The Samsimian Estate

To all my good readers:

This story is heavily allegorical and seeks to communicate the tension between what is held up as an ideal and the values that actually underpin the plan. I use the American experiment as an example, but this tension exists throughout all human affairs.

Masters didn't know what to think when he got the message that Mr. Samuel was ready to see him. Was this just another game? He was a recluse afterall- hidden away on an estate no one had ever been to.

It wasn't until a man walked into his office wearing a pin-stiped, double-breasted suit and black fadora that he believed it.

"You Masters?" the large man inquired with a tough-sounding, New York accent.

"Ah, yeah." Masters replied somewhat defensively, "Are you..."

"Mr. Samuel's chauffeur." the man stated plainly.

He stood there in silence like a monolith after that.

"Of course, yes... I was expecting you!" Masters assured him as he rose from his desk in a muttled way and collected his sachel and coat.

After collecting his gear, Masters walked to the door and then hesitated.

"After you." the rough-featured man invited, extending his arm.

They made their way out of the office then and down the stairs to the street where Masters was confronted with a perfectly preserved, 1930's Cadillac sedan. He didn't know what to think until the driver stepped around him and opened the door to the vehicle's backseat.

"Wow, you don't see many of these anymore!" Masters commented before proceeding into the roomy, plushness of the interior.

After he was in, the solid sound of the door closing behind him made him uneasy. He wasn't sure why.

The pin-striped man climbed behind the wheel and brought the big, confident engine to life and they pulled away. As they drove down the boulevard, however, Masters mind began to entertain a myriad of paranoid possibilities.

"How far is it to the estate?" he blurted with a certain tightness in his voice.

He saw the driver's intense eyes look up at him in the rearview mirror.

"Some distance." the man replied.

Masters nodded.

"Will I be able to get cell service in this "distant" place?" he asked as he took out his phone and jabbed at it.

The driver didn't reply.

"Excuse me. Cell service? Do you have it out there?" Masters asked again, concerned about possibibly being alone and incommunicado.

"Dare are phones- if dats what you mean." the driver offered.

Masters looked at him. Sure- he was playing a role. He was an old time gangster. The kind they had in the old, black and white Hollywood movies. Why else would he be dressed like he was? He sat back and bounced his leg nervously as the car continued to the bridge that led out of the city. They drove for another hour until the landscape transitioned from open country to thickly wooded terrain, the road winding seemly downward as the woods took on a more denuded character. Then they turned onto an unmarked road and the chauffeur stopped the car.

"What is it?" Masters complained.

The driver turned partially back toward him, revealing his broken-nosed profile.

"You may be seeing some tings as we drive in dat may appear somewhat strange. Don't be alarmed."

With this he put the car back in gear and started off again. Masters was perplexed.

"Wait... What!" he exclaimed.