Wish by Ronen Divon

The long arm of the Christmas-decorated clock on the wall, moved steadily towards the number nine, marking the time as 8:45am. A coffee cup filled to its half on the table in front of me was getting cold. Claus, the other party to the meeting, was late. Very few patrons were occupying seats at the Diner off Route 84 for this time of day. A fly was hovering by, the buzz of its wings clearly audible. “It’s kind of late seasonally for flies,” crossed my mind. A déjà vu moment. My thoughts were carried away to another time, a different Diner, some fifteen years prior, December, 1996. That other Diner was located at midtown Manhattan’s West Side. I was early, awaiting a meeting with several young entrepreneurs such as myself. We came together from all walks of life, attracted to the new medium of the internet; planning to conquer the world, create a change, make it a better place. I clearly remember a fly hovering by. Not atypical to diners, but then as now, it was long past bug season. The buzz of the tiny wings flapping ceased as their owner was now pacing back and forth along the edge of my cup. Not intending to drink from it any more, I watched the insect with some interest; the manner in which it moved its legs, as if dancing to a rhythm audible only to its sensors; halting every few steps to bring its front legs to what I presumed was his mouth. Being an analyzer by nature, an information junkie, such details always fascinated me. Was the part above his mouth a nose? I remember reading somewhere that flies don't breathe like us – that they have no lungs per-se. If not a nose, what was that reddish spot above the mouthpiece? “I need to research this,” my mind made a mental note. As a computer guy, a cool ‘cyber dude’ to some, a geek to others, working long hours by myself, I was in the habit of speaking to myself. Without realizing it, I found myself softly saying “Hello red-nose fly. Are you related to that other fly,” and then, as if expecting him to ask “what other fly?” I added, “from the West Side Diner? back in the mid 90’s?” “You can speak to flies?” a deep baritone voice sounded, asking in what sounded like genuine amazement. The owner of that voice must have noticed I jumped off my seat slightly, as he immediately added in an apologetic tone, “sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” “No worries,” I replied collecting myself, now feeling embarrassed, realizing the stranger must have heard my little chat with the bug. Surveying the large-framed older fellow standing by my table, his bright eyes, sunk into a puffed face, twinkled. A thick bushy brown beard decorated him perfectly. “Claus?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied with a tired smile and, pointing at the seat in front of me, “may I?” “Of course,” I said. In my line of work, developing web sites, I meet some very interesting prospective clients, some of which can only be labeled as weirdoes. There was the one who was looking to develop a website promoting co-existence between wolves and lambs. He firmly believed that when this goal will be achieved, fulfilling a biblical prophecy, world-peace shall prevail. Another original prospect wanted my firm to develop an online application promoting a business that organized tours for nudists. “The naturist journey starts shortly after boarding the specially chartered airplane,” he explained in a somewhat anxious voice. “It is not about having sex,” he immediately added defensively when I raised an eyebrow, “it is for people who simply prefer no clothes on their skin.” When my lack of response lasted a moment too long, he continued, his voice turning preachy, “We live in such a hypocritical and pretentious society that,” he paused for a moment as if to consider his choice of words, and then went on with conviction, “without clothes, you have no idea how much nicer people are. Nothing to hide behind! Feeling more exposed brings out the best, the good nature, in man.” © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

I nodded in understanding. I actually liked the idea. Even a super structured guy as myself likes to let loose on occasion. It all sounded great until he suggested that my company should create his entire site in exchange for a trip. Claus contacted me through Facebook. He sent me a private message, saying he read some technical advice I posted on my blog regarding a new model for relational database, one that can be used to queue tasks faster and more efficiently. He was impressed with my creative manner of thinking and wanted us to meet. “My project is quite unique,” he wrote me, “you may be just the person I was looking for.” My experience with getting leads from social network sites had been mixed. More often than not, such prospects turn out to be time-wasters. They show up with an air of importance, lay out their brilliant idea for making money off the web, and then expect me to work free in return for future revenue-share. I have had my ration of these offers, as I suppose most of my colleagues do. Still, it was early in December 2011, end of a year that saw nothing but a continued economic recession. In the hope that this opportunity might turn out to be real business, I could not bring myself to say no. Moreover, when I poked Claus' online profile for more information, I became, I must admit, somewhat curious. He had only two dozen or so Facebook friends. Most of the people listed under his profile had religion-inspired names such as Joseph, Teresa and Jesus. That would have usually be a red flag for me, signaling a Christian fanatic, but Claus also had Facebook contacts named Abraham, Moses and Mohammad. His collection of associates further included Buddha, Krishna and Lao Tzu. I like riddles and puzzles, finding connections and logic where initially none seems to exist. This seemed like an easy one; I figured he must be part of an interfaith organization whose members went by nicknames of their favorite characters. Though I adhere to no religious practice myself, as a liberal, I appreciated the wide range Claus' friends-list demonstrated. Claus’ profile photo featured a red Santa hat, which I thought was quite cute, especially if his name was really Claus. “Even if he is just a time-waster,” I thought to myself while driving up New York's Hudson Valley on the way to the Diner early Friday morning, “nothing like a pleasant religious conversation at the start of the holidays-burden month.” “Sorry for being late,” said Claus a moment later settling himself into a chair too small for his size. A punctual person myself his tardiness did annoy me. When I didn't reply, he seemed compelled to explain, “heavy traffic where I came from.” His expression was of someone considering adding something else but he said no more. A moment later, a waitress was by our table handing Claus a menu and asked, “Coffee, Hon?” Claus half winked at her, saying, “I take mine without a sweetener,” to which she responded with an unpretentious bells-like laughter. It made me suspect that the two of them might know each other. This was not the waitress that seated me earlier and brought me my diner-tasting coffee. I don't remember faces that well but I do notice names. My previous server of an hour earlier was a young blond woman named Ashley. This waitress was older; hair that was once black but gracefully greying decorated her forehead. Her nametag stated Teresa. She looked familiar. My Sherlock Holmes mind was wondering if I saw her photo on Claus' friends list on Facebook; another member of his interfaith group? Teresa poured coffee into a clean cup she brought for Claus and turned to me pointing the carafe of coffee at my cup, “a refill Hon?” “Sure,” I answered, “but would you mind a new mug? A fly has been feasting on this one.” I pointed at the little bugger still lurking on top of my cup. Teresa bent down to look at the creature. She examined it as if she was a scientist just discovering a rare new species. She then picked up the cup carefully. I could swear I heard her muttering something like “so there you are,” as she walked away without giving me another © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

glance. I turned to look at Claus who seemed to have been making an observation similar to mine. “She must be an animal-lover too, and can even speak to flies!” and with a wink added, “just like you!” I blushed but curved my lips in a smile. Animal lover I was, but my life’s path brought me to engage in another passion of mine, technology. I loved computers from the moment I laid my eyes on the first Altair 8800, a computer kit that required self-assembly. Years later, sitting at the West Side Diner, data management was my area of responsibility in the Pioneer Entrepreneurs’ Forum, or PEF which is how we came to be known. There were about twelve of us, founding members. We each brought to the table an idea, a dream, a secret aspiration, on which we were all to work together, one project at a time. As an information system designer, my own wish was quite crucial, given our entire enterprise required handling of massive amounts of data, task queuing, tracking and management. It was then that I outlined the relational database model that years later attracted Claus’ attention. Some of the projects my fellow members brought to the table included designing and building an online system related to raising money for building clean water wells throughout Africa. Another venture entailed developing a system for calculating emission gases with respect to global warming. It was a wonderful think-tank combined with a technology incubator for good causes. The enterprise was funded by two members who were venture capitalists and had an incredible talent for raising money. Unfortunately, the forum was shortlived. The internet business was booming, and between the members’ super-busy work schedules, inflated egos and growing inner disputes, the group ended up falling apart before completing even its first project. Throughout that process, with several members leaving and others joining, the only items that seemed to remained constant were our regular waitress, a kind woman named Theresa, and a persistent fly that mysteriously survived that long winter. Coming to think about it, that waitress Theresa seemed to be a younger version of the waitress we had now, whose nametag read Teresa. Was it the same person? Maybe whoever did her nametag dropped the ‘h’ by mistake. Is that why she looked so familiar? Fifteen years apart, that is a hard call to make. It seems so long ago. Over the years that passed, occasionally, something such as the fly today, would trigger my mind wondering back to that magical time; a time when a younger me felt about the World Wide Web what pioneers must have felt about the Wild West. I would contemplate what would have happened if we didn’t fold, if we were to put our egos aside and push forward; the impact we would have made in this disaster-stricken world. But then reality sinks back in. Claus and I sat in silence for some time. Teresa came back several minutes later and without a word put a new cup in front of me, pouring coffee that smelled delightfully fresh. Claus and I were both watching her. Once she left, I looked at Claus who seemed to be in no hurry to get started. Realizing it was already after 9:15am, I jumped right in. “So, would you like to tell me what your project is about?” Claus looked at me with some confusion, as if he forgot why we were there. His moment of bewilderment took a little too long, prompting me to say, “You contacted me regarding a web project, yes?” “Right!” replied Claus, snapping out of wherever his mind wandered. He gave me a measuring look, considering, I guess, where to start. “We have this group,” he went on saying, and then, as if changing his opening strategy asked, “may I ask you first a somewhat of a personal question?” “Go ahead,” I replied without hesitation. “Do you follow any specific religion?” asked Claus. Though this confirmed my earlier speculations about him and his Facebook friends, his question still took me by surprise. Truth © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

was that I wasn't religious. I was born Jewish but had explored many different paths including several Eastern practices. If I told him, would I lose this project? “Not in particular,” I replied honestly. “I favor an Eastern path called Tao but it is not really a religion.” I looked at Claus intently, for a moment unable to read his facial expression. Claus smiled, and as if he could read my thoughts, said “Tao, a noble way, or, to followers of this path, The Way, isn't it?” My face must have shown my surprise as he immediately added with a light smirk, “a good friend of mine is a close follower of this practice and we had plenty of late night conversations about it.” I looked at Claus as if seeing him in a new light. “Yes...” I replied, not sure what else to say. “That's good,” said Claus, “you are a seeker. I suspected as much. For a curious mind, the path is not as important as the seeking. This makes things easier.” He stopped for a moment, his eyebrows narrowing as he considered what to say next. “What I am about to tell you is somewhat of a secret, or, as business people like to say, confidential.” Familiar with entrepreneurs, who are very protective of their ideas, and being that Claus paused and didn't continue, as if expecting a response from me, I quickly said, “I can signed a non-disclosure agreement.” “Oh!” cried Claus, holding himself from bursting with laughter, “no need for that! I am a handshake sort of guy.” He got up and sent out his arm. I followed suit and rose, hesitantly sending my hand to meet his. I noticed the fleshfullness of his hands and a thought sparked in my mind, a memory of palm reading I had done some years before – here is a fellow that knows how to enjoy life. “People who have the skin of their inner hands flush and full know how to enjoy food, drink and other earthly elements,” my palm reader told me. His handshake was firm and inviting. We sat back. Claus retracted to some remote corner of his mind. This time, ignoring the clock, I patiently waited for him to continue. As if awakening from a dream, Claus jerked his head and said, “so, I was saying...” He seemed to have forgotten so I gently reminded him “you were saying something about a group you are part of?” “Oh yes!” he said thankfully, “we have this group, let’s call it good-doers, and we pick up projects we feel will benefit humanity.” At once my mind shot again back to the group I was involved with in the 90’s. Yet Claus seemed anything but technological. There was something almost primitive about him. “Is it a religious group?” I asked. “No!” he replied almost angrily, immediately adding, “why would you say that?” “I am sorry,” I answered apologetically, a little shocked at his response, “it’s just that you mentioned religion earlier.” “That's right,” he said, his eyes gazing unfocused behind me, “but that was just my curiosity. I don't fancy religious folks.” This was the last answer I expected, my eyebrows rising in question. “Yes, you see,” Claus continued, “we had a previous web developer that was religious and his beliefs prevented him from understanding our true purpose, so I was being a little more cautious this time.” “Right,” I said with some relief, though still a little shaken. “I myself don't like people who are too stuck on religious ideas either,” I said, and added, “they sort of miss the forest for the trees.” “Ha ha!” burst Claus with a loud laugh, causing some heads to turn in our direction, “I love it! Did you just come up with that? Very ingenious!” Did Claus really did not know the expression? Or was he poking fun at me? His laugher seemed genuine. I blushed; this was embarrassing. The old adage was definitely not mine to claim. © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

“Not mine,” I mumbled forcefully as if I would have liked to take the credit but... “What's that?” Claus asked not fully hearing me. “Not mine,” I repeated a little louder, “that saying – it’s not mine,” I replied more clearly. “Never mind,” Claus waved me off, “it’s not about who came up with the words, but how it’s being put to use that matters.” I smiled. We both fell into silence. Teresa came over holding a coffee carafe. She had a lovely smile. Filling Claus' cup without saying a word, she then turned and looked at mine. It was still full and probably getting cold. Teresa picked it up and went away. A moment later she was back with a full steamy fresh cup of coffee that she carefully placed in front of me. She then gave me another hearty smile. It made me feel almost comfortable enough to ask her if she worked in a Diner in New York City, a decade and a half ago, but before I built up the courage, she turned and left. Claus was sipping from his coffee, unaware of my little inner drama. “Why aren't you drinking?” he asked. “I don't really fancy Diner coffee,” I confessed. “You should try this one,” he said. I hesitantly picked up the cup and took a sip, expecting the familiar stale taste. To my surprise, this coffee tasted nothing short of heaven! “Wow,” I gasped. “Keep an open mind,” Claus smiled at me, “miracles happen every day.” “I am not a big believer in miracles,” I stated. Claus put down his coffee and looked at me with amazement. Did I say something wrong? That statement just escaped me without much thought. “You see,” I decided to add, “miracles, mystery, magic, all these are just names we give phenomenon we do not yet understand.” I stopped. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut. People who believe in the ‘mysteries of the universe,’ are usually offended by my opinion on this matter. I should have said nothing. Now it’s too late to take it back. “Go on science man,” encouraged Claus, “entertain me.” “Well,” I coughed out, “if you would have shown a caveman matches he would have considered it magic, wouldn’t he?” “Yes,” agreed Claus, giving me the feeling he was expecting more than this argument. “And if you demonstrate to a 19th century person a mobile phone conversation that, to him, will be a complete mystery,” I continued. “Probably,” replied Claus. “And, if you inject antibiotics to a man overcome by malaria, and that person makes a quick recovery, wouldn’t our forefathers consider it nothing short of a miracle?” I added, now that I was going at it, with some conviction. “That is a solid assessment,” agreed Claus. “So what I am saying,” I triumphed, “is that all miracles, mysteries and magic are basically phenomenon which we, as humans, have not yet developed enough to comprehend.” I picked up my coffee and I took a sip. “Wonderful rational,” exclaimed Claus, “wonderful yet quite useless.” “Useless?” I felt offended. “Absolutely,” said Claus bemused, ignoring my affronted tone of voice, “you can analyze a sunset forever, but as soon as you put what you feel into words, you immediately cage it in a box and it’s no longer mind-blowing. Yet if, when you see the sun setting, you expand your awareness just a touch, it will take your breath away. I call it magic, mystery and maybe even a little miracle. I hope one day you will come to see it.” He smiled sincerely and added, “Maybe even today!” © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

Claus picked up his cup, signaling it’s time to move on. He took a sip and said, “Now, back to business.” For a moment, I was taken aback. But then I realized it’s all good. The damage my comment may have caused was either corrected or forgiven. Claus put down his coffee and said, “Our organization includes a small group of dedicated people who are spread all over the world. We collect wishes from people, and then decide which projects to carry out.” “You mean,” I asked, “like one of those 'make a wish' foundations?” Claus looked at me puzzled. “Make a wish?” he asked, “I am not that familiar with other organizations that do what we do. Ours is not about making wishes, it is about fulfilling them.” I thought he didn't really understand what I said but decided against asking another question. “The challenge for which we need your help,” Claus continued, “is that things are getting out of hand. We had a system of filing that used to work well for a very long stretch of time, but in recent years, it’s not keeping up. In fact, we are now fulfilling worthy wishes that are at least ten years old if not more. That's not good. Some wishes should not be left waiting for so long.” “What do you mean?” I asked confused. “Left for too long unattended, wishes tend to lose their potency. They shrink in the minds of those who conceive them. What was once a burning desire becomes a faded memory,” Answered Claus, his voice sorrowful. We sat silently for a moment, each reflecting. “What sort of system are you using now?” I restarted the discussion, immediately adding, “I will need to know if we can import the existing data. Is your current system a SQL Database?” Claus considered my question with a smile, and then said, “Let’s worry about this part later.” He paused for another moment, as if collecting his thoughts, and continued, “we will need an online system to file and share information, one that can be accessible anywhere on the planet, using any device we wish to use, and that will enable us to track down progress on existing projects. Is that something your company can do?” “Sure,” I replied with confidence, “it’s right up our alley!” I knowingly recited my sales pitch: “We have created such systems for a large range of organizations and projects.” I wanted to say that I have already the blueprints for an exact such project from a ‘different life’, but decided it will be non-productive as I will need to go into long explanations which may sound somewhat awkward given this group’s request for confidentiality. So I just kept on nodding my head in agreement. “Excellent,” said Claus, “now for the more complicated part.” More complicated? I thought, what he described was no small task. In fact, it was a much larger project than the one my forum group started working on at the time. But I did not protest and just asked, “Complicated?” “Yes,” answered Claus, “you see, we are not a simple organization. Not only are we spread world-wide, one condition to our operation is that we cannot make our existence known.” “That is not a problem,” I answered with understanding, “we can make the database secured and gated, accessible by dual methods of password verification.” “That's good,” said Claus. He still sounded unconvinced. “I am not very technological myself,” he admitted, “even operating my mobile phone is somewhat of a challenge.” “That is why I am here!” I said, “I take care of technology,” and then I added after a short pause “I make miracles happen daily, technologically that is…” Claus smiled widely and we both picked our cups taking a synchronized sip. A few moments later Teresa came back. “Would you like anything else?” she asked. “Not for me,” said Claus. I nodded my head for a no. She left the bill on the table and moved on. Claus © 2013 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

continued, “We set a budget to cover the expenses for this project.” He named a number that sounded way too high. While considering a response, he said “I know it’s a larger fee than what you would have priced it but we are not your typical client. We pay well and expect the best there is out there in return.” I smiled in embarrassment, taking it for a compliment. Pulling out a note pad, I spent the next hour asking Claus about a hundred different questions. He didn't disclose their method of wishes collection, except to mention that their members are scattered across the globe, and have their ears open in manners I couldn't imagine. “For example,” he said with a grin, “maybe our good waitress Teresa can really speak with flies, and that little bug related your secret wishes to her.” “Are you serious?” I asked in complete disbelief. “I said maybe,” he answered, his voice turning into a loud rolling laughter. I smiled, taking this for a joke. What Claus did give me was enough information from which I was able to extract a general idea about data storage requirements, criteria for queuing wishes for being carried out, and then tracking of wish execution and archiving. Claus further evaded questions I tried to sneak in about their funding, and about who heads the organization. He told me they work 365 days a year and are not affiliated with any other organization, nor are they involved in politics, religious groups and alike. “Would you like to take on this project?” he asked when we were done. He already knew my answer. “It is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” I replied, my mind already busy with its favorite activities of processing technical and logistical challenges. “Remember, it’s a secret. If you use outside resources, they cannot know what this is about,” he said in a low voice. “I understand,” I confirmed. “First payment will be sent to your bank account tomorrow,” Claus said, “just send me your account information electronically.” He picked up the bill lying on the table between us, and pulled out a worn-out wallet. “Let me,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “No, no,” he insisted, “this is my treat. You'll buy next time.” “Okay,” I agreed hesitantly. As Claus got up ready to leave, I hesitantly asked a question that still bothered me. “Why did you select me?” I knew he said he liked a post on my blog, but somehow Claus didn't strike me as a person that spends much time online reading technology blogs. Claus smiled, considered for a moment, and then said softly in a barely audible voice, “We fulfill wishes, worthy ones. A wish you have once expressed was deemed worthy. Sorry it took us so long to get to it.” Pulling out a red hat like the one featured on his Facebook page, Claus’ sparkling eyes met mine. “But how did you know?” I asked puzzled. “We have our ways,” he answered, and in response to my raised eyebrows added, “We have a way to spy like… what is the saying? A fly on the wall.” A moment later he was gone. “A wish I once made?” I wondered aloud... But I already knew exactly what he was referring to. Laughing out loud, making some Diner patrons turn their heads in my direction, I headed out onto my own Wild Web.