The Soldier

Tap. Tap. Pause. TapTapTap.

The first time he heard it, he was in the dark. A narrow beam of dark orange sunlight pushed its way through a crack in the worn curtains and sliced the room in half. The flecks of dust that hung in the air flickered in the sunbeam like grain on film, but they did not swirl because there was no breeze.

His eyes were half open. He was either dozing or in such a state of absolute stillness and boredom that he may as well have been.

Tap. Pause. Tap.

His wiry white eyebrows raised slightly. A glimmer of interest briefly crossed his face as he inclined his head slowly and wondered about the source of the noise.

During the two weeks that passed between then and now, the noise continued. Deep in the back of his mind, an old machine creaked painfully to life. The cogs of his curiosity began to turn.

Today, a black leather notebook sat open before him. The table was bathed in morning sunshine and a half finished pot of tea sat beside the book. The pages were yellowed and thin with age but were now filled with line after line of dates, times and patterns recorded meticulously in his small neat handwriting. Having pressed his ear to every wall and pipe in the small room, he was fairly certain the tapping echoed through the ventilation pipe in the far corner.

He hadn’t left his room in many years but this growing intrigue had drawn him to his door.

On the floor he saw an envelope that had been pushed through the mail slot in his front door. It was almost identical to the one before, and the one before that. To him, the envelope seemed impertinent (if such a thing was even possible). He fought the urge to kick it.

The envelope had no business being in his house - decorated, as it was, with international postage stamps and the impersonal handwriting of his daughter’s assistant. He knew there would be no letter, no pictures, no love. Just another cheque. The first time he had opened one of these, his heart had swelled with hope. He gritted his teeth, trying not to remember the sting of bitter disappointment when he’d realised there was nothing inside but a cheque for $22,000. He hadn’t opened another one since, though they kept arriving month after month. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Stooping to retrieve the envelope, he ignored the pain in his back and hips, stretched back up to his full height and indignantly tore up the envelope.

Straightening his shoulders, he stepped over his threshold and across the creaking carpeted hall to the door of Mrs Matthews.

It was true, he did not like to leave his room. In this case, however, his efforts were well rewarded when Mrs Matthews returned a few days later with the detailed engineering drawings and schematics for the building. To him, the images leapt off the page and for a moment, absorbed, he was back there again. Badges heavy on his shoulders, his insight unparalleled, his hands steady, his voice reassuring, his decisions unquestioned.

Tap. Pause. Tap Tap Tap Taaaaaap. Pause.

Different again. His arthritic fingers drummed the table, repeating the newest pattern. His eyes were half shut again, but this time narrow at the corners and squinting with concentration. Without realising it, he tapped out a series of Morse code messages on the table, mentally comparing and discounting, searching for a match for the tapping.

Freshly showered and lying in bed, he decided tomorrow he would leave the building. The old library was only a block away. He assumed it was still there? He would find out. There was a smile on his face as he drifted to sleep. As he dreamed, his mind turned and turned, searching for more ideas and possible solutions. He was asleep, but he felt awake for the first time in decades.

Three levels up, a small boy was also freshly showered and in his cozy blue bed. He yawned sleepily. His eyes became unfocussed as the cheerful dinosaur night light slowly dimmed. He liked his new room. In his chubby little fist, he clutched his favourite toy, a soldier. Smiling and rolling to his side, he marched his soldier up and down the ventilation pipe affixed to the wall beside his bed.

March march march. Pause. Turn. Attention! March march march! He wondered if tomorrow he could take his soldier down to the garden in front of the building. There were lots of big bushes there that would be perfect for a jungle.

The little boy’s arm dropped to his side and his eyes closed. Beneath his round pink cheeks, his mouth opened slightly and he breathed in a slow rhythm with a gentle childish snore.