av Line Ragna Aakre Karlsson

The whole thing started with a man named Walter. Walter was a young verger at the local church in a small town situated in the countryside. He was much respected, liked and well known in the small community. He was especially famous for his bread; it had such a unique taste, unlike anything anyone had ever tasted before. It pleased the most discriminating customer, and satisfied the most hungry stomach. His bakery was known throughout the part of the country where the little town was located, and it was even to be found in the local tourist brochure.

Walter was only envied by one man who wasn’t quite as appreciated in the town as himself. Oz was a small man in his fifties, who had never quite made it with anything really. Oz lived alone on a secondary farm outside the village. He was also in the baking industry, although his material wasn’t nearly as popular as Walters. His breads were absolutely eatable, but they just couldn’t match Walters.

My God, how he tried and tried to get them of the same quality of Walters wonders. The hole town, including Walter, knew that Oz would do anything to bake as first-class breads as Walter. Although none of his countless attempts to beat his rival had ever succeed, he wouldn’t give up. It was an endless battle between the two.

Whenever Oz would come into town to get his regular proportion of raw materials, Walter would often stick his head outside the church or his bakery and scream out loud: “How’s the baking going, Oz? Any luck yet?” and smile and wave to passing admirers.

In many ways, Oz was the laughing stock of the town.

One afternoon, as Oz was ploughing his small square field to gather his corns, he saw Walter stroll over the ground towards him. Oz had just bought a brand new ploughing machine, with sharp and powerful spikes to really make the most out of his corn, and was enjoying himself in the seat thinking that this time he’d got it right. When he saw Walter, he stopped his screw driver and stepped out of it.

“ Hey Oz!” Walter said cheerfully.

Oz looked at him, with great suspicion.

“Don’t worry, I come in peace.” Walter continued. “I see you’ve bought the new 05 model,” he said and looked upon the huge screw driver in front of him. Oz, who had invested a lot of money in the modern driver, felt a little insecure.

“Yeah, I have. What’s it to you?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Walter said with a silly grin on his face. “it’s a good waste of money, that’s what it is.” He said and smiled at Oz. “You know you’ll never get the same exceptional and loveable taste that I have. A new machine won’t help you. What you need is a unique ingredient, something that lights the sparks in your dough. But, even if you found it in this instance, it still wouldn’t help you much. You’ve got to have the passion, an urge, like I do.”

“If you have come here just to gloat, you might as well save it, I’ve got other things to do.” Oz responded, while he felt his rage thunder inside of him.

“Have you got other things to do?” Walter said and a big smile spread across his face. “I wouldn’t call wasting my time “other things to do”!”

He laughed heartily while Oz pressed his fingertips against the palm of his hand. He was this close to attack him…

“Seriously,” Walter said and dried his eyes from tears of laughter. ”Stop joking, you old hypocrite. No, what I wanted to ask you was whether…“

That was it. Oz had had it. He jumped at Walter and pushed him backwards. Walter, who was not expecting an attack, fell backwards and was penetrated by one of the sharp spikes on Oz’s screw driver.

He died immediately.

Somewhat stunned, Oz withdrew and regarded Walters dead body. The barb had went straight through his heart.

Oz looked up and saw that the last beams of the sun faded gradually. It’ll soon be dark, he thought. Better finish the ploughing.

Then he removed Walter from his screw driver and laid him flat on the ground. He started digging a little hole in the middle of his cornfield and pushed Walter in it only to see that he had dug a very little hole compared to the size of Walters body.

Suddenly he heard the roaming if an approaching car. Somebody would soon drive past his ground. He tossed some earth over Walter and hurried up in the machine and started the engine just when a car rounded the corner and was visible from the cornfield.

What Oz didn’t know was that it was one of Walters many admirers that drove the car. When she saw good old Oz driving about on his field, she laughed and shook her head. Poor Oz, she thought. Driving back and forth on the same spot. He must have lost it finally, she giggled to herself and rounded a corner.

Once the car was out of sight, Oz stopped the engine and jumped out. He pitched some earth and straws over what remains of Walter and looked at it; it was hardly visible anymore. Then he leaped up in the screw driver again and finished his ploughing.

When Walter was reported missing the next morning, Oz was immediately suspected. Everybody else loved Walter and no one in the little town could think of anyone else that was on bad terms with their dear baker.

A small troop of local policemen was instantly sent to Oz’s house to question him of his business the last 24 hours. When they left the house an hour later, they knew that Walter in fact had dropped by the previous afternoon, but that he had left again after his visit. He had obviously made no use of any means of transport since they found his car and bike at his house. The police issued citizens they believed could help them; people that had seen Oz or Walter that afternoon or anyone who had seen anything at all that might be connected to the accident.

The only one who reported back was the woman who had driven by Oz’s farm that afternoon. She said that she’d seen Oz driving his screw driver around on his cornfield and that she’d seen no sign of anything unusual.

After a few days, the charges against Oz was dropped. The police had no evidence that led them to him, in fact they didn’t have any evidence at all. Not a single clue or hint had been found that could give them or any of the citizens a suspicion of what had happened to Walter.

That same afternoon, old Oz was walking through his cornfield. With Walter out of the way, more people had started buying his breads, but they still weren’t near the quality or popularity that Walters wonders had achieved. That annoyed him. It felt as though Walter was still teasing him from his “grave” in his own cornfield. He sauntered to it and looked down at him. Then he saw something peculiar.

The new sprouts of wheat upon the vault were unusually significant and had a captivating golden colour. He broke a straw and tasted it. It was good. Very good. Unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. A warmth spread through his body, and simmered in his stomach; it left him wanting more.

He took two steps back and plucked another straw that grew a few inches of the vault. It wasn’t nearly as good as the other one. Oz looked at the two straws and a smile spread across his face.

Early next morning, he drove to the church downtown, and inquired about the open position as a verger. The priest was still mourning over the loss of Walter, who had worked there for a long time. He found it a little curious that Oz wanted the same job that his rival had had, but Oz comforted him and said that despite their quarrels in the past, he missed Walter as well. After a little interrogation with Oz, the priest saw no reason of why he shouldn’t hire him.

The priest gave Oz a key to the church and explained his job. It was quite easy; he was to help the priest finish his preach now and then, clean and decorate the church and assist at weddings and funerals. He had full access to every room in the church, including the chapel beside it where the corpses were prepared for their memorial. Oz was responsible for closing and locking the coffin properly before the interment, and he was always the last person to see the corpses before the coffin was brought back into the church. 

Oz worked day and night. If he was not in the church, he was out in his cornfield and if he was not in either of the places, he was baking in his house.

He must have finally found his unique ingredient the people of the town said. And they were right; after the disappearance of Walter, Oz’s breads had improved revolutionary in both quality and taste. Once people had tasted it, they wanted more. Some described it as a warmth spreading through their bodies and leaving their stomachs bubble in excitement. Others said that they felt a need for the unique taste that dominated his breads. All in all; people got addicted.

After a few weeks, everything about the towns old favourite baker was forgotten. There was nothing left of Walters wonders.