Once home Bertolt placed the box in the middle of his small living room between an easy chair and the fireplace. It was an ordinary box to be sure. It’s contents were a mystery because Bertolt had not been inclined to open the box to view whatever might be inside. At no time would our protagonist ever be tempted to view the interior of the box. Instead he stared at.
In fact, Bertolt stared at the box from the perch of his easy chair for several hours before realizing he was hungry. Bertolt made lunch, occasionally interrupting his preparations to walk back into the living room and take another look at the box. When lunch was ready Bertolt varied from his usual practice of dining at the kitchen table and enjoying the view outside the kitchen window. A view that consisted of a large tree, a bird feeder and a small garden. Usually Bertolt would note various birds, squirrels and bees while staring out the window during meals. But on this day Bertolt returned to his easy chair with his plate of food and his glass of milk and resumed looking at the box.
There was still nothing special at all about the box. Nothing that our hero could see. But he was compelled to watch it. Why, he did not know. But he barely took his eyes off the box. It was two hours before Bertolt brought the dishes back to the kitchen. He spent a half hour cleaning and doing a few other chores around the house. Our friend was heading for the door to go on his afternoon walk when he stopped at the door and noted the box. Had it moved? He wondered. Had it slightly changed color? Had it grown or shrunk? Bertolt was sure he detected something different about the box. This would warrant some investigation. So he returned his hat and coat to the rack and sat back down in his easy chair in an effort to discern if there was anything different about the box. Bertolt looked at the box for so long that it grew dark and he had to cancel his afternoon walk altogether, a rarity for Bertolt. There’d be no more walking that day for Bertolt never took evening walks.
The box held him in thrall well into the evening, keeping him up past his usual bedtime. From time to time Bertolt thought he detected some sort of change in the box, some slight alteration that deserved careful study. It was amazing to him how much satisfaction could be derived from merely looking at the box. As his grandfather clock chimed 11 o'clock, Bertolt found that he was nodding off while looking at the box. It was time for bed.
The next morning Bertolt got up at his usual time, took his usual shower and made his usual breakfast. But he did not go for his usual morning walk, nor do his usual reading nor perform any other of his usual chores. No, instead our hero sat in his easy chair and looked at the box. Perhaps more accurately, he was watching the box, for in point of fact Bertolt was veritably studying the book in an effort to detect any changes in it. Bertolt was entertained and enthralled and fascinated and mystified by the box. It seemed to just sit there but it also seemed to be doing things, though what it was doing Bertolt could not say.
For days Bertolt eschewed his usual routine and spent most waking hours in front of the box. He stopped answering the telephone. When there was a knock on the door Bertolt pretended not to be home. He ate less frequently, rarely showered and didn’t shave at all. The kitchen became a mess, he was out of clean clothes. Our hero was thoroughly entranced and beguiled by the box and was simultaneously depressed and despondent. Increasingly Bertolt did not want to look at the box, increasingly he couldn’t look away.
A month after bringing the box home there was a big change. Very big. Bertolt was staring at the box with particular intensity when he became convinced it was talking to him. This was most frustrating because Bertolt could not understand what it was saying. The words were in English but made no sense as if garbled and out of order. Our friend yelled at the box demanding it speak more clearly. But still it made no sense. Bertolt rose from the easy chair and for the first time since he brought the box home he picked it up. He shook it violently demanding it make it self understood. Words kept coming from the box but none made any sense. Bertolt could take it no more. He hurled the box into the fireplace. It went silent. Enraged, Bertolt lit the box on fire and watched with a curious mixture of horror and glee as it burned. Backing away from the conflagration, Bertolt collapsed into his easy chair and fell immediately into a deep sleep that last several hours.
Awakening from his slumber our protagonist quickly got up and showered. He then cleaned the kitchen and made himself a large meal. After eating he washed clothes and tidied his house. Chores completed Bertolt went on a late afternoon walk. He had never felt so alive. At the corner of Grant and Lincoln in the president-named- streets section of town, he came upon a box. Bertolt stopped, sneered at it and continued his walk. His best walk ever.
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