Kort Explores conundrums of the human condition

The well worn rag with which he absentmindedly wiped the counter left as many streaks of dust as it removed, but Bob's mind was distracted by other things. His eyes swept the cluttered fix-it shop and the quiet summer sun drenched street outside the storefront window for the source of the frustratingly undefined anxiety that had been growing in the back of his mind. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was wrong with his carefully crafted world. It was as if there were a blank spot where something was missing out of the Norman Rockwell life he'd constructed for himself.

Casting about yet again for the source of his discomfort, Bob ran down the mental checklist of objectives he'd set out for himself many years before. He still felt the same pride in his small but friendly shop - a business he'd built with the honest sweat of his brow. His bank account might be larger if he'd set up shop in a big city, but he'd never regretted deciding to do business where he could know his customers by name. Here he knew the first names of nearly everyone in town, although there were a few he was careful to address in more formal terms. It was all just a game Bob was happy to play if it made his customers happy.

The small town outside his storefront window was still the same comfortable place where people exchanged greetings when they met on the sidewalk, and the riotous colors that filled countless unguarded flower boxes along the street could bloom unmolested by those who paused to enjoy them. The faint buzz of the insects that flitted by outside in the warm summer air, as well as the complaints of the squirrels scrambling by the telephone wires, were masked by the drone of the many times repaired air conditioner over the front door. But not even the air conditioner could completely mask the noisy chatter of children passing by the shop carrying bats and balls on their way to the park, or pulling coaster wagons full of empty soft drink cans to trade for candy at the corner grocery store.

"Maybe I just need something to do," thought Bob as he thumbed through one of the electronics magazines that had arrived in the morning mail. In his spare time he'd built many projects out of the stacks of magazines that appeared in his mailbox each month. The shelves of his shop were full of odd shapes festooned with switches and meters that had occupied his mind until they were finished, and then languished abandoned with all the previous projects. There were racks of handmade computers, CB radios, television sets, stereo gear, light boxes, robotic arms, and assorted other electronic gizmos. He'd built many of them with at least the intention of using the finished products, but seemed to lose interest once they were built and tested.

Some of the people who came to the shop joked that he never seemed to use the things he built, but their jibs didn't bother Bob. He'd observed that most of the people in town were users - they bought things like homes, lawn-mowers, and television sets in order to use them. Supplying the users were a small cadre of makers - the builders and fixers who made and repaired the things people in town used. It seemed a nice balance to Bob - the users needed the makers to create the things that filled their lives, while the makers needed the users to consume what had already been created so that they could make more. Each kind of person had to have a need for the other in order for the system to work. His head would start to spin if he thought about it too hard, but there seemed to be some sort of sense to it all.

The shelf of repairs awaiting his attention was empty, and Bob was free to do as he pleased until the next broken bicycle crisis or malfunctioning toaster emergency. But the excitement he'd previously felt on the brink of starting a new project seemed to have dimmed of late. The gaudy ads for intricate schematics and build it yourself kits splashed across the magazine pages failed to catch his eye the way they used to. He tried to pass off his faded interest as just the result of having already built most of the usual stuff. There just wasn't much excitement in building yet another radio or stereo amplifier. But there was another nagging thought lurking in the back of his mind, one which he didn't really want to consider.

Maybe it was approaching middle age, or just the summer doldrums, but he'd increasingly found himself flirting with the philosophical black hole of wondering about the purpose of his life. Was it just so that he could spend another couple of months soldering wires and fiddling with circuit boards that would end up on his already jammed racks of past projects? Was that enough? Did he really want anything more? Should he want something more? Bob's struggles to avoid sliding down into the mental morass of pondering the philosophy of tinkering and the meaning of life were interrupted by the welcome clang of the bell over the front door.

Bob's first impression of the small man who stepped through the door was that he must be from out of town. The man's large hat partly obscured his face, but the dead giveaway was the degree to which he was overdressed for the comfortable informality of small town everyday. Only the local lawyer wore a suit in the middle of the week, and his off the discount rack rumpled suits were never as sharply pressed as this customer's gray three piece. Under his arm the man carried a thick roll of schematics.

"I need something built - discreetly," declared the mysterious customer in a strong confident voice lacking any detectable accent. "I'll pay well for the job and your secrecy."

There was something odd about the man other than his suit. Something about his eyes. But before Bob had time to pursue that thought further it was abruptly brushed aside by the irresistible attraction of the intricate spiderwebs of circuits plotted on the schematics unrolling across the counter. Hungrily scanning the top sheet, Bob mumbled, "Why me? I just run a little fix it shop - this looks like pretty sophisticated stuff." As he flipped through the drawings he noticed they came from different big name engineering outfits, but all listed the same suspiciously ordinary client - Mr. W.F. Smith.

"As I said, I need this built discreetly. I'm ... um ... concerned about the design being stolen. I had each component designed by a different engineering firm so that no one would know what they were really working on. Now I need someone to put all the parts together - someone outside of the mainstream with more character than greed. I'm told you're that someone."

Bob fleetingly wondered who might have recommended him but instead questioned, "Nothing illegal here, is there? Cause I don't want to get involved with..."

"Nothing illegal or dangerous", assured the man. "I'm the W.F. Smith you've already noticed on the schematics. It's my design, it's not classified and won't explode. Can you built it?"

"This isn't gonna' be cheap to build - there's a bunch of spendy stuff in here. I'd need..."

"It will be very expensive to build," interrupted Smith. "I'll send you a check on the first of each month to cover that month's materials and labor. If you're agreeable, this will be enough to get started."

The amount of the check Smith laid on the counter was more than Bob's little shop had brought in the last decade. Sweetening the offer even more, Smith tossed in an irresistible temptation for a compulsive tinkerer like Bob. "In addition to generously paying you for your time, when the project is completed you can keep all of the first class test gear and tools that will be needed..."

"Guess we got a deal."

Bob's attention was irresistibly drawn to the schematics spread out on the counter. The more he studied the complex circuits the more fascinated he became. He hardly noticed that Smith slipped out of the shop as suddenly as he appeared.

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The checks arrived on schedule, and the work progressed. Bob made time for his regular customers, but increasingly found his greatest pleasures working on "the device". Gone were the vague anxieties and uncomfortable philosophical questions. He had far more interesting things to think about now - like what the device would do when completed. Bit by bit he teased out an understanding by studying each component as it came together in his hands. He'd never been happier.

As if on cue, Smith appeared at the shop just as Bob was completing the final assembly. If it had been up to Bob, he would have left the riotous complexity of the inner workings exposed, since to his eyes there was the real art in what he'd done. But the design called for all of his work to be concealed within a suitcase sized box with only the rows of buttons and dials on one side to hint at the wonders inside. After one more long look to set the image in his memory, he screwed down the lid. With marked reluctance he moved aside and busied himself collecting all the scattered schematics as Smith stepped up to the workbench to inspect the device.

The moment was a source of mixed emotions for Bob since it marked the end of a project that had given him a lot of pleasure. Softening the sadness of the ending was the pride of accomplishment and satisfaction of finishing a difficult job. But overriding all others was an abiding curiosity as to just what he'd built. He'd managed to figure out the functions of most of the individual components, but was at a loss as how they would all interact when put together.

As Smith inspected the device his customary stiffly controlled demeanor was progressively replaced by a barely concealed excitement. "At last," he muttered as his fingers caressed the buttons and dials in a way that suggested long term familiarity more than new experience. "Very nice work - very nice indeed. If you'll help me move it to the floor, I'll show you what it does."

Bob quickly cleared a space as Smith carefully shifted the device from the workbench to the floor. Smith adjusted the dials and flipped the master switch. The device emitted a faint hum as a man sized rectangle of light projected out of the solid top of the box. An unearthly image framed by a pulsating ribbon of blue-white slowly coalesced out of the original amorphous fog.

"This is a portal," explained Smith, gathering up the roll of schematics in preparation. "The one that brought me here was damaged but now, thanks to your help, I have a new one and can be on my way. If you want to come with me, I can show you wondrous things and great adventures, but you'll have to decide right now."

Faced with such a sudden and unexpected decision, Bob's mind was gridlocked with conflicting impulses. Unable to think and with time running out, the initial caution that had always dominated Bob's response to new experiences won out. It came as a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and no small measure of relief to his gridlocked conscious mind to hear his voice stutter out, "No, think I'll pass."

Smith shrugged his shoulders and stepped through the portal. For an instant the device appeared to both follow Smith through the portal and still be sitting on the floor. An instant later the light winked out and all trace of Smith, the device, and the portal were gone.

Once the opportunity had passed it was easy for Bob to kick himself for being too timid to take advantage of the chance of a lifetime. He mopped around the shop for days, finding only a hollow shell of the pleasure he'd formerly felt in solving the minor day to day troubles of his customers. Thoughts of starting new projects inevitably regressed back into replaying memories of the excitement and challenge of building the portal device. Life now seemed a pale facade of what it had become while he was deeply immersed in the difficulties of building the device.

Slowly but surely the obvious became unavoidable - he'd just have to build his own portal device. Smith had taken the schematics, but he had his detailed memories to work from. The original had been expensive, but he'd saved most of what he'd earned building it. As for the rest, well that would just add to the challenge. It would likely take a lot longer, but even that aspect had a certain pleasing attraction. Life was suddenly bright and wonderful again as he set to work.

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The chill winds of early winter tumbled the few remaining fallen leaves along the street outside the shop, and the hum of the furnace had replaced the drone of the air conditioner. Bob cursed the arthritis that had crept into his joints over the years, but refused to allow the discomfort to keep him from soldering the last few connections. He'd grown old since that day so many years ago when he'd passed up his chance to step through the portal. But it had been a good life, filled with an endless parade of tearful children with their broken bicycles and toys, intermingled with frustrated adults carrying appliances they hoped could be made to work a little longer. And woven through it all had been his grand project to re-create the portal device.

The project had taken most of his life and all of his resources to complete, but that didn't matter. The pleasure in doing had been worth every cost. And now once again he'd arrived at the bittersweet moment of completion. He adjusted the dials as he could still picture Smith doing so long ago, and flipped the master switch. He danced as much of a jig as his old bones would allow as the rectangle of light over the device coalesced into an unearthly image. He'd done it! It worked!

After a few minutes of admiring his handiwork, Bob turned off the device and the portal evaporated. Taking care not to over-stress his back, he gently fitted the suitcase sized box into the cleared space on the rack with all the rest of his past projects. Somehow he'd always known he really didn't want to actually use the portal, just prove to himself he could build it. After all, he was a maker, not a user. That would be his next project. Now that he'd built it, he was pretty sure he could find someone to use it. Someone like Smith.