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The mailman slowly drove along Mammon Avenue, appreciating the silence of the hour. The neighborhood was usually bustling with activity, but not today. There were no barking dogs, no cars, no laughing children on the lawns. All was quiet. Just how the mailman liked it to be.
Perhaps it’s the weather, thought the mailman as he tried to explain the uncommon serenity of the neighborhood. He looked up at the sky. No sun—only clouds. The sky forecasted rain, and the mailman was not fond of rain. He drove faster.
But at the end of Mammon Avenue, the mailman was forced to stop. In the middle of the road stood an old man in a long, gray coat, looking up at the sky in fascination. He squinted and blinked rapidly, as if he were staring directly at the sun. His mouth was half-open, half-grinning. With one hand, he shielded his eyes in a permanent soldier’s salute; with the other, he pointed towards the sky.
Why the sky was so fascinating, the mailman didn’t know. He followed the old man’s stare up into the sky, only to find it riddled with clouds. Rainclouds. Damn, he thought. Better finish my route before I get wet. Better get that man off the road, for both our sakes.
The mailman got out of his truck and confronted the old man.
“Sir,” he said. “Sir, I’m sorry for bothering you, but you’re blocking the road, and I really want to get home before the storm hits. And I’ll bet you do too.”
The old man just smiled.
“No,” he said. “I’m fine right where I am. Nice night it is. Nice moon out today. Bright. Haven’t seen one like this in thirty years. Thirty years. The mailman scratched his head in confusion. It was“Sir,” the mailman continued, “I think you’re mistaken. All I see is clouds, clouds, and more clouds. If you stay outside much longer, you’ll—”
“You know what, boy? You’re right. Clouds, clouds, and more clouds. Rain, rain, and more rain. That’s all we ever get here. Nice to have a change, eh? There’s a nice, full moon out today for once. It’s like the gods are giving us a day of mercy, showing us the light, you know what I mean? I almost want to jump up and touch it. You ever get that feeling? Like the moon’s so bright it’s like a light bulb and you just want to go up there and see it for yourself? Yeah, that’s how I feel right now. Like I want to become an astronaut. Like that Neil Armstrong guy. An astronaut.”
The old man jumped and stretched his hands towards the sky to show the mailman what he meant. But as he approached the ground from the zenith of his jump, precarious equilibrium gave way to brief chaos as an item modestly slipped out of his pocket. It tumbled towards the asphalt, doing somersaults and half twists and curls as it fell—falling, falling, falling until finally it reached its destination with an obnoxious Clunk!If the item had been worthless, the mailman might have gone out of his way to stoop down and retrieve the item for the old man. He might have said, “You’ve dropped something,” and he might have presented the item to the old man as a gift of kindness, and he might have felt that his altruistic action helped humanity make a step towards its ultimate goals of justice and righteousness. But of course, when the cause is great enough and when the opportunities are perfect, self-interest comes out of hiding and performs a coup d’état on one’s moral fortress, shooting justice and righteousness in the process, and leaving one with the idea that “No matter what, I have to protect myself and only myself, and if I harm others in the process, so be it,” with the cruel irony being that the very mechanism one uses to protect oneself—Greed—is the very thing one needs protection from in the end.
The item was not worthless. It was a gold watch.
A gold watch, the mailman thought. A thousand dollars at least. Go for it. Go for the jackpot.
The mailman looked up at the old man, who was still staring at the sky.
“Damn, that moon is bright,” the old man said.
Just grab it and go, the mailman thought. Easy. Grab it and go.
“Wow kiddo, look at that. It’s as bright as a supernova up there. The moon is lighting up that sky mighty quick,” the old man continued.
Take the watch and leave, now! thought the mailman. Take it, take it, take it!
“Oh, man! Do you see that? See how bright it’s getting? Soak in the light, boy, just soak in the light!”
The mailman made up his mind. With a quick motion, the mailman grabbed the gold watch off of the road and stuffed it into his pocket. As he ran back towards his mail truck, he heard the old man yelling behind him, “Too bright! Too bright! It’s blinding! Too bright!” and the rain came down in torrents. The mailman got into his truck, turned around, and drove away, as the rain pounded against the windows with a fierceness that accompanies only the most violent storms.
Greed is like a vine. It attaches. It grows. And so it’s no wonder that when the mailman returned to the end of Mammon Avenue the next day to find the same old man with another gold watch hanging loosely from his pocket, the mailman stole it again. And again the next day. And again the next. It became a routine. After four weeks, the mailman had stolen at least $20,000 worth in gold watches.
The mailman stopped going to work. He stayed in his room for days on end, calculating how many gold watches it would take to buy a mansion, or a new car, or a boat. Or all three. Papers lay scattered all over his floor, with figures about inflation and taxes and the value of gold. Ironically, his wealth prevented him from leading a rich life; he only ever left his house to steal more gold watches. He was the richest ascetic who ever lived.
Then the mailman was fired from his job.
His appetite for gold watches increased tenfold; he was now dependent on them. Oh yes, he was hungry for them. But was he consuming them, or were they consuming him?
Then came Monday.
The mailman drove along Mammon Avenue in his own car, this time wearing a gold watch. Not a busy day today, he thought. Nobody outside except for two children, singing as they ran around their lawn. He could not hear the song. He drove on.
As he drove closer to the singing children, he could make out the tune and the words. It was familiar:
He kept driving. The song the children were singing was clearly audible now. The mailman hummed along.
He was reaching the end of Mammon Avenue now. Only a little while longer until he could receive his gold watch. Just a couple more houses down.
Just around the bend now, he thought. Just around the bend.
The mailman reached the end of Mammon Avenue.
The old man was nowhere in sight.
No old man, no gold watch.
The mailman was confused. Maybe he was a little early. He looked down at his watch. Nope, just on time, he thought. Three o’clock.
Damn.
What now? Drive, he thought. Just drive“Damn it!” shouted the mailman after his sixth time passing through Mammon Avenue. “There is no sense in this world, there is no sense in this world...”
After two and a half hours, the mailman stopped driving. It was going nowhere. Instead, he went to the end of Mammon Avenue and sat down in the middle of the road. If the old man were to come back at all, he would show up there. Now it was just waiting. Waiting for that old man to come back with that gold watch in his pocket, carrying the mailman’s life in tow.
Stupid, stupid, stupid old man, he thought. Why would he do this to me? Why would he lead me on like a dog on a leash, a strangling, stifling, suffocating leash? Is that all I am? A damn dog? Bastard! Damned bastard! Ha, look at that stupid mailman, the old man was probably thinking, taking my watches so he can feed himself! Ha ha! Funny joke, old man! What has society come to now, survival of the fittest? Eat-or-be-eaten? A damn food chain?
He looked up at the sky. Some of his thoughts found their way into words, and he started addressing the gods.
“Is this your idea of retribution? Is this what I get for just trying to survive? Then damn your twisted ideas of morals, damn them to hell! You think that this is justice? Destroying hope—that’s justice?”
He spit up into the air. He was yelling now.
“That’s what I think of you, and all your self-righteousness, and all your ideas of good and morals and duty! You know what you are? Traitors to mankind! Damned spies and traitors! I’ve got you all figured out, right? Blown your cover? Strike me down, I dare you, strike me down and let everyone see who you really are! Strike me down, you cowards! STRIKE ME DOWN!”
And then the moon came out. It was brighter than it ever had been for years, and it illuminated every object within the mailman’s visible range. The moonlight shimmered on his golden watch, splaying light outwards at every angle.
“Aha! The moon! How ironic! The one day that the damned old man doesn’t show, a realHe jumped up towards the sky, attempting to grab the moon and smash it to the ground. In the process, the gold watch that had been hanging loosely from his wrist fell to the ground. He didn’t notice, and he continued his rant against the moon.
“I’ll get you, if it’s the last thing I do! I’ll catch you and crush you and send you into the sun!”
A police car came down the road on its daily route. The car stopped just short of the mailman, not able to move past him. A young policeman stepped out of the car, with the intention of moving the mailman to the side of the road.
“Could you move over?” he asked. “The road here is as narrow as hell, and I can’t get by with you in the middle of the road like that.”
“Damn, man!” the mailman responded. “Can’t you see that I’m busy? Damned moon—taking up all that space in the sky! Leave some for the rest of us!”
The policeman was understandably confused.
“What? I just want you to—”
The policeman curtailed his response as something caught his eye. The gold watch, illuminated by the moonlight, rested on the road. The policeman looked around, and, seeing nobody, quickly snatched the gold watch from the ground, put it in his pocket, and drove away, the moon casting a glow over Mammon Avenue with an uncommon brilliancy.
