A Company of Men

Exactly one month after his father died and at the same hour, Finn is claimed by a dream.

He walks down a long hallway to a room where he is expected to give a talk. Approaching the door to the room, he sees, within, a round table, and seated at it is a group of all his father's friends. They are gathered to hear an anecdote Finn is about to recount, and his father is waiting with them, sitting to the right of an empty chair reserved for Finn, a little pale and weak and only a little confused. He is there to hear the story Finn is about to tell. It is the story of his life; he has not heard it before, and he does not know it, though the story is his own, but he is interested now and earnest, and he wants to hear it told and to learn it. While he was living, he was inside his life and could not see his story in its entirety, and so it seems to Finn not at all strange that the tale has not been for his father to tell, nor does it seem odd that it is up to his son to begin it in a way a father can understand among the company of men he has lived with and loved. Only here can he see what it is for the first time. And so it is for all the men in the room, for only the plurality can explain the singular if it is to be understood, and the story of one man's life is never his own to recount. A life is a tale that takes many tongues in the telling, so Finn leans forward and puts his hand on the back of his father's neck; he knows that his father is hurting, though he does not know how he knows, and his father nods softly.

The circle of men draw close, shoulder to shoulder and leaning forward to hear. They are eager to listen and are happy to be a part of the story, to know that each is giving the sharing of their lives as a great gift one to the other, and they are comfortable and happy that Finn's father has shared his life with them, and Finn is thankful as he leans forward among them.

"I know a man," he says.