Both those who were coming and those who were going had to cross the gatekeeper on their way. The passage he guarded was at the middle of a very long road, and he did not know of any other part of the road but his own. He used to ask travelers what lay farther down on either side, but they all said his was the only gate, and eventually he had come to believe them. Now he only asked them their names and gave them what they needed, depending on where they were going. The exchange was usually brief, because the gate itself was brief, and the travelers could not stop if they were ever going to get anywhere on such a long road. Most of them were already far away and had forgotten about the gatekeeper. Some even denied the rumors and said there was no gatekeeper. Still, the gatekeeper did not mind; he was used to being alone.
There was a book the gatekeeper read from as he waited and he had been reading from this book for a long while when a traveler approached. The gatekeeper asked the man his name and the man was slow to answer.
“Death?” asked the gatekeeper. The man looked at him strangely and remained silent. “Many have said in passing here that Death comes for everyone, but he has never come for me.” The gatekeeper closed his book and continued, “They say only that he wears a watch, and that he always comes.”
The man shook his head. He held out his arms and pushed up his sleeves, revealing his wrists; he wore no watch on either arm. The gatekeeper nodded and then he sighed. “What is in the bag,” he asked the man.
“Fortune, I hope.”
The gatekeeper smiled. Then he narrowed his eyes. “No clocks?”
“I hope not.”
The gatekeeper smiled again. He reopened his book because he kept his list in between two of the pages. He took it out and wrote a name down for the man. “You will not want to come back,” the gatekeeper cautioned.
“I hope not.”
The gatekeeper slid the list back inside and closed the book. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he looked at the face of the man curiously. “What makes you go?” he asked.
“Fortune, I hope.”
The gatekeeper smiled and shook his head as if at a boy he was fond of. He raised his arm up slowly and opened his large hand. “Your bag please,” he said. The man looked sad but he did as he was asked. “Sorry,” the gatekeeper said. “You can’t take anything with you.” There was a large pile of dusty bags to the side of the gate and the gatekeeper tossed this one on top. Then he handed the man a watch. “Sorry,” he said. The man looked disappointed but shrugged a smile. The gatekeeper opened the gate with his key. “You may go now,” he said.
“Good luck,” called the man as he stepped forward.
“Not yet,” said the gatekeeper as he turned back the time on his watch.
***
There was a book the gatekeeper read from as he waited and he had been reading from this book for a long while when a traveler approached. The gatekeeper asked the man his name and the man was slow to answer. He examined his list and the eyes of the man rolled about as the gatekeeper scrolled. His fingers trembled up and down his sides and his legs seemed either about to flee or fall over. “Here it is,” the gatekeeper said. He looked up and smiled at the man. He had stopped moving. “This way,” the gatekeeper said. He opened the gate and stood aside for the man to pass.
The man stood still where he was. “Aren’t I early?” he asked.
“No, you must be on time.”
The gatekeeper continued smiling and pointed to the man’s watch. The man looked down at it and then back up at the gatekeeper. “It’s a mistake,” he said. “I must be early.”
The gatekeeper shrugged and withdrew his hand. “You may leave your bag over there,” he said.
“Can’t you check the list over,” the man said. “Isn’t it possible there was a mistake? I couldn’t have walked so quickly.”
The gatekeeper shrugged again. “There is no mistake I could have made,” he said. “If you walk on the road at all you will eventually arrive. And if you are here now, then now is the time you must have arrived.”
“I should have gone more slowly,” the man said. He dropped his bag along one of the piles on his side of the gate. “If I had stopped, I would have seen more.”
“If you had stopped, then you would not have gotten far enough to see anything.”
“But I am afraid,” the man said. The gatekeeper shrugged again but now he did not bother answering. The man sunk his shoulders and dropped his face as he stepped onto the path beyond the gate. The gatekeeper took up his list and erased the man’s name.
***
There was a book the gatekeeper read from as he waited and he had been reading from this book for a long while when a traveler approached. The gatekeeper asked the man his name and the man was slow to answer. He wore a mask but it looked less like a mask and more like a missing face.
“Death?” asked the gatekeeper.
“I am an artist,” said the man.
Something about the man was smiling and the gatekeeper thought it might be the mask that was smiling. “I must ask for your mask,” he said.
“You know it is no mask.” The man pointed to the book in the gatekeeper’s hands. “I am an artist,” he said.
The gatekeeper waited a moment looking at the man. Then he closed his book. He raised his arm up slowly and opened his large hand. “Only faces,” he said.
“And so it is,” the man answered. “May I pass?”
The gatekeeper shook his head and held his arm where it was. “You must have a face to be on that side of the road.”
“My face is on that side of the road,” the man said. “I am an artist.”
“Then count yourself lucky,” the gatekeeper answered. “None can take anything with them, and few can leave anything behind. But if you do leave something behind, then you cannot go back. For if you could go back, then you would not have left something behind.”
“I did not leave my name behind,” the man said.
“None do. That is what allows you to start over on this side. A man with nothing is like a boy.”
“But the gatekeeper gives names,” said the man. “Perhaps you can write another for me on your list.”
“It would not be your name,” said the gatekeeper. “For your name was already given to you, and I cannot remember it.”
There was no longer a smile about the man and the gatekeeper could not tell how long ago it disappeared; it seemed almost a different mask that the man was wearing. He took off the mask and turned around.
***
There was a book the gatekeeper read from as he waited and he had been reading from this book for a long while when a traveler approached. The gatekeeper asked the man his name and the man was slow to answer.
“I am still only a boy,” he said.
The gatekeeper knew that they all wanted to be boys, that they all could think they were boys. He could understand this.
“I want to return home,” said the boy. “Is this the way?”
“What home?” asked the gatekeeper. All the travelers walked on the road to get somewhere, but none of them ever walked to get home. The gatekeeper could not understand this. “You can’t take anything with you,” he said.
The boy laughed as boys do and the gatekeeper wondered if he could understand where he was coming from. “I am only a boy,” he said. “Boys have nothing.”
The gatekeeper had to give boys their things. Sometimes he did not want to because sometimes he wanted to be boy. “You want your home?” the gatekeeper asked. The boy smiled. “Take this.” The gatekeeper removed the list from the book and closed it. Then he raised it up and held it out for the boy. “Here,” he said. “Take this.”
“What is it?” asked the boy.
“It is a story,” the gatekeeper said.
“I like stories.”
“An artist wrote it a very long time ago,” the gatekeeper said. “It was about his home. Maybe it can help you find yours if you do not know where to go.”
The boy smiled and went through the gate. The gatekeeper hoped that sometime he would come back, though he did not think he would.
***
All those who had been on the road had names, but few of them were remembered and only those names that were remembered could be on the gatekeeper’s list. The list was very long, just as the road was very long, and the gatekeeper had been reading over this list when a traveler approached. He asked the man his name and the man was slow to answer. He pushed his sleeve up and revealed a watch around his wrist. He looked down at it and then he looked back at the gatekeeper. “Sorry,” said the man.
“Death?” asked the gatekeeper.
The man shrugged a smile. “Sorry,” he said. He took his other hand out from his pocket and raised it up slowly before the gatekeeper. “Your key,” said the man. The gatekeeper took his key out from his pocket and dropped it into the man’s hands. “And your list.” The gatekeeper did the same with the list. “Sorry,” said the man.
“You have been a long time in coming,” said the gatekeeper.
“So have you,” said the man. He smiled and pointed to the gatekeeper’s watch. “You can keep that,” he said.
The gatekeeper looked down at his watch and nodded. Then he looked back up at the man. “I am afraid,” he said. “I have not been on the road.”
“That is how it should be,” said the man. “Many are afraid of the gate, but crossing the gate is easy. It is the road that one should be afraid of, for it is only on the road that a traveler can fail to leave something behind.”
He smiled again and the gatekeeper tried smiling with him. Then he opened the gate with the gatekeeper’s key.
“Good luck,” said the man, as he took his place before the gate.
The gatekeeper sighed and then stepped away through the gate. The man wrote the gatekeeper’s name down on the list and turned on his watch. Then he opened his book. He had been reading from this book for a long while when a traveler approached.