the man in the hole

there is a pit in the Garden.

inside is a man who can’t get out.

how long he’s been there, nobody knows. he might have been born there. or maybe he crawled down, searching for something, and then lost his way back up.

one day as i was walking, i came across the pit, and peering into its darkness spotted the man inside.

“what are you doing down there?” i asked.

“i’m stuck,” he replied.

“hand me an apple, will you?” he asked. “i’m awfully hungry.”

so i obliged, taking one from my fruit basket and dropping it inside.

he caught it effortlessly, polished it on his shirt, and took a bite.

“have you any olives? or figs? or cheese?” he inquired. “i would kill for some good gruyere.”

“ought you not climb out and fetch some yourself if you’re so hungry?” i asked, rather offended at the ease with which he replaced gratitude with greed.

“i told you, i’m trapped,” he insisted. “no matter how hard i try, i simply can’t get out.”

“you can’t be that far down,” i told him. “i can see you perfectly fine from here.” although sun shone upon his face the space around him was black as pitch. it made me uneasy. something about this pit wasn’t right.

“how long have you been in there, anyhow?” i asked.

“as long as i can remember. it’s a good thing you came by, no one has for quite some time and i was getting worried. although, to be honest with you, i would rather starve than spend another day stuck down here. it’s awful just staring up at the sun all day, you have no idea.”

“if others have come, why not get someone to fetch you a rope?” i asked, incredulous.

“oh, i’ve tried. but no matter what rope they bring, it’s never long enough. it’s a rather strange pit, you see. ropes, ladders, bricks, i’ve tried it all. nothing works.”

this terrifies me. the Garden is supposed to be Good.

“can’t you claw at the earth and crawl up the side?” i ask, already knowing the answer.

“i’m too weak,” he tells me. “trust me, i’ve tried. i simply can’t get out. appreciate the apple, though.”

“i’ll get some figs and cheese,” i tell him. “don’t worry, we’ll get you out. just stay right there, i’ll be back soon.”

---

the next day i return with my basket. in it are figs and olives, gruyere and camembert, a loaf of rye and a sleeve of sausage. also inside is a 40ft rope (the longest i could find), a hammer, and a set of hooks that could be used to scale the side.

“good morning!” he calls up to me. “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

i fasten the rope to the basket of supplies and attempt to lower it down. 10, 20, 30 feet, but no matter how close it gets there always remains an insurmountable gap between him and the goods.

i draw the basket up again and instead drop its contents down, one at a time. he catches each and places it somewhere in the darkness.

i gasp, suddenly horrified.

“i didn’t think to bring you any water! or a lamp! you must be parched. i’ll run and—”

“don’t worry about it,” he tells me. “there’s a little crack in the rocks down here, and enough drink trickles down to keep me satiated. and a lamp will be useless, i’m afraid. people have brought me matches and torches before but everything blows out. there must be a draft of some sort. anyways, i’m used to feeling around in the dark at this point, i don’t mind.”

“try the hammer and hooks!” i urge once he has finished his meal.

i hear the sound of clanging followed by cursing.

“are you alright?!”

“i’m fine.” he sounds embarrassed. “hit my hand is all. but it’s as i told you—these rocks are too hard, or else i am too weak. either way, i could hammer all day and night and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. i appreciate you trying to help, i really do. but don’t let me ruin your peace. go back home and forget about me. someone else will come wandering by soon enough. i’ll be fine, i promise.”

this doesn’t sit right with me, and i return the next day with more food. and the next, and the day after that, too. as these visits become routine we start to share stories. i tell him about life in the Garden and he tells me of all the strangers he’s encountered while living in the hole: children who thought he was a ghost of some sort; men who, disturbed by his presence, tried to fill the pit in with dirt, only to discover that no amount made any difference; other women, like me, who brought him fruit and cheese; one who, in a fit of passion, flung herself in after him. he never told me what became of the body.

---

one day, other duties kept me busy, and when i returned the next the man was angry.

“i was worried sick!” he lamented. “don’t you know how deeply i care for you? when you didn’t come i thought surely something horrible must have happened. i was ready to hammer a hook through my throat out of sheer despair! don’t you ever scare me like that again. you must always come back to me, my love, my light. don’t you see? there is nothing but darkness without you. every moment you are absent i ache with longing. you are my one reprieve from this torturous existence i’ve been subjected to. please, promise me you will always return to me. i can’t live having known and then lost you.”

his words filled me with guilt and pity, with warmth and fear. i wept, and i promised.

---

“we have to get you out of this hole,” i told him one day. “i want you to see what the rest of the Garden looks like. to meet my friends, my family…”

“i want you to be my wife,” he tells me.

i laugh, “i can’t do that while you’re down there, silly! come on, surely there’s something we haven’t thought of. mind bends matter, that’s what He always says.”

“who’s He?” he demands, suddenly sullen with jealously.

i laugh once more. “don’t worry, you’ll meet Him too. if you can get out, that is.”

“i can’t get out! you know damn well i can’t! stop taunting me. it’s vile the way you laugh like that, as if i wasn’t miserable enough already. sometimes i wish i could grab hold of your ankle and pull you down here with me, then you’d see it’s not so funny.”

i instinctively step back a couple paces from the pit.

“hey!” he calls. “come back! i’m sorry my darling, i didn’t mean it. of course i didn’t mean it. i’m just angry and bitter, you know that. i love you more than the sun itself. i know i don’t deserve you and all the kindness you have given me. please, my love, my light, let me see you once again.”

i peer my head back over the pit and his face lights up like the moon. these moments of delight are what keep me coming back, all these years later.

“you know what?” he says. “you’re right. there is something we haven’t tried.”

“what’s that?” i ask, heart fluttering.

“you’ve always seemed so incredibly close and yet impossibly far at the same time. like i could nearly touch you and yet you’re thousands of miles away.”

“i know,” i say. it’s a very strange pit.

“what if you were to lay on the grass and reach your arm down towards me? i know it sounds silly, but where’s the harm in trying? i feel as though if only i could graze your fingertips, suddenly i would have the strength to pull myself up.”

i consider this, looking down at the man that appears to be mere meters away.

“you promise you wont pull me down there with you?”

“my beloved, that is the last thing on earth i could ever want or do. i swear to you, on all that i hold to be Good and True.” he smiles up at me and i nod affirmatively, kneeling to press my dress into the ground. slowly, i lay down.

he reaches his arm up eagerly and i tentatively inch my fingers into the black hole.

it’s cold, much colder than the air should be. part of me wants to pull my hand away but i’m braver than the fear—he’s been cold for years.

i’m up to my elbow in the suspicious darkness, his hand appears less than a foot away. i press on, sinking further down until my armpit is pressed firmly into damp soil. i cannot go any further.

he reaches, the two of us strain every fibre of our being, our fingers touch. i gasp and recoil as if burned; he’s as cold as ice.

“i’m sorry,” i say, but his face is already contorted in betrayal. “i didn’t know that was possible. i can’t pull you out though, you know i’m not strong enough for both of us.”

“please!” he cries. “reach in once more! i can make this work, i just need your hand…”

i stand. my dress is streaked with black and green. he looks up at me, eyes pleading.

“i can’t help you,” i breathe. i hate to say it, but i know it’s true. “i don’t know how you got down there, but i’ll tear my arm off trying to pull you out.”

i pick up my fruit basket.

“i’m sorry,” i say. “i have to go home. please come find me if you ever find your way.”

i go.

---

i resist returning to the hole for quite some time, terrified of what i might find. but eventually, as it always does, curiosity gets the better of me, and i go back. but i leave my basket at home.

i walk the familiar path through the forest, through the orchards and the twisted trees.

i arrive at the stream which means i am near and am suddenly gripped by fear. my body aches to avoid the inevitable, but i persevere.

when i finally find the courage to peer over the edge of the pit, there is only darkness.

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this story was created through the charitable support of those who value my work. it is much appreciated. more Wonderland is on its way, and there will continue to be a new subscriber post every month.

a collection of poetry inspired by The Man In The Hole is enclosed for those who are curious. i would like to thank him personally for all the art he has inspired in me.

i could have done it without you, but i wouldn’t want to.

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