“You see, Thomas. It isn’t government that makes a man free.  In the end, governments always do just the opposite. They gobble up freedom like hungry pigs.

You have to have laws to keep the worst in men under control, but at the same time the people have to have guns, too, in order to keep the government itself under control.

In our country, the people were supposed to be the final authority of the law, but that was a long time ago. Once the guns were gone, there was no reason for those who run the government to give a damn about laws and constitutional rights and such. They just did what they pleased and anyone who spoke out…well, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“It took a long time to collect up all the millions of firearms that were in private hands. The government created a whole new agency to see to it. There were rewards for turning your friends in, too. Drug dealers and murderers were set free after two or three years in prison, but possession of a gun would get you mandatory life behind bars with no parole.”

“I don’t know how they found out about me, probably knew I’d been a hunter all those years, or maybe somebody turned me in. They picked me up on suspicion and took me down to the federal building.”

“Son, those guys did everything they could think of to me. Kept me locked up in this little room for hours, no food, no water. They kept coming in, asking me where the guns were. ‘What guns?’ I said. Whenever I’d doze off, they’d come crashing in, yelling and hollering. I got to where I didn’t know which end was up. I’d say I wanted my lawyer and they’d laugh. ‘Lawyers are for criminals’, they said. ‘You’ll get a lawyer after we get the guns.’ What’s so funny is, I know they thought they were doing the right thing. They were fighting crime!”

“When I got home I found Ruth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, crying her eyes out. The house was a shambles. While I was down there, they’d come out and took our house apart. Didn’t need a search warrant, they said. National emergency! Gun crisis! Your grandma tried to call our preacher and they ripped the phone off the wall. Told her that they’d go easy on me if she just told them where I kept my guns.” The old man laughed. “She told them to go to hell.” He stared into the distance for a moment as his laughter faded.

“They wouldn’t tell her about me, where I was or anything, that whole time. She said that she’d thought I was dead. She never got over that day, and she died the next December.”

“They’ve been watching me ever since, off and on. I guess there’s not much for them to do anymore, now that all the guns are gone. Plenty of time to watch one foolish old man.” He paused. Beside him, the boy stared at the stone beneath his feet.

“Anyway, I figure that, one day, America will come to her senses. Our men will need those guns and they’ll be ready. We cleaned them and sealed them up good; they’ll last for years.

Maybe it won’t be in your lifetime, Thomas. Maybe one day you’ll be sitting here with your son or grandson. Tell him about me, boy. Tell him about the way I said America used to be.” The old man stood, his bad leg shaking unsteadily beneath him.

“You see the way this stone points? You follow that line one hundred feet down the hill and you’ll find a big round rock. It looks like its buried solid, but one man with a good prybar can lift it, and there’s a concrete tunnel right under there that goes back into the hill.”

The old man stood, watching as the sun eased toward the ridge, coloring the sky and the world red. Below them, the river still splashed among the stones, as it had for a million years. “It’s still going” the old man thought ” There’ll be someone left to carry on for me when I’m gone”.

He felt old and purposeless now and it would be easier, he knew, to give in to that aching heaviness in his left lung that had begun to trouble him more and more. “Damn cigarettes”, he thought.  His leg hurt and the boy silently came up beside him and supported him as they started down the last mile towards the house. “How quiet he walks” the old man thought, “He’s learned well”.

It was almost dark when the boy walked in. His father looked up from his paper. “Did you and your granddad have a nice walk?”

“Yes,” the boy answered, opening the refrigerator, “ You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow.  Gramps finally showed me where it is.”

This story originally appeared in “The Blue Press” (a catalog/magazine put out by Dillon Precision Products, Inc., 7442 Butherus Drive, Scottsdale, AZ 85260, phone 602-948-8009.) The editor, Mark Pixler, was kind enough to allow distribution on the Internet.

This story may be reprinted as long as due credit is given to the author and publisher.

Read more here:  http://naturallyspeakingwithcordi.wordpress.com/2011/05/25/471/