Albert arrived first at the park, as usual. He had always been the earliest riser, impatient with sleep, which he considered a waste of time. He shook the paper sack that he carried in his gnarled hands impatiently, and grumbled as he stumped along. He would have appeared comical if there had been anyone to observe his crabbed progress through the wooded shade.

His grey hair was thick and unruly, and his silver brows met not only in the middle, but actually seemed to continue into his sideburns, to become one with his grizzled beard. This hirsute connectivity had the singular effect of animating his every expression. Each muscle in his face would cause a bristling upheaval upon moving, which seemed to ripple and bob up to the very top of his head. Albert rarely smiled, which was probably for the best, for if he had, the upright spread of that incredible silver mass would have made him appear lunatic. As it was, his perpetual frown and unpleasant expression at least allowed him a semblance of dignity.

He finally reached the deep shade of the old oak, and bracing his hand against the rough trunk, he lowered himself carefully onto the soft carpet of grass, and proceeded to spread a large linen napkin on the ground in front of him. When he was satisfied with the arrangement he placed his paper bag on one edge and leaned back against the tree trunk, to wait for Evan.

Albert had met Evan ten years ago, under this very tree. Evan had been rambling down the old path, and had come across Albert indulging in his only real pleasure, his Sunday pastry. Evan had offered Albert a cup of iced tea from his thermos, in exchange for a pastry. Albert, who spoke to no one, and who had never been approached by anyone, was startled into a frown and a shrug. Evan had settled down companionably, his broad clean-shaven face wreathed in smiles, and had started a conversation that would eventually become a ten year debate.

Evan, you see, was a spiritual man, a believer in the hopeful ascendence of man to a higher being through the practices of love and compassion. He believed in forgiveness, an after-life and the right of only God to judge others. He accepted all men as equals, brothers, who may or may not have gone temporarily astray. Evan believed in redemption. He loved everyone.

Albert, on the other hand, believed in nothing. He dourly proclaimed that men were animals, and could never attain any higher status. He argued that death was death, with nothing afterward, and that all Gods had been created by man in order to give them something to hope for, or to provide a crutch for their weakness. He maintained that the concept of a devil existed only as a scapegoat that men could point to in order to escape responsibility for their own actions. He loved no one.

They argued well into the early evening, sometimes bitterly, occasionally ending the day in a state of mutual frustration and exasperation.

"Heathens!" Evan would often exclaim, tossing his hands in the air, "How to get through to them?"

To which Albert would answer, "Fanatics! They are impossible to talk to!"

Still, each Sunday, Albert would come to the oak with his pastry, and Evan would show up shortly afterward with his thermos, and they would begin again.

But Evan was late today. Albert fought a growing sense of uneasiness. Yes, Evan had been feeling ill these past few weeks, but he had always shown up, so there was no reason to think that he wouldn't show up today. The sun rose higher in the sky as Albert waited, dealing with his tension as he dealt with everything, by denying its existence.

He denied even the sense of relief he felt when he finally saw Evan moving slowly up the path. When Evan stopped to lean on a boulder by the path, Albert rose casually, moving forward to help him to their resting place under the tree.

Evan was uncharacteristically quiet, as Albert placed the pastry carefully on paper napkins and opened the thermos. He broke the silence with a cough as Albert poured the tea, saying softly, "Albert, I'm dying. I knew this before I came, but I wanted to die here, with you, for I have finally realized the truth."

"Nonsense," Albert growled, as he handed Evan his cup, "You're simply tired from the walk.." He trailed off as he looked up into his friends face, a dark hand gripping his heart, for he saw death there. He could not look away from it, nor could he deny it. His friend's face was extraordinarily pale. He seemed to glow in the shady recesses, and his eyes held a feverish blazing light, sunk deep in their sockets.

Albert began to rise, his fear for his friend driving him to his feet. "I will get help," he began, but Evan grabbed the cuff of his old tweed coat with a strength that belied his condition.

"No," he cried, "don't leave me Albert, or I will die alone, and you will never hear what I must say!"

Albert sank back onto the ground, stunned. He could see that his friend spoke the truth, and that he dared not leave.

Evan stared at him steadily as he spoke, his mouth twisted in a bitter way that Albert had never seen before. "I know now that you have been speaking the truth these many years, Albert. I have tried to deny the logic of your arguments to the very end, but the proof has been all around me. Men are animals, and when they die, there will be no redemption, for how can such as ourselves be redeemed? There is no hope, no love, no God, no afterlife, no redemption. There is no more than this..this tawdry life, and each lonely death. We can be no more than what we are, and the futility of my own life bears witness to that fact. You are a wise man, Albert. You have known all along, and I have been a fool."

The speech seemed to weaken him, and he slumped over, no longer able to hold himself up.

"No!" Albert cried, catching Evan as he slid. He lowered the man gently into his lap and stroked his face with one hand, while clasping Evan's hand tightly in the other.

"You were the one who knew the truth, Evan, not I," he said softly, leaning close to make sure that he could be heard. "and I have known for so long, but in my ruthless pride, I have refused to tell you. We are not animals, and there is redemption..I know this..because of you. I told you hope was an illusion..but still you gave me hope. I told you we could be no more than we are..but you have made me more than I ever was. I told you that love was a lie..and still I came to love you, my friend. If this much of what you have known is true, then how can the rest be false?"

As Albert spoke, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart, and a great darkness from his spirit. He now saw Evan as he had never seen him before.

Evan lay quietly for a moment, a slow, gentle smile returning to his face. "Do you really think so, Albert? Ah..that would be so wonderful..to know that I go to a better place..to know that hope is real. And if you think so, then it must be the truth." He coughed again, fitfully.

"Yes," Albert nodded firmly, "I am convinced."

"Than I will not be so afraid to go, my friend." Evan squeezed Albert's hand weakly. "Thank you," he said, closing his eyes. "I love you too, old man."

Albert watched, knowing his friend was slipping away, his rheumy eyes filled with tears. He continued stroking his friend's face, and whispered fiercely, "There has to be an afterlife, Evan..for if there wasn't, I would never see you again, and I could not bear it if that were so." He did not know if Evan had heard him, for he was gone now. Albert rocked him gently, and watched the sun sink slowly past the treetops.

A jogger came by a bit later, and stopped to stare at the strange picture the two old men made. "Hey man, are you guys all right?" he asked.

Albert smiled sadly at him. "He's gone to something better now," he told the young man, "He was a good man and he made a difference. The world became a better place, just because he was in it. We can all be so much more than we are, you know."

"Yeah..uh..whatever." said the jogger, backing away nervously.

"No, really!" Albert insisted, watching the young man turn and run off to get the authorities. He looked down into Evan's peaceful face and then up into the setting sun.

"Heathens," he chuckled softly, "how to get through to them?"