‘One Night In The Wheat Field’

One night in the wheat field, Henry stood there in the middle of it all. The field’s wheat was only a month or so from harvest and looked more like Rapunzel’s gold. He stood amongst the stalks, which were almost as tall as he, wearing only his cloth pajamas and a robe. Armhurst the Bear was clutched in his left hand; Armhurst always went with Henry.

He could feel bits of cool, moist soil wrapping around his pink little toes and caressing his heel. A summer wind whispered softly from the black midnight sky and over the rolling hills. So fragile was it that Henry scarcely noticed its cool breath. And the stars, Henry had never seen so many, they formed the heroes and creatures of ancient myth that Ma had told him about. Their radiance was brilliant.

For the five years that Henry had lived on Earth he had never seen anything quite so wonderful and strange. The serene humming and the dazzling colors left him in awe. He had never seen anything so wonderful and strange and figured in that young brain of his that he would never see something of the like again. He savored the sight, feasted off it as a coyote would a chicken.

When Henry had first spotted it, his instinct had been to run and tell Pa, Ma and James, the hired help. But after watching it, Henry began to believe that if he left, so would it. That was not what Henry wanted. He wanted to watch the thing, watch it until forever came, or longer. He didn’t want to leave.

Then, just minutes after it had appeared, the earth around him seemed to shift. Henry felt a hot rush of air in his face, but not from the wind. He heard an area of wheat stalks singe under it. He tasted the inside of his mouth go dry. Henry clutched Armhurst tighter as he continued to stand there in the middle of his family’s wheat field. He stood there and waited.

It was just moments later when they came. Henry felt their hands reach out and touch his robe; he felt no fear. Long gray fingers touched his cheek with cold clamminess; he felt no fear. There were several of them that crowded around almost level in height with him; he felt no fear. One looked at him with those big black eyes that had no white or color and conveyed no feeling; he felt no fear. It took his right hand.

Henry wanted to go on a trip, somewhere far away. He would go with these people with their huge eyes and inverted-pear-shaped faces that contained only two nostrils and a small, thin mouth. But there was something he wanted to tell Ma, Pa and James. That could wait. He would tell them of the trip when he returned and they would be glad for him. Pa would pat Henry on the head in the same way he did whenever he was pleased with his son. Ma would clasp her hands and say, “Goodness!” in that special way of hers that conveyed both delight and surprise. And James would simply rest a hand on his shoulder and tell Henry that he was quite the little guy.

Yes, that’s what they would do when he returned, thought Henry, as the People led him toward that big, silver ship that took the shape of one of his mother’s fine soup dishes. He thought of all the places he would go and things he would see as he walked up the ramp and out of the wheat field which was under a warm, star-filled, summer-night’s sky.

He walked into the ship without looking back to the white, wooden house in the distance. He felt no fear.

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