ACT I

A man stood on the side of Route 83. He was not tall. He was not short. He wore a coat that had been brown once. He had no bag.

A farmer drove by in a pickup truck. He saw the man and slowed down. The man did not wave. He did not smile. He simply looked at the driver and said:

"Your son dies at nineteen."

The farmer stopped the truck. He got out. He looked at the man. He looked at his son, who was sitting in the passenger seat, looking out the window.

"What did you say?" the farmer asked.

"I said your son dies at nineteen."

The farmer's mouth moved. He did not say anything.

ACT II

The farmer followed the man. They walked along the shoulder of the highway. The son followed too. They walked for an hour.

"Why?" the farmer asked.

The man did not answer.

"Why does he die?"

"He doesn't die yet."

"But you said—"

"I said what I said."

The farmer's son spoke. "What do you see?"

"Patterns."

"What kind of patterns?"

"The kind that are always there. You just have to look."

They walked. The sun went lower.

"Can you change it?" the son asked.

"I can tell you where to find the old men."

"Where?"

"The hill. There's a hill ahead. You'll see it."

ACT III

The hill was bare. Two old men sat on it. They were not talking. They were looking at the horizon.

The farmer and his son approached. The son carried food—he had taken it from the truck. Bread and cheese and an apple.

The old men ate. They did not thank him. They did not speak.

One of them had a book. He opened it. He found a page. He read a name. He wrote a number.

The farmer did not see what he wrote. He was looking at the horizon.

The son looked at the page. He saw his name. He saw the number 19. He saw the old man change it to 99.

The old man closed the book. He put it in his pocket. He stood up.

"That's it?" the son asked.

"That's it," the old man said.

They walked away. They did not look back.

ACT IV

The man went back to Route 83. He stood on the side of the road. He looked at the trucks going by. He could see them. He chose not to.

The old men sat on the hill. Their ears were fine. They could hear the wind and the insects and the distant sound of traffic.

The son went home. He went to school. He graduated. He got a job. He moved to another town. He never went back to Route 83.

He lived to ninety-nine.

That is all.

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