The Man With One Leg
Now, some of you may be sitting home on some cold day- if of course summer has passed, drinking hot tea from a mug, shall we say, yes, because you like tea. A muted commotion outside our window can be detected, although you have been ignoring it for a time. You are beneath a worn, quilted patchwork blanket thrown around you by your spouse or parent as your eyelids start to droop. However, as they do you cannot help it- slowly you arise from your rocker, and shift the dog or cat gently aside, your hands pressing but lightly into the animal's fur so that you don't wake the sleeping critter. In your threadbare robe or boxers, you walk over to the window. Say this is a wood cabin- the window has a wood framework. A man is seen, laughing as he rolls by on his scooter back and forth across the lawn. You pause. They are- him and his three children, frolicking over your lawn, building a snowman, perhaps engaging in a few snowball fights. 'Why on my lawn?' You wonder. This seems the strangest scenario. Your question is soon answered. The man, who looks as though he is about forty, only has one leg. 'Why, he must have a long way to get home,' you think. 'Perhaps when he gets there he will be too tired.' You peer more closely at them. The man does not appear tired, at all. Across his face shines the grandest smile you have ever seen.
You go back to your tea. It is cold now. You fall asleep, dreaming about amputees. When you wake up, no sign of the tracks by the party can be seen, but it has long since stopped snowing, and the snowman is gone as well.
"What!" You exclaim. You sigh. The phone rings. You go pick it up. "Hello?" You listen for a moment. The person at the other end tells you that your father has been severely injured in the war. That he must be operated on quickly to remove his lower right leg. You don't hesitate.
"Go ahead and do it."