I work in a hardware store. It's a small, old-fashioned kind of place, you know, bins of nuts and bolts stacked up to the ceiling. If it is hard, and if it is ware - we have it right there at The Little Busy Bee Hardware Store. 

But that is not what this story is about. It is about my day off. 

My wife and I had just had a really aggravated fight, about personal matters, you see, and we just couldn't even stand to look at each other. So, for both of us to be in the house for the whole day together would be impossible. You see, she had the day off too. Well, it was raining hard, and it was a Wednesday, and it was late fall, and it was cold, and wet, and dismal, and completely bad outside, but I had to get out - no matter. Well, with my rubber boots, rain slicker and umbrella, I was off to see a movie matinee. It didn't matter what, anything would do. I was ready to be one of those guys who sat in the back row of the movie house by himself at two in the afternoon on a weekday with their wet slicker taking up one chair and a dripping umbrella on the other side, and you wonder. "Why are they here, is this a high point in their life?" But that's all right. At that point, I really didn't care too much about appearances, you know what I mean? 

Since I was already so far down, I figured that nothing could make me any more down, so I decided to walk the ten or so blocks to the movie house. It would have been a long wait for the bus anyhow. About half way to the movie the rain started coming down even harder, really hard, so I ducked into the shallow recess of a little side doorway, in a big building, that I was passing at that moment. The door was closed tight. Well, that doorway was only about a lousy ten inches deep, so my feet were sticking out in the deluge. It was coming down so hard, my umbrella was getting battered and folding up on me. I couldn't see a thing out there. I was leaning back against the door, when it just swung open and I kind of fell backwards into a big, dark, space. As soon as I was inside the door swung closed on its own, and there was a loud click. I found the doorknob in the dark, real quick, but it wouldn't turn. It had locked itself tight. OK, cool, I'm not the type to get frazzled about things like this. So I had to take stock. No! I had not thought to bring my mobile phone, since I had no one to call, especially my wife. I couldn't bang on the door, there was not one person out on the street today, other than me, and I wasn't there anymore. Inside there was nothing, but nothing to be seen anyway. I knew it was a big place because my footsteps resonated on the floor, like when I walked down a long, wide hall. 

Being a man of science, so to speak - I am an advisor in a hardware store, after all - I knew that given a little time my eyes would adjust to the dark. I took a coin out of my pocket and dropped it on the floor, I made sure it was a penny first. The clack made by that coin told me several things: one, it was a stone floor - two, there was a wall in front of me - and three, it was not too far away. So I started walking straight ahead with my hands out. I knew the wall was there before I touched it. A stone wall by the feel of it. Well, now which way, left or right? I went to the left, since I am left-handed. I started walking, one hand on the wall and the other with the folded umbrella swinging back and forth like a blind person finding their way, tap, tap, tap. Pretty soon, bam! My foot came against something down there. I reached down, steps, steps going up. Then, my other hand found the handrail, cold, smooth, metal, probably shiny metal. Yes, of course! Stone walls, stone steps, marble floor, brass handrail. I was in the old Natural History Museum. Dummy, why hadn't I thought of that before?

Now, my confidence started building again. Up those stairs I climbed. I stopped part way listened, not a sound from above, it was Wednesday afternoon, someone should be here. Finally, I began to see a twinkle of light up there ahead. And soon I entered a huge room, faintly lit - the Entry Hall with that huge tyranno-whatever skeleton standing there in the middle of the room. There were dimly lit corridors on both sides, but there was not another soul to be seen. 

Thunk, thunk, slosh, slosh my rubber boots made the only sound in the cavernous space. I came up to the ticket office at the front doors. Closed. Doors locked solid. Those guys had buggered-off early, closed up and left. Figured they would have no customers today and they would have probably been right. Except for me. Now what? All I had to do was find a public phone and call the police. Great. The cops would come get me and charge me with trespassing and my wife would come to bail me out. Yeah, fine, she'd win that one. 

Well, at least it was dry in here. I should empty my boots out. Might as well make the most of it. It's true! I didn't want to go home. Forget the stupid matinee, this was a lot better, I needed to dry off anyway, and it was free. So, I walked down one of the corridors. It was lined with lighted dioramas. They were so anxious to get out of here, they had left all the dioramas' lights turned on. Slosh, slosh.. On I went. 

But now it was beginning to get a little eerie and I was getting a chill. The halls were dark and there were these big windows looking out on the African Veld, with a few zebras grazing and a cheetah hiding in the tall grass ready to spring. Over there was a lioness against a rock ledge; her cubs chewing up a rotten, leg bone. Yea, I could smell it. Rotted meat. I could hear the flies buzzing too. I was getting a little anxious. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a water buffalo standing knee deep in a pond. He was slowly swaying back and forth, his nostrils flaring like he was trying to pick up my scent. All the animals were following me with their eyes. I came to a huge herd of bison and pronghorn sheep. The big bison in front raised its head and looked at me through the glass, with a clump of grass still hanging from its mouth. Yes, you heard me right! 

Now I was really creeped. 

Quickly, I turned to my left toward the HALL OF MAN. 

In the first diorama, there was a kind of primitive man and woman behind the glass. They had no clothes on. They look like skinny people with big, rubber masks with primitive faces pulled over their heads, long knotted hair, big brows over their eyes and no foreheads. They had just killed an animal and were getting ready to cut it up with sharpened stones, but they stopped. They had just heard something, something that might take their food away. Or maybe take them. Then, I realized they were looking at me. Straight at me. Their eyes followed me as I moved. I crouched and ran down the hall. Slosh, slosh. 

I thought maybe I better leave. 

The last diorama, The American South West, had a bunch of people gathered around a small steer. The steer had something wrong with it. This was a really, big diorama, the distant mountains were purple-blue in the haze. It was a vast, dry, desert scene, with only a few scrappy bushes. This group of people were gathered around trying to do something to the steer. The people looked like us, except they only had a bit of dirty clothes wrapped around them. They were all dusty. They stopped what they were doing and looked over at me through the glass. Yes! That's what I said. They stopped and looked at me! Then, a boy smiled and pointed to something over on the right side of the diorama. He shook his finger, kind of excited, like jabbing. I thought he was pointing to a little door to the right of the window casing. Now, they were all smiling and waving their hands, they wanted me to come in. Can you believe it? A nice piece of handy meal on the hoof. Goodbye cruel world. If I go in - you may never see me again. 

But then, they didn't look like a bad bunch. There were six of them and the scrawny steer, a couple of women, three men and the kid. Again, big, broad, smiles and they were waving me in. Well, so - I did go in. I wouldn't be telling you this story if I hadn't. I'm like that. Sometimes I just go ahead without thinking it over too much. I say to myself, "Just do it," and I do. You see, this was a big part of our fight at home.

Never mind that. The little door had a small, brass, knob and a place to put a key, but it wasn't locked. I turned the brass knob and stepped inside. First thing, there was this big rush of oven-hot air that hit me right in the face. I could hardly breathe…really dry air. My lips started to shrivel up. I guess I was staggering a little, so they all came over and helped me to stand. 

Then, one man said, in perfect English, "You get used to it." 

I sat down on a rock. They all squatted around me. Then, they all started talking at the same time. They were all asking questions like crazy, in good English, but with a strange accent. Where did I come from? Was I from another world? How did I know their language? What were those funny things on my feet? They started fingering my raincoat. And they all thought that my umbrella was some kind of magic stick. So, like the messiah who has come home, I sat there on the rock and told them the story of my town and my morning, - but not the fight with my wife, mind you. They understood my words perfectly, but I could see that they didn't get a bit of the story, they couldn't relate to it at all. What's a city? What's a building? What's a matinee? What's rain?

So I said, “OK, time-out. My turn. Well, for starters I say, "Let’s begin with the fact that you're not real, you are supposed to be models in a diorama, a stage set, a pretend place." This got a big laugh. Then I asked, "Where did you come from? What's your history?" 

They kind of shrugged their shoulders like they didn't come from anywhere, they had always been here. So, I started another way. 

"Where did your ancestors come from? Do you have stories that have been passed down?" Stories, yes. They had stories of the old times. Now, they all got very serious. They looked around. So, the older man stood up and began. 

"Many, many, many..." he said this about six times, "years ago, they lived right here,” and he jabbed his walking stick into the ground. When his father's father's father was a little boy they lived in this valley. These were the good days. There was a big fullness of water on the ground. Some of it was moving water, like many, many gourds of water all together moving through the land, and he pointed to an ancient, dry riverbed. When he was a little boy, his father's father's father, used to be in the water like the water is now in him. There was so much water that a person could put it all around him like the air is now. He could be in it. There was so much water that you could put it all over your skin. Everybody was now laughing at the thought of this. What an idea! Water was gratis then. It used to come from the sky, just fell out of the sky, can you imagine that! It was in the ground also. You could dig a little hole anywhere in the ground and there was water. 

I asked him, "What happened to all the water? Why isn't it here anymore?" 

"It started long, long ago. Long before our father's father. It started to go away. That's all. We know nothing about it. We think we are being punished. But we don't know what we did wrong. We would fix it if we could, but we don't know what to fix. We take care of our water. It is our most valuable thing. More valuable than life. We can make babies, but not water.” 

I asked him where his water was now. He pointed to a large rock with a flat stone on top. "Would you like to see our water? We have much more than the others down in the valley. We have to guard it all the time, to watch over it. Many other clans would like to have our water." 

We walked to the edge of the big rock and he slid the flat covering stone off. Under it was a small cistern that had been carved into the rock. I put my head down over the hole with 

my hands by my face to keep the light out, and there in the dark at the very bottom was a little pool, about a foot deep. I pretended to be impressed, 

"Where did you get all this water?" I asked him. 

The whole group looked very pleased with themselves. Big smiles again. The elder said, "Down there about seven people deep," and he jabbed his stick into the ground again. 

"But now it's gone." 

"What will you do now?" I asked. 

"We will make more holes until we find some. I think," he said, "there might be a little over there, behind that rock, about ten people deep." 

"Will you dig down for it?" 

"It is very hard work. It takes many days just to go half a person down. Old dirt is hard to dig." 

"What will you do if you can't find it there?" I asked. 

He smiled and looked at the steer, "He has some," he said. 

Yea. So, at this moment I felt that I'd better be getting along. This could turn nasty. Meanwhile, without thinking about it I propped my legs up on a rock, and guess what? A cup of rain water spilled from each boot, right onto that parched ground. They looked at that grubby water disappearing into the earth. Then they looked at me, and back at the wet spot on the ground and scrambled for it. A dozen hands were all trying to scoop up the drying mud. 

My time to leave. 

I bolted for that little door beside the diorama, stepped through it and snapped it closed behind me. Bam, I was hit by a face-full of wet cold air. I looked back into the window, and they were waving me to come back inside. They wanted their waterman back. So, what could I do? I just gave them a dumb smile and waved good-by. Trotting down the corridor, I looked back at the plaque in front of the diorama again. 

THE AMERICAN SOUTH WEST

GEOLOGICAL EPOCH:

Near the Close of the Anthropocene

2100-2200 AD

I'd better get on home. It's still raining out there.