An old man is visiting a cemetery, when two kids jump him and try to rob him.
Not an incredibly old man; obsolete, spavined; not as worn as the sway-backed stone steps ascending the Pyramid of the Sun to an ancient temple; not yet a relic.
But even so, a very old man, this old man perched on an antique shooting stick, its handles open to form a seat, its spike thrust at an angle into the soft ground and trimmed grass of the cemetery.
Gray, thin rain misted down at almost the same, angle as that at which the spike pierced the ground. The winter-barren trees lay flat and black against an aluminum sky, unmoving in the chill wind.
An old man sitting at the foot of a grave mound whose headstone had tilted slightly when the earth had settled; sitting in the rain and speaking to someone below.
Supposed to hold off till at least seven on weekdays, eight on the weekend; but there they were at six, even before six, barely light for godsakes. All ages, even some of those kids painted like aborigines, with torn leather clothing.
Even they came to protest. Terrible language, but at least they were concerned. And nothing could stop it. They just whammed it, and down it went.
No more good grilled cheese. And now he was crying softly, and now the wind rose, and the mist rain stippled his overcoat. Nearby, yet at a distance, Billy Kinetta stared down at another grave. He could see the old man over there off to his left, but he took no further notice.
The wind whipped the vent of his trenchcoat. His collar was up but rain trickled down his neck. This was a younger man, not yet thirty-five. Unlike the old man, Billy Kinetta neither cried nor spoke to memories of someone who had once listened.
He might have been a geomancer, so silently did he stand, eyes toward the ground. One of these men was black; the other was white. Beyond the high, spiked-iron fence surrounding the cemetery two boys crouched, staring through the bars, through the rain; at the men absorbed by grave matters, by matters of graves.
These were not really boys. They were legally young men. One was nineteen, the other two months beyond twenty. Both were legally old enough to vote, to drink alcoholic beverages, to drive a car. Neither would reach the age of Billy Kinetta.
He made a fist, flexed, did it again. They went under the spiked fence at a point where erosion had created a shallow gully.
The front of his sateen roadie jacket was filthy. And the old man, who would now really get the crap kicked out of him for making this fine sateen roadie jacket filthy.
They sneaked up on him from the left, as far from the young guy in the trenchcoat as they could. The first one kicked out the shooting stick with a short, sharp, downward movement he had learned in his tae kwon do class.
It was called the yup-chagi. The old man went over backward. The other one began ransacking the coat pockets, ripping the fabric to get his hand inside. The old man commenced to scream. What the hell kind of thing is that for this old fucker to be saying?
Is he asking us to protect him? The other young man was making huffing sounds, as dark as mud, as he slapped at the rain-soaked hair of his victim. What used to be called a turnip watch.Paladin of the Lost Hour has an interesting history. The text fiction was written simultaneously with a screenplay of the same name for the new () version of The Twilight Zone.
The text fiction was written simultaneously with a screenplay of the same name for the new () version of The Twilight Zone. Paladin of the Lost Hour has 21 ratings and 2 reviews.
Acer said: I must admit, I hate the speculative fiction part of this story, for it boils down to t /5. And I must admit that the title really bothers me, for it should be "the last hour" and not the lost one, semantically speaking/5.
"Paladin of the Lost Hour" is the second segment of the seventh episode from the first season (–86) of the television series The Twilight Zone, as well as a novelette by script-writer Harlan Ellison. It starred Danny Kaye in one of his final screen appearances. Plot.
An old, grieving man named Gaspar is standing over a grave in a cemetery. Watch The Twilight Zone - Season 1, Episode 17 - Paladin of the Lost Hour: A Vietnam vet named Billy saves an old man named Gaspar from a mugging at a cemetery.
He discovers that this old man hol /10(59). "Paladin of the Lost Hour" is the capper of my preoccupation with the themes of friendship, ethics, courage, responsibility, and the getting us wisdom.
Throughout the story, Gaspar and Billy are merely men ; simply two fallible human beings who each carries the fate of the human race in his own life, and who perceive that inevitably we .