The Umbrella

Jonas was lost in quiet reverie — head tilted to the sky, eyes closed, skin basking in the unseasonable warmth of the October-evening sun — when a stranger lumbered into him.

The park was unusually crowded for this time of year — happy families, young lovers, and solitary wanderers alike capitalizing on the beautiful day. There were kites of all colors, designs, and shapes decorating the cloudless sky; books capturing imaginations under cover of lush treetops; bountiful picnics spread across gingham blankets and vibrant hand-stitched quilts; playful dogs fetching balls and flying disks for their masters; games and shouts of joy and revelry abound. 

Understanding that accidents of this nature were apt to happen on a busy day such as this, and despite being abruptly startled from his peaceful daydreaming, Jonas looked down with patience and good humor at the young man who had so carelessly run into him. 

“My dear boy,” Jonas exclaimed. “You must be more careful. You’re bound to hurt some…” 

His gentle admonition was cut short by the look of sheer panic that haunted the poor boy’s glazed and bloodshot eyes. It looked to Jonas as if the boy hadn’t slept in weeks. 

“Dear God. Are you alright, young man?”, Jonas asked. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Please forgive me,” the boy replied, struggling to catch his breath. 

Jonas noticed that, not only were the boy’s eyes and demeanor wild, but his hair was disheveled and his clothing, wrinkled and out of sorts. The t-shirt the boy wore had once been white and his tattered jeans, once blue. Both were now speckled with mud stains and other unidentifiable grit and grime. He looked as if he had been left out in the rain, baked dry in the sun, left in the rain again, only to be baked dry again. 

There were two problems with this assessment, Jonas knew. Firstly, it hadn’t rained within (or several miles outside of) the city limits for weeks. And, secondly — and even more curious, to be sure — the boy held in his trembling hands a closed umbrella. 

“What has you in such a frenzy, my son?”, Jonas asked. The young man stared up at Jonas with tears welling in his eyes. To Jonas, they seemed almost like tears of relief. 

“I cannot get this accursed umbrella to open,” the boy said, peering down in reverence (or was it fear?) at the object. Jonas followed the boy’s gaze down to the umbrella. It appeared to be of unique and, possibly, antique design. The canvas looked to be made of animal hide of some variety or other, likely treated for waterproofing, while the handle was clearly fashioned of bleached bone, expertly shaped and adorned with etchings of an elaborate lattice design. It was a marvelous artifact. Jonas had never seen anything quite its like and had to shake his head vigorously to break his gaze from its undeniable magnetism.

Coming back to his own senses, he tried speaking some sense into the boy, who was now sobbing lightly. 

“My dear boy,” he said “Why on earth do you need your umbrella opened on a glorious day such as this? Why, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, much less a cloud that threatens rainfall.” The subtle look of relief that Jonas thought he’d recognized in the boy’s glassy eyes mere moments ago disintegrated back into its original expression of pure anxiety. Jonas tried a different tack. 

“Or, if it’s refuge from the sun you crave,” Jonas said, opening his arms to gesture toward the sprawling wall of trees that surrounded the enormous park. “Just look around you. There is plenty of shade to be had under any one of these vast, old oaks.” 

The boy’s voice changed from that of pitiful distress to one of teeth-clenching frustration. 

“You don’t understand,” he growled. “I have to open this umbrella. It is of the utmost importance, and not one miserable person I have encountered has been willing to help me. Everyone I have asked simply assumes that I am a complete nutter. I suppose that’s what you’re thinking at the moment as well,” he said, his tone softening in dejection. 

Jonas wanted to speak words of some encouragement or refute the boy’s supposition, but nothing came readily to mind. He just shook his head and furrowed his brow. 

“It won’t stop raining on me,” the boy continued quietly, gathering a bit of composure. “I’m begging you, sir. Help me,” he said and dropped his head in defeat and exhaustion, tears still flowing unabashedly. 

While Jonas could not, for the life of him, come up with a single, sensible reason as to why opening an umbrella on such a beautiful day could be of such import to the boy, nor could he quite make sense of the boy’s bizarre claim (‘It won’t stop raining on me’), he knew that he could not just turn the young man away to fend for himself. Not in his current state. He had to help the young chap if he could. 

“Hand it over, lad,” Jonas said. “Let’s see if I can’t make short work of it. I’m sure there’s just some mechanism or some such that’s simply jammed or bent out of true.” 

The boy looked up in disbelief and sniffled. 

“You mean it? You will help me?” 

“Why, of course, my dear boy,” Jonas replied, somewhat surprised at the boy’s astonishment. Had others along this young man’s path truly been so cruel as to offer no assistance whatsoever, he wondered. 

“There’s no sense in you being in such a state over something so insignificant. I will give it all the concentration and strength it requires and send you happily along your way.” 

“Oh! Thank you, kind sir. Thank you. Thank you,” the boy replied ardently. 

“Think nothing of it, my young friend. Now, let’s see what we can do here.” 

With that, the boy lifted the umbrella in both hands, his head slightly bowed, as if proffering a ceremonial sword of knighthood. Jonas accepted the umbrella gingerly and, upon receiving it, admired its deceptive heft. He held it horizontally across his palms and bounced it gently, up and down, in order to gain a true sense of its weight. Mildly impressed and satisfied, he began to rotate the umbrella this way and that, inspecting it for any obvious malfunctions. None could be found. Though, during this cursory inspection of the item, he again marveled at its peculiar design and evident antiquity. It certainly was a mesmerizing curio. 

As he began to investigate further — staring down the length of the handle, pressing the discharge button, in vain — the boy began snickering. Roused from his concentration by the slight sound, Jonas looked up from his labors to the boy in confusion. 

“Is there something amusing, young man,” he asked, taken aback by the boy’s drastic shift in emotions. The boy’s tears hadn’t even dried on his cheeks, yet the laughter he expelled grew exponentially in pitch and vehemence, becoming absolutely maniacal. Jonas instinctively looked around to see if anyone in their vicinity had noticed the boy’s sudden, raucous outburst. No one had. In fact, it was as if this little scene was being performed for him and him alone. No one gave even the slightest acknowledgement. Jonas grew impatient and frustrated, fearing that he had inadvertently become the butt-end of some practical joke of which he could not yet decipher the punchline. 

“What in God’s name are you laughing at? You come to me in utter anguish. I offer my time, my sympathies, and my assistance, and you reward my kindness by laughing in my face? Do you mock me?” 

The boy continued to cackle with abandon. 

“Damnation, boy! What is it you find so funny?” Jonas was nearly screaming at this point, yet, from his periphery, he noticed that, even still, no one had halted in their activities to glance in their direction. 

“You gullible old fool,” the boy finally said, amidst his waning laughter. 

“Excuse me?!”, Jonas exclaimed. 

“I said,” the boy started again, with more venom and less laughter, “‘You gullible old fool.’ You fell for it.” The smile that presently spread across his face was victorious. 

“Fell for what?”, Jonas asked, sincerely flabbergasted. 

“It’s yours now, you foolish bastard. It’s your hellish burden to bear now.” 

“What in blazes are you babbling about? How dare you insult me so. Here,” Jonas said, holding out the umbrella to the boy. “Take back your broken umbrella and be off. Leave me be.” 

The boy looked down at the umbrella, slowly shook his head, and again started to laugh. 

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s yours now. I’m free of its wicked charms. I am no longer a prisoner beneath its cursed shadow. The rain has ceased for me. The rain belongs to you now.” His voice held within it an unmistakable undertone of threat, but Jonas was too aghast to fully acknowledge it. “I’m finally free,” the boy continued quietly, as if to himself. 

And, with that, he turned on his heels and ran, barking triumphant laughter all the while. No one seemed to notice. He was well beyond the perimeter of the park before Jonas could even consider resuming his entreaties. He was stunned speechless and frozen where he stood, mouth agape. He remained that way for some time. 

Finally, realizing that the encounter had long past, he looked down at the umbrella and laughed to himself. What a ludicrous exchange, he thought. 

“Well, I suppose I have a new umbrella,” he said aloud to no one in particular and laughed again with a bit more gusto. 

Still slightly baffled, Jonas tried to put the interaction out of his mind and return to his daydreaming in the warmth of the afternoon sun. He tilted his head back to face the sky and closed his eyes in quiet meditation. Just as his mind began to relinquish its hold on the bizarre encounter, he felt it. 

Water. 

No… not just water. 

Rain. Light drops of rain. His eyes were shocked open by the unexpected sensation of wetness on his face. Above him, the sky was still as clear as crystal, yet the drops persisted, growing in intensity. He looked around the park, sure that he would see everyone fleeing from the rain toward the cover of treetops, but no one seemed bothered by the growing deluge. In fact, no one seemed to notice at all. What’s more, he finally recognized, everyone around him was as dry as a bone, yet the rain continued to fall, heavier now. He was soaked from head to toe in a matter of moments. 

While he was trying — and failing — to make sense of a rain that seemed to fall just for him (‘The rain belongs to you now’), he looked down at the curious object in his hands. 

Well, he thought, at least I have an umbrella. Ignoring the fact that, moments ago, he was unable to get the blasted thing to work, he reflexively pressed the button on the bone handle. To his surprise, the collapsible shaft extended without resistance in a series of smooth clicks, the ribs beneath the canvas expanded, and the umbrella popped open. The momentum of its sudden unfurling drew Jonas’ arms out in front of him then up above his head in one fluid motion. Both hands were securely gripped around the bone handle as if tethered. In the instant after its abrupt opening, the umbrella propelled Jonas off of his feet and into the sky, rocketing him upward at an alarming speed. 

Anyone in the park who cared to witness the surreal phenomenon would have seen Jonas vanish from sight — ejected from the solidity of the earth into the infinite abyss of the cloudless, blue sky — in a matter of seconds. 

Alas, no one noticed. It was too beautiful a day to be bothered by crazy men and their useless umbrellas.