direction.
"The cemetery," Steiner pointed, "is right around that corner over there. It will come into view when we pass the stop sign." He apparently wanted to make small talk because he asked Sean how he'd come into the role he was working.
"It's a long story," he gave the cliché answer.
"Good ones usually are," Steiner quipped and flashed a clever grin.
Sean appreciated the wit. "I worked for the U.S. government for several years. I saw a lot of action in the field. More than I wanted. I needed a change, so I retired and went to work for my friend in the field of archaeology. My job was to secure priceless artifacts for transportation and get them to their destination safely."
"Oh?" Steiner raised his eyebrows and looked over at Sean. "That doesn't sound like a less stressful job to me."
"It wasn't. I found myself being shot at and chased, just like when I worked for the government. But there was a funny thing." He paused as they arrived at the next crosswalk, looked both ways, and then kept walking. "I spent so much time thinking about what my life would look like if I could just get away from those jobs and relax. You know?"
"Mmmhmm," Steiner said.
"I just wanted to run a shop on the beach and have a cabin in the woods. Maybe play some golf every now and then."
"You play golf?" The older man seemed a tad surprised.
"Not well," Sean admitted, half joking. His guide laughed, and he continued. "But no matter how much I tried to get away from that high-stress, dangerous lifestyle, it always seemed to find me."
Steiner stopped walking and seemed pensive for a moment before he turned and spoke. When he did, his tone was serious, but not stern, more matter-of-fact than anything. "We cannot run from our true selves, Herr Wyatt. Deep down inside, the person within us knows what it wants to be. It struggles to free itself of the lies we tell it. For some people, they tell themselves that they need to go to college and get a job in an office somewhere, when really what they want to do is start a business or travel, or become a missionary. No matter how much we lie to that person inside us, they will always find a way to get out. That, or they will make us miserable for our entire life until we set them free."
Steiner stared at Sean for a few seconds and then resumed walking. Sean thought about his words for a moment before catching up.
"I've never really heard it put that way, but I agree. I don't know if that little person inside of me really wants to do what I'm doing right now, but I do know that I feel like the world needs me to, and that's why I'm doing it."
The older man's face beamed. "The person inside knows that."
They reached the next corner, and Steiner pointed across the street. "There's the cemetery. My father's grave is in the middle. I'll show you where, and then I must return to the office."
There was something unsettled in Steiner's voice. The man pushed ahead, turning through the iron archway that rose up from stone pillars on either side. Sean couldn't read the Polish name of the cemetery that was displayed in wrought iron letters on the arch.
The graveyard was decorated with various trees: hemlocks, pines, and a few oaks here and there. Fresh flowers amid boxwoods and nandinas cast a sweet scent into the air. Sean always detested the smell of funerary flowers. It was one of the strongest smells his memory could recall. Normally, people would appreciate the wonderful scent of fresh flowers, but when it came to flowers in a cemetery or at a funeral home, they always nauseated Sean. He'd been to so many funerals growing up, the experiences made a permanent indent on his mind.
A tall stone wall wrapped around the entire cemetery, topped by wrought iron fencing with sharp points at the top of each rod. Some of the newer gravestones were in immaculate condition while the ones that dated beyond ninety years had fallen into ill repair. Some were barely legible. Others were crooked or falling over
"The cemetery," Steiner pointed, "is right around that corner over there. It will come into view when we pass the stop sign." He apparently wanted to make small talk because he asked Sean how he'd come into the role he was working.
"It's a long story," he gave the cliché answer.
"Good ones usually are," Steiner quipped and flashed a clever grin.
Sean appreciated the wit. "I worked for the U.S. government for several years. I saw a lot of action in the field. More than I wanted. I needed a change, so I retired and went to work for my friend in the field of archaeology. My job was to secure priceless artifacts for transportation and get them to their destination safely."
"Oh?" Steiner raised his eyebrows and looked over at Sean. "That doesn't sound like a less stressful job to me."
"It wasn't. I found myself being shot at and chased, just like when I worked for the government. But there was a funny thing." He paused as they arrived at the next crosswalk, looked both ways, and then kept walking. "I spent so much time thinking about what my life would look like if I could just get away from those jobs and relax. You know?"
"Mmmhmm," Steiner said.
"I just wanted to run a shop on the beach and have a cabin in the woods. Maybe play some golf every now and then."
"You play golf?" The older man seemed a tad surprised.
"Not well," Sean admitted, half joking. His guide laughed, and he continued. "But no matter how much I tried to get away from that high-stress, dangerous lifestyle, it always seemed to find me."
Steiner stopped walking and seemed pensive for a moment before he turned and spoke. When he did, his tone was serious, but not stern, more matter-of-fact than anything. "We cannot run from our true selves, Herr Wyatt. Deep down inside, the person within us knows what it wants to be. It struggles to free itself of the lies we tell it. For some people, they tell themselves that they need to go to college and get a job in an office somewhere, when really what they want to do is start a business or travel, or become a missionary. No matter how much we lie to that person inside us, they will always find a way to get out. That, or they will make us miserable for our entire life until we set them free."
Steiner stared at Sean for a few seconds and then resumed walking. Sean thought about his words for a moment before catching up.
"I've never really heard it put that way, but I agree. I don't know if that little person inside of me really wants to do what I'm doing right now, but I do know that I feel like the world needs me to, and that's why I'm doing it."
The older man's face beamed. "The person inside knows that."
They reached the next corner, and Steiner pointed across the street. "There's the cemetery. My father's grave is in the middle. I'll show you where, and then I must return to the office."
There was something unsettled in Steiner's voice. The man pushed ahead, turning through the iron archway that rose up from stone pillars on either side. Sean couldn't read the Polish name of the cemetery that was displayed in wrought iron letters on the arch.
The graveyard was decorated with various trees: hemlocks, pines, and a few oaks here and there. Fresh flowers amid boxwoods and nandinas cast a sweet scent into the air. Sean always detested the smell of funerary flowers. It was one of the strongest smells his memory could recall. Normally, people would appreciate the wonderful scent of fresh flowers, but when it came to flowers in a cemetery or at a funeral home, they always nauseated Sean. He'd been to so many funerals growing up, the experiences made a permanent indent on his mind.
A tall stone wall wrapped around the entire cemetery, topped by wrought iron fencing with sharp points at the top of each rod. Some of the newer gravestones were in immaculate condition while the ones that dated beyond ninety years had fallen into ill repair. Some were barely legible. Others were crooked or falling over
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