never really had. Another was, and I have to emphasize ‘was’, lazy, self-centred, and totally unconscious of the real world. Fine clothes, exclusive friends, and a snooty education gave her airs and graces. She believed wholeheartedly that the entire world rotated about her outstanding beauty and snappy intellect. The third person, well, he was and still is simply remarkable, almost beyond description and the centre of this paradox.
A paradox is a situation that cannot exist merely because it does exist. Any good dictionary will tell you a paradox is a statement of self-contradiction, something too absurd to be true. Take the chicken and the egg, for example. If chickens are hatched from eggs, what laid the first egg? Or, if chickens lay eggs, then where did the first chicken come from?
The problem with a paradox is that one never really knows where it began, like an elastic band. Where is the start of a circle? I suppose we could make a start on this paradox, say, on one wet afternoon up by Georgian Bay, Ontario.
Antalya, a somewhat precocious teenager, sat facing the rear of the vehicle directly behind Williams, who was driving the expensive top-of-the-line limousine. Mother, of course, sat right at the back with Father. For the first time since they had arrived in Canada, it had actually begun to rain. Not a spot of rain had fallen all summer until this day. Even so, the holiday had been a complete disaster right from the outset.
“I hate both of you,” Antalya suddenly said, turning her head from the window to face her parents.
Mother frowned at her obstreperous sixteen-year-old daughter. “You are a spoiled little prima donna, my dear. I, for one, will be pleased when you go to finishing school. Perhaps they will make a lady of you where I have failed.”
“They don’t have finishing schools in modern times, Mommy dear,” Antalya said with venom. “Stupid prep schools and schools for milk-brained nincompoops, maybe. I won’t go. You can’t make me. Let me out now. I’ll go into the world and make my own way in life. I have to, it is absolutely imperative, you just cannot possibly understand.”
Mother shook her head and ignored the girl. “Continue on, Williams,” she said in a bored monotone.
The problem, as Antalya saw it, was simply that her parents were too ancient – in her vernacular, “Like prehistoric even.” Mother had passed her forty-second birthday when Ann came into the world. Father is twelve years older than Mother, and that, according to a teenager, is as over-the-hill as one can possibly get.
“You have to admit,” Antalya said, raising her voice. “This holiday was an utter waste of time. It was boring. Why can’t we go to some civilized place like Paris, or Florence? My parents have no concept of modern living. They are just not with it. I want to get out. Let’s go back to Mortonville, right now, perhaps there I can catch a boat or something.”
Just before turning from Concession Street and onto the major highway, Father asked Williams to pull over to the shoulder of the road. He attracted Antalya’s attention by tapping her on the arm. “You are an insolent and self-indulgent little madam. We have had this open-air holiday because of my heart attack. All I asked was just two little weeks in a lifetime. Two weeks of peace and tranquility. Two weeks to recuperate in peace with my loving family. I fear, my dear, this will be the very last holiday we shall ever share together. I had thought you would love it here in the country, away from motor fumes and noise and your boisterous and brainless companions.”
While Father expounded his excuses, an urchin wearing filthy baggy pants and an oversized dirty shirt approached the parked car. Perhaps he did not realize there were people in the vehicle. He stopped, then walked to the limousine and pushed his face against the window, glaring at Antalya.
“Disgusting child,” she barked. “Please drive on before all his filthy clan arrives on the scene.”
“Drive on.” Father growled.
Williams carefully slipped the stick into drive and drove away from the urchin. After a moment, he speeded up to synchronize with the fast and furious traffic on the considerable highway. A giant silver tanker roared passed like an express train with mist pouring from its many wheels.
“Idiot,” Father commented, somewhat out of character.
“So, where are we going now?” Antalya asked, more as a taunt than a real question.
Father exhaled loudly, showing his boredom with the vein of conversation. He had heard it all before, many times before. “We’ll spend a day in Toronto, then fly home to New York.”
“Toronto,” Antalya grumbled. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. “Mind out, that one’s a maniac.”
They had almost caught up to the massive tanker as it thundered along with a small tank-like trailer in tow. Water vapour gushing from its multiple wheels made the way ahead almost obscure through the raging mist of water particles. Williams calmly flicked the wipers to a higher speed as this other car almost cut him off. The tanker driver must have seen the incident in his rearview mirror and pulled sharply to his right to prevent a collision with the speeding car.
As in all accidents, it is the unexpected that gets you every time. The pup trailer did not take kindly to the sudden change in direction, and its delay in turning made it eventually swing too far to the right. With a bang and a grinding of metal, the guardrail exploded into several fragments. Williams swerved left to avoid pieces of the tanker pup as they scattered hither-and-thither ahead of him. The trouble-making first vehicle collided with the tanker and bounced off the truck like a golf ball. In doing so, it crossed all lanes of the highway and eventually struck the median guardrail and careened back again.
Antalya put her knuckles to her mouth and screamed as the tanker truck lost control and smashed headlong into yet another vehicle to his left. She saw the great cascade of flying metal and gushing petroleum. Williams stood on the brakes, but the wet road and already debris-strewn surface threw them headlong into the pup. With a bang that would have awoken the very devil himself, the tanker, road, pup, and Antalya’s holiday burst into acres of raging fire.

The urchin, who was already saddened by an earlier event in the day, leaned against the bridge rampart and dreamed of the beautiful princess in the expensive limousine. Carefully, he recited the number as displayed on the plate of the vehicle, ‘LUV ME 2’. He sighed and exhaled in double sadness. “I wish she would,” he said. Wistfully, the lad dreamed of how wonderful it could have been if he had only introduced himself to that angelic, beautiful, and princess-like young woman. His dreams were shattered by a crash that sounded like thunder. The sound of the collision echoed off Paldyke Hill and rumbled into the distance. The lad looked south and saw a gigantic column of black smoke rising at a snail’s pace into the miserably grey sky.
Wet but unperturbed, the boy began advancing toward the conflagration on the west side of the great highway. After a while, a fire engine roared down the road, then another. Moments later, three police cars and an ambulance screamed by like howling banshees.
“Like wolves to an injured deer,” he said to himself.
At the crest of the next rise, the boy caught his first glimpse of the catastrophe. At least six vehicles lay scattered in various states of disarray. By the time he reached the site, most of the fires were already out. A few flames still licked along the side of the road, and a tow truck was trying to disengage one blackened vehicle from another. The police had put a long line of flares to warn oncoming traffic. The ambulances were loading some people and attending to others on the side of the road. It seemed that almost all the survivors were walking wounded.
Like a turkey vulture on a tree limb, the boy sat on what was left of the safety fence and watched the proceedings with fascinated interest. Some police were taking notes, while another group walked up and down taking measurements with a walking stick like device, which had a single wheel at its end.
“What a mess,” the boy hissed between his teeth. “Humans are insane.”
The tow truck moved forward, and the burned-out wreck of a limousine clanged back onto what had once been its wheels. Nothing remained that looked like anything identifiable. The windows had melted in the intense heat, and all the plastic and rubber had vanished into black clouds of toxic gas. A stump stuck out of the black and charred dash, which had once supported the steering wheel. The seats were still there, looking like old black bedsprings.
As the tow truck dragged the wreckage to the side of the road, the limousine’s number plate fell off with a timid rattle. The lad jumped off his perch and walked over to retrieve the black and grimy piece of metal. His heart stopped as he observed the unforgettable number. ‘LUV ME 2’ clearly showed through the charred filth.
“I thought that was you, Himmy. Come on now, you can’t hang around here,” a policeman said, walking toward the boy. “Be a good lad and go home. Sam will wonder where you’ve got to.”
Himmy’s heart was broken, for the unknown love of his life was no more than ash in the bottom of a burned-out vehicle. Tears flooded his eyes as he reflected on this dreadful day.
Shorty had succumbed to a heart attack exactly on schedule, and he too had never really known his true love. Him felt there was no longer a place in this world for himself, as now the beautiful princess of his dreams was also dead.
“Life’s unfair,” he shouted at the policeman.
“That’s right, Himmy, you go home like a good boy.”

Now, this is probably the point at which the paradox came into being. Samuel Long, or Shorty, had died, and Him could not return to his homeland, as there he was a wanted fugitive. And now Antalya too had perished in the flames of a man-made hell. Him thought he knew the answer, but to set the wheels in motion could mean the very end of all existence.
“What’s to lose?” he said and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to that terrible place on the Paldyke Hill.

The Search
Chapter 2
Now remember that this story is about a paradox, and things may not seem to jibe at first. A little patience and understanding and all will be revealed.
About four weeks before the accident on Highway 400, Him, who’s real name is almost unpronounceable, walked with his back to the highway down the western slope of the Paldyke Hill. His clothes were still wet from the rain, but the intense sun and heat would quickly dry them. He walked through Six Hundred Acre Wood to English Church Road while bidding the birds and creatures good morning as he passed. Him was usually polite to the extreme. His destination was the town of Mortonville on the south shore of Georgian Bay. Never much of a person to worry about things like roads, Him walked directly to his targeted destination through the meadow and across the scrubland toward Sulphur Creek. He followed the creek for a while, then crossed it and entered the new housing estate. None of the new houses were lived in yet and the road had not been finished, but it led directly to Al’s Gas Bar on Concession Street.
Al looked a stern, powerful, and tall individual with massive muscles. As a youngster, he had been a bodybuilder, but now he owned and operated the only gasoline filling station in Mortonville. He stood with arms akimbo watching Him approach from the back fields.
“Morning Al,” Him had said brightly and stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Gonna be another hot one, eh, boy?”
“Yes, sir. I’m looking for a car, well, a limo actually,” Him said and sat on a five-gallon drum near the garage door.
Al chuckled. “Looking for a car, eh? Well, me boy, I thought you’d be a little on the young side to drive.”
“Nah. I’m looking for the owner.”
“Ah! A pretty young lass, is she?”
Him nodded in agreement. “LUV ME 2. That’s the plate number.”
Al chuckled. “Well that’s appropriate. Now what about my front garden? You did say that you wouldn’t have time this week.”
“I’ll do it this afternoon,” Him said, rising from the barrel. “Boy it’s a hot one today. I’ll do your garden. I have to look after Shorty, you know? You’ll tell me if you hear or see that car, won’t you, Al?”
“Sure thing, Himmy. But with a number like that, it ain’t from here abouts.”
“Tourist,” Him added. “Staying here somewhere, I reckon.”
Just about every inhabitant of Mortonville knew Him. No one knew exactly where he was from, but he was such a pleasant and honest boy, no one really cared. He had had to decry all work for this month so that he may give maximum attention to his friend Shorty. Him lived with Samuel Long in Sam’s old cottage on the other side of Highway 400. Doing odd jobs for people and just being a pleasure to know had earned Him respect. As far as anyone knew, he had never told a lie, not even a little white one.
It was imperative to find the car and warn that girl, or there just was not any point in life. Him had another idea, which he intended putting into action immediately. Mrs. Prentagoust ran a very respectable and flourishing library on Main Street, almost at the corner of Front Street.
No one seemed to mind that Him never dressed in fine clothing. His jeans were soiled and even ripped. The knees were out, but people merely thought he was complying with the latest styles, as his skin always appeared clean. His shirt was actually a long sleeve dress shirt, but the sleeves had been removed.
“Good morning, Himmy,” Mrs. Prentagoust said in a bright and cheerful voice. She sat at her desk at the front of the library, as this was her usual position. She had been a librarian for more than forty years and had been friends with Samuel Long’s mother.
“Morning, Mrs. Prentagoust. I wondered if you could do me a favour?”
“Certainly, Himmy. How’s Mr. Long this morning?”
“Well,” Him said, dropping onto the nearest chair. “Shorty’s sort of doing all right, but he won’t see the month out.”
“That’s a terrible shame. Where will you live if such a terrible event comes to pass?”
“Oh, it will. Shorty knows it. He’ll go on our next rainy morning.”
“And you?”
“I’ll live in his house, he said I could have it.”
“Hmm, yes dear. But I don’t think the authorities will look kindly on you living alone. You know you could always come live with me. You’re such a nice boy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prentagoust. Anyway, I need this favour.”
“I’m sorry. I do gabble on. Now, what seems to be your problem?”
“I’m trying to find a car.”
She looked at Him over her glasses. “A car, dear. Why would you be looking for a car?”
“Well, it’s the … er, well, it’s not the car but the somebody in it.”
“I see, and how may I help you?”
“Well, your son works in the DMV in Toronto. I wondered if you could ask him to look up the owner for me.”
Mrs. Prentagoust gently scratched her chin and thought about it for a few moments. “Why is this so important to you?”
“Because, well …” Him had to think about it, as she would never understand. “I have to find the young lady who was in it, you see.”
“Oh, has she lost something?”
Him bit his bottom lip. “Well not yet.”
Mrs. Prentagoust blinked a couple of times. Who can understand modern children? She puzzled. “Is it important? It is not my intention to bother Dennis unless it’s really important.”
“Oh yeah. It’s a matter of life and death. The plate number is ‘LUV ME 2’ and it’s a limo.”
She sighed. “Very well, dear. But what about my flowerbeds?”
“I’ll do them tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”
“What about Mr. Long?”
“Oh, well … well, he, erm.” Again, Him was stumped for not having thought out the situation in advance. Telling a lie is something he would never do, but telling the truth would be disastrous. As Sam Long had craftily put it, one can lie by omission without actually lying. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Prentagoust, Shorty is being cared for. I wouldn’t let him be alone too long.”
“You’re a good boy, Himmy. After you’ve popped round and done my flowerbeds, you can come here, and I’ll probably have the information for you.”
“Great.”
In his anger, Him had placed himself in an awkward spot. He couldn’t go home to Shorty due to the paradox he had created. He would have no money until one of his customers paid up, and he had no food. Worst of all, he had nowhere to sleep, and it was just less than a month to the disaster. An idea suddenly struck him. He could camp at the ruin on Dewer’s Path. Locally it was known as the hermitage, but no one knew why. It was a good four-mile walk, but on the other hand, there was nowhere else. He decided to go and finish Al’s garden. Maybe Mrs. Taylor, Al’s wife, would give him something to eat. The Taylors of Al’s Gas Bar, are not in any way related to the revered and locally famous Ann Taylor.
It was a hot day for gardening, but he had promised. The Taylors lived up on East Street, just round the corner from the gas station. This at least would be on his way to Dewer’s Path. Despite the heat and work that lay ahead, Him walked with a spring in his step. Firstly, he marched south along Main to Cross Street, and then left half a block, then right onto East Street. The Taylors lived almost at the end on the right-hand side going out of town.
He marched straight to the tool shed in the backyard. Him had a way with plants. Al called it a green thumb. On this occasion, the garden only needed some dividing and transplanting, followed by a good watering. Him was just packing up the tool and implements when Mrs. Taylor returned from shopping.
“Hello, young man,” she said in a pleasant tone of voice. “You’ve done a wonderful job. How much does Al owe you?”
Him shrugged, he never discussed money. “Don’t know.”
“Is ten bucks, decent?” she said, digging into her purse.
“Whatever you think right, Missus. I would rather not leave you short.”
She giggled. The thought of this little fellow leaving her short was quite an amusing statement. With Him’s help, they had the finest front garden in the street. The lad looked filthy and would soil her beautiful new white carpeting. She handed him two brand-new fivers. “Can I run you somewhere?”
“Wouldn’t mind a lift to, to Hill View Farm,” he said. “But it ain’t a good place to take a car.”
“I’ll drive you to Walnut Road,” she said with a big smile. “You’ll have to sit in the back.”
“Great.”
Mrs. Taylor was using the company van, as Al called it. In fact, it was a pickup. The truck was used for collecting and carrying small parts and tires. Occasionally Mrs. Taylor used it as a runabout, not wanting to wear out her expensive and gas guzzling Jaguar. “I’ll just put the groceries away, and I’ll take you to Walnut Road.”
Him hurried to complete putting all the implements away and then ran to the truck and jumped in. “Having a positive attitude always helps,” he said to no one in particular.
Mrs. Taylor smiled at Him and climbed in the cab. In moments, they were speeding south toward Concession. After a short distance, she turned left toward the Paldyke. Just seconds later, they were passing the zoo to their left. Him sat with his back to the cab, enjoying the fresh air and cooling breeze. They passed the Green, which is a triangle of grass at the junction of English Church Road. By vehicle, Walnut Road was only seconds passed Burns Lane, but on the other side of the road. She turned into Walnut Road and stopped. Him jumped out, and through the open window, thanked the lady.
Him walked to Hill View Farm, which is actually situated on the base of the Paldyke Hill. He had a use for his crisp new currency notes. The farm was operated by the Dawkins family, who sold fruit and vegetables to anyone who would drive up to the farm, or in Him’s case walk up to the farm.
For the first day of his quest it had not been all bad. Him had some food and a bottle of milk, enough to last till tomorrow at least. Tonight he would have to make a nest in the hermitage. It was going to be a rough ride until he found the beautiful princess.
The walk from Hill View Farm to Dewer’s Road was just a little less than a mile, cross-country. The road had been a logging trail in the old days. Now it was a dead end that went nowhere. An old ruin of a Victorian farm sat snuggled in the trees where it intersected Dewer’s Path. This was what everyone called the hermitage. The nearest neighbour being Rosemary Cottage on Concession Street, some two hundred yards north.
The hermitage was not what one could call convenient, but the old fruit cellar was mostly intact. Him stopped and looked at his new temporary home, not much more than a hole in the ground, but it was concrete lined and had a roof. He realized he would have to acquire some form of storage unit to keep the little animals from eating his food. A large biscuit tin or even a plastic storage box would do. Sleeping on the ground was no problem as he usually did this in the summer months, even at Shorty’s place.
True to his promise, Him arrived at Mrs. Prentagoust house about mid-morning of the following day. She lived only a few doors up from the library and had a spectacular back garden. Him toiled all through lunch and when he finally finished, he put all the tools away and walked around to the library.
“Good afternoon, young man,” Mrs. Prentagoust said as soon as he walked into the building.
“I’ve made your beds,” he said and stretched his back.
“You’re a good boy. How much do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, just the favour, I guess.”
“Ah,” she said and walked smartly to her desk. “Dennis called this morning. The car you are looking for is part of a fleet of cars owned by the Luvel and Mead Company. They are some form of chauffeur business in Toronto.”
Him was greatly disappointed. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Prentagoust.”
She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and extracted her purse. “Here,” she said, and handed Him three one-dollar coins.
“Thank you, Missus.”

The days meandered on as Him did all the work that he previously said he would have no time for. Having created the paradox there was plenty of time. People appreciated his diligence and worried about his friend Samuel Long. Him knew that Shorty Long had no worries. The paradox and the quest were the only things that mattered. Today he had offered to clean out the cage of the Bengal tiger at the zoo. Him and the tiger were great pals, as Himmy had known the tiger since it had been a cub, he even knew the tiger’s mother. When the tiger was only four months old his mother died and Him spent many a night sleeping with the little animal to give it comfort and friendship.
Firstly, he reported to Mr. Tilitson’s office to ensure everyone knew he had arrived on the job. Him had once had a crush on the secretary, as she was young, pretty, and by Him’s account, very feminine. With a beautiful greeting smile she said, “Good evening Himmy. Mr. Tilitson’s gone into town, but we are expecting you. Here are the keys to Clarence’s cage. Most of the visitors have left by now.”
“Thanks.” He took the keys and proceeded directly to the Bengal tiger’s luxury cage.
“Good evening, Bhubaneswar,” Him said.
The tiger growled and rolled over, displaying his fury underside. Him only needed the keys to get the wheelbarrow into the cage through the tunnel entrance. Everywhere else had either slide bolts or electric combination locks. He climbed over the visitor’s fence and, turning sideways, slipped through the bars and entered the tiger’s domain. Clarence was so huge he could only put one paw through the bars, but Him fitted easily. Without fear or trepidation, Him walked up to the giant animal and rubbed its tummy. The giant cat purred just like a domestic cat, but much, much louder.
Cleaning animal cages is hot work, and in this particular Canadian summer it was very hot work. As well as being paid for his labours, Mr. Tilitson allowed Him free food and drink. After all, how much could a 75-pound boy eat? Henry at the hamburger stall knew Him and the arrangement with Mr. Tilitson.
“Done for the day, Himmy?” Henry asked as he put the usual on the griddle for the lad.
“Yup. Cheese and bacon burger with double cheese, please, Henry.”
“You get yourself a seat, Himmy, and I’ll bring your food to you as soon as it’s cooked.
Him sat and relaxed in the shade. All this labouring was extra, as he’d previously turned down all work for the month due to his quest. Shorty was dying and Him had to be by his side. Shorty would die on a Monday morning, just less than a couple of weeks away. It would be the Monday that would bring the rain.
Henry brought the burger, fries, and a coke over to the picnic table. “Here you are. Don’t forget to tell Mr. Tilitson you’ve been fed. Do you want to take Shorty anything?”
“Nah, he won’t need it. I’m living rough this week.”
Henry smiled and returned to his booth just as the phone rang. Picking up the instrument he muttered into it for several seconds then leaning out the serving window he said, “Himmy, the boss says he’s been talking to Al. He said what you’re looking for is at Lake Manor.”
From the commission stand, Him could look east and see the manor, a massive, luxurious ranch house in a compound only half a mile or so south of the hermitage. Lake Manor was situated in its own grounds, surrounded by a high security fence. Only wealthy people rented the manor and its servants for private holidays. The estate, as Chalky the Postman called it, sat halfway between Concession Street and the Marina on Manor Avenue. The land between Lake Manor and the zoo was wild and in places a bit swampy. One zigzag road intersected the wild land and led directly to Burnsend Cottage, right on the lakeshore.
Suddenly, Him didn’t feel hungry. He trembled slightly as he remembered that beautiful young girl. Ann Taylor was the most angelic creature in the entire universe. How was he going to introduce himself to an angel?
“Come on, Himmy, eat up. You’ll be giving people the wrong idea,” Henry said jokingly.
Him nodded, but his thoughts were far away trying to solve the problem of introduction. If he should start out on the wrong foot, he may never get the chance to save the girl’s life. He sighed and said, “Sorry, Henry. I guess I’ll take it with me this time.”