Overnight, the mailman was given his termination notice. We don't know why and neither does the mailman. He was summoned to 'Human Resources' through interoffice snail mail (ironic but we will leave it unexplored for now) and was told he no longer has a job.

With a beautiful family, grown children and a house purchased with the rewards of many years of quiet resentment, sweat and millions of steps on the same roads leading nowhere, he was happy with himself and his life.

He was never late to the job, never called in sick, and was well-regarded by his boss...only a few months away from retirement after forty-five years of honorable service without losing a letter. Sometimes even delivering the same letter twice.

What? Delivering a letter twice?

He believed delivering good news a second time would bring forth the same joyful reception. So he'd wait and read the letter with the recipient (often an unexpected situation for the host) and be overcome with joy if the letter's news was cheerful. He'd make up a silly reason for snagging the letter back from the puzzled receiver to come back the next day to deliver, with jolly flourish, the same envelope one more time.

There was never a formal complaint.

Now and then bad news had to be delivered. He'd tear the letter in half or quarters and deliver only part...to hurt less, he told to the surprised recipient.

Over time, people learned their mailman's quirks and no one protested. They embraced him as a skewed dimension of their lives. His tacit love protected, sheltered, and embraced them. He was someone to share joy or misfortune with.
They learned how good news was separated from bad news. The former taken with reckless joy, while the dismal latter was endured with great stoicism.

Gradually, fewer letters came, it was as if people forgot the art of letter writing. After thinking things through, the mailman decided to write letters and telegrams himself.

In a short time the numbers of healthy, happy children and grandchildren increased...incurable patients miraculously recovered and fewer tears were shed at funerals. Mediocre students received high marks, prosperity and wealth grew amongst the hard working neighborhood.

Everybody was happy.

Until one day...when the community began giving him long, strange glances.
At first, sad shakes of heads...followed by concerned looks.

Day and night, winter and summer and regardless of inclement weather...good and bad news filtered into every house on every block through cables and airwaves and other digital marvels. Good and evil tidings flowed through walls like ghosts.

Through television, nonstop news programs found its audience every day. Salaries and pensions trickled into bank accounts without mailed letters.

The mailman became unnecessary.

On the street, they greeted him as they would greet a pleasant memory from long time ago...a relic of times past.

Then the disaster began. People started dying. Today one, tomorrow another, and no one knew why. Some spoke of a secret virus...a strange and unknown disease coming from nowhere.

Research and investigative efforts led nowhere.

Wireless phone chatter exacerbated the disturbance. Everyone felt eerie and anxious without reason or explanation. When a full day passed and nobody received any news, the anxious tapped their monitors with shaking hands. Nothing. Everything was in vain.

A car hit a power pole on Main Street and the power was out throughout their neighborhood. They lamented and asked the heavens.

"How is this possible? In what kind of world do we live? The mailman came every day...even when he was sick."

The electricity came back but the joy was short-lived. News was sent a million times a day but there was no one to discuss it with. To explore subjects and analyze themes, to deliberately exaggerate and sow envy between neighbors.

The cold, impersonal electronic screen displayed good and bad news without judgment. Details about Cardiovascular accidents, car breakdowns and distant relatives' deaths were discharged in a cold, blunt and iridescent manner. Lab results from hospitals sent shivers up people's spines because no one softened the blow. People were left alone with faceless strangers at the end of wires and cables who became their gradual enemies and cold-blooded executioners.

By now, everyone was desperate. The electronic delivery of letters and news did not require gratuities or a glass of wine...did not ask about rheumatism, gout, weather, or errant children. It was mutually decided this kind of life was not for them. They said 'no' to modern times and gathered signatures on a petition to ask for their mailman back...the mailman they happily tipped a buck or two for 'a beer'. Or two.

"Please bring him back," they said, "at double-salary if that's what it takes."

They pleaded for their mailman and no other...their omnipotent friend who knew so well how to properly deliver a letter. No one answered.

As word has it the e-mail was deleted.