AN ANGRY MAN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD (RICK) SWAIN
Gus Walker was not always this way. Everybody takes a few punches as life has its way with you, but times changed when Alice died in a botched car jacking. Botched as in pushed out the passenger side at 30 miles per hour.
The kid was caught, jailed, and would be out in 36 months because he was 15. The anger was not toward the kid, yes he would strangle him if the opportunity arose, nor the law because it was the law, but he held himself accountable for the crime. It was a hot day, he left the car running so Alice could have the air conditioning while he ran into the deli for a lousy pack of cigarettes. Who would let their wife die for want of nicotine.
Over months, his son and daughter-in-law tried their best to help a suffering father, but slowly pulled back hoping time could be a better therapist. A best friend was as helpless as the kids. Gus pushed Fred away with equal disdain, but perhaps with Fred, it was more about him being a smoker than anything else.
There is a risk when you are a man of routine. The person who can say “What box, what line, what constraint,” that person has a chance to move beyond a self-imposed prison cell, but not a person of routine. A team of horses could not pull the alarm setting away from 5:30 a.m. Starring at soggy flakes with too much sugar, wincing from bitter instant coffee, and unable to turn on any device that could be a voice of something other than negative self-thought, a morning drags likes dripping water into a large bucket. The afternoons were like mornings, and the evenings longer.
One day the doorbell rang, an older woman stood facing Gus. He was cordial, “May I help you?” “I am Fred’s sister Bertha, do you have a moment?” Cordiality has its limits, and they spoke at the doorway. He was restrained, and allowed the saving angel to give her speech. No, working with disadvantaged children would not be something he could consider, and he thanked her for her kindness and tried to slowly close the door. The woman put her foot in the way blocking his attempt and spoke, “Has Fred been a good friend to you for 25 years?” “Yes” was the one word answer. “All Fred would ask of you in return, would be to take my card, tape it on your refrigerator, and call me if you would be willing one day to come to our preschool at 8 a.m. for juice and an oatmeal bar.”
You had to hand it to Fred, or perhaps it was Bertha’s idea, but everybody goes to the refrigerator. That card stared at Gus even when he walked quickly by. It called out to him in the middle of the night, “Come look at me, see my fine print, consider the numbers 1324, do you recognize the pattern? Why would my numbers be married to Post Street, and can you visualize what I look like on a cool autumn morning with the sun streaming through white oak trees with their leaves a purplish hue?”
Annoyed by a business card with a plaintive voice, Gus pushed the cereal away and looked at his watch. At 6:30 a.m. he could have his look, not risk being bothered, and be freed of a promise. “Robin’s Nest Preschool,” he liked that name. As a youngster, Gus and his sister would play a game of who could find the first nest each February or March. On one mild January, Gus set a record that was never matched. He folded the card crisply in half and placed it in his shirt pocket.
He guessed it was the two story brick building surrounded by the tall black wire fence. The white oaks stood as his mind had advertised, and a nearby trash can stood ready to receive the folded card. A park bench sat across the sidewalk from the locked double gates and called to him for rest. Sitting in the center, he stretched his arms wide to grip the sides, leaned back, and inhaled a deep breath. The cool morning air beckoned eyes to close, and for once, his mind was quieted. How long he slept was only a guess, perhaps five minutes, but a rustling sound caught his attention. Without moving, other than the opening of his eyes, he looked directly at the little girl.
Perhaps 3 years of age with beautiful honey toned skin. Her hair was midnight black and matched her eyes which pierced his heart. The tiny hands grasped the gate rails, and the only movement was a foot swishing leaves back and forth. No words were voiced, only stares. Gus felt an anger that held no meaning, his stomach tightened, and his throat was parched. After an eternity of seconds, he stood, turned, and walked home. As he placed his right foot on the first step of his stoop, he paused, stepped back, walked back to the trash can and fished out the folded card.
A man of routine had no option as his watch struck 6:30 a.m. He laughed at himself realizing he never poured milk into the cereal nor drank a sip of coffee. Other than making the bed and getting dressed, in what world was his mind residing for the past hour. Before walking out the door, he did something purposefully and without understanding. He stood facing the refrigerator and placed his right palm against the Robin’s Nest card, felt the fold, and the coolness of stainless steel.
He was not surprised to see the school yard empty. Hands on knees and sitting upright on the bench, he stared forward. The sound of a door closing from the left side of the building broke his trance, and he saw her walking his way. As she neared, her head looked down as if surveying the ground along the fence line. Stopping at the largest gathering of fallen leaves, she grasped the wire fence, stood rigid for a moment, and then started her routine of foot sweeping, this time changing from left to right, and from right to left, all the time eyeing Gus as if she were non-verbally explaining her method of raking leaves.
He stood, rigid as if back in army days, reached up and turned his Yankees baseball cap backwards, paused for a moment, reached back up, turned the cap back to the forward position. He stared back as he repeated his action several more times, she sweeping, he hat turning. A smile appeared, first from the little one, and followed by the older one. “Hello, what is your name?” She quickly shook her head sideways as if his words were disturbing, and the smile evaporated back to a stare.
Gus again thought of his younger sister and the games they played. Staring forward, he brought a flat palm across his face and paused when his eyes were covered. Quickly pulling his hand away, his cross eyed stare was always a winner. She broke into uncontrollable laughter. Gathering her composure, she stopped moving her feet and looked for another funny face. He thought of one Alice showed him when they entertained each other in late evenings. He bent his head down, placed palms on each side of his mouth, and quickly looked up with a perfect “Home Alone” shocking stare with gaping mouth. Again, laughing with glee, she twirled in a dance, paused, stared, and twirled again. She looked at him for his reaction. He gave a genuine heartfelt smile, and slowly and silently gave her a pretend clapping of hands. She nodded yes with a broad grin as she jumped up and down. Gus waved a goodbye as he turned toward home, and for the first time in what seemed an eon, he had a smile on his face.
The morning alarm blared, and Gus, soaked in sweat, felt like a hammer was striking his temple. He slept soundly for another six hours, and seldom left his bed for the next two days. Fitful and anxious, he was convinced a little girl would stand at a fence and feel forgotten. The third day could not come soon enough, and he sat at the breakfast table checking his watch. Unable to wait any longer, he left at 6:15 a.m. choosing to sit on the bench and enjoy fresh morning air. As he neared the school he could see her at the gate jumping and waving. They pantomimed games until a security guard arrived to unlock the gate, and taking the girl’s hand, walked her back into the building.
The following day, a few parents were walking their children into the building at 8 a.m. when Gus arrived. Once inside, Bertha waved as she stood with a couple and mouthed “Thank you.” Suddenly, there was a commotion coming from a corner of the room, and both Bertha and Gus looked that way. She held her arms high above her head, hands arched together as if a ballerina was ready to perform Swan Lake. A twirl, a big smile to Gus, and another twirl before running to him and falling to his knees and wrapping her arms around his leg. “Maria, do you know this man?” Bertha had whispered softly and with a lilt. Maria looked up and nodded yes. “We have been playing morning games in front of the locked gate,” said Gus.
Later that afternoon, Bertha sat in Gus’s living room and spoke of Maria. “Many challenges facing this family. First, Maria has, it is believed, misophonia, a strong reaction to specific sounds. People with misophonia can become irritated, enraged, or even panicked when they hear their trigger sounds. The family crossed the Rio Grande after a perilous journey from El Salvador, and something from that two months of travel afflicted her mental state. We do our best to create a “noise-free” zone, but not easy when you have 30 other children to teach.” Gus learned Maria apparently understood many English words, but only spoke in her native tongue when she spoke at all. Bertha said earning a living wage was nigh impossible for the parents, and dropping Maria at the school at 6:00 a.m. was at least a step in the right direction.
The world is suddenly off kilter as the alarm sounds at 5 a.m. Forty five minutes later, Gus was at the school’s side gate to meet Bertha, and together they waited for the first run of the Downtown Line to enter Post Street. Maria’s parents hurried to the gate as they had only ten minutes to race five blocks on foot to catch a second bus heading out to the warehouse district where they were employed as minimum wage custodians. Aware of the tight schedule, Bertha simply handed Mr. Gonzales a sealed envelope and quickly introduced Gus as both a friend of the school, and a special friend to Maria. The parents looked at Gus with suspicion, and again back to Bertha. She pointed to the letter and smiled as she drew Maria to her side.
Mrs. Gonzales placed the pupusa in the center of Bertha’s dining table. The thick handmade corn tortilla flatbread was stuffed with cheese, pork, and refried beans, the scent of spices wafting through the room. Mr. Gonzales would be late, she apologized, as he was fortunate to draw a double shift, and the added pay would go toward a bed for their daughter. A storming rain pelted the windows of the two bedroom cottage at the back of the school. Back in the 1850’s, the building housed a scientific library, and the cottage was a later addition built for the director.
After the dinner dishes were cleared, Jorge Gonzales handed his accounting degree certificate to Bertha. In San Salvador, he was the chief financial officer for a box manufacturing company in the Santa Telca area just west of the city. The owner was repeatedly harassed by the controlling gang for ever increasing amounts of protection money, and in return, pressured Jorge to alter the books to cover the siphoned funds. Resisting compromise to his professional standards, he was threatened and eventually kidnapped for his refusal. All their savings plus borrowed funds from relatives were exhausted in exchange for his release.
Maria’s mother Hortencia spoke of their odyssey to the border, skipping those parts that still brought the most frightening nightmares, but focusing on the intense daytime heat she believed caused the challenges to their daughter’s health. Gus sat quietly, listening intently to their stories, and felt chastised by the realization that grief is such a shared commodity. Fred arrived to drive the dinner guests home, first the Gonzales family, and then Gus. The bellowing wind occasionally rocked the car as they sat in silence. Finally Fred spoke, “Not one cigarette in the past two months, do I get my hall pass renewed?” Gus looked over as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Why would you want to spend time with a sullen and angry old coot like me. You should thank me for casting you off.” Fred carried too much weight, had terrible posture, but possessed a great belly laugh, “I see some cracks in that shell of yours old man, some folks even think you’re worth saving. In fact I hear a little girl thinks you are one funny guy, although I wonder if she has you mixed up with some cartoon character on TV.”
Alice would kindly tell Gus he was a “Rescuer,” that he felt it necessary to solve everyone’s problems. “Sometimes I just need you to listen to me, not fix what you think is broken or needs mending.” Gus was chewing on this thought as he considered Jorge and Hortencia’s plight. Here was an accomplished financial accountant cleaning toilets, and washing grime off outside factory windows in 100 degree temperatures. When Gus retired, the loss of daily work routine was a difficult mountain to climb, and among many trial runs was helping their son manage his two automotive repair shops. The kid, he always called him kid, was a genius at fixing cars, but completely scatterbrained with paperwork. Gus was sure he lost meaningful income through his lax management. No harm for his son Arnold to meet Jorge, let them talk, he would not even attend, just share cellphone numbers.
Fred sighed audibly, “How much further must we march, I like my weight just as it is?” Gus shook his head and rolled his eyes upward, “Ten pounds in thirty days, that was our agreement. You have $25 of my hard earned money from five negative comments, so fair is fair.” The two men were tackling the Shuman Reservoir Running Track and surely the record for the slowest loop would be broken. Fred found a bench and waved his hands for time out. “Bertha told me Arnold has a new office manager, and you were the instigator. For such kindness to others, I bestow upon you one free crabby pass.” Gus stretched his lanky legs out toward the water and kicked off his shoes. “I haven’t memorized a line in fifty years, but get this, ‘May I be loving, open, and aware in this moment; If I cannot be loving, open, and aware in this moment, may I be kind; If I cannot be kind, may I be nonjudgmental; If I cannot be nonjudgmental, may I not cause harm; If I cannot not cause harm, may I cause the least harm.” Fred did a pretend fall off the bench, sat on the grass, and looked up to Gus. “Did you hear God say this, or have you been been sneaking off to Kathmandu in your spare time?” Gus knocked a shoe into Fred’s lap, and spoke with a seriousness that further surprised his friend. “The guy was Yang, and his words were a wake-up slap to my face.”
Bertha chose Chinese over Italian. For sixty-five years, there were only two women in Gus’s life, his mother and Alice. He would not refer to this as a date, but in his mind, a business discussion with food included. Why not wear a tie, and yes the shoes were polished. He extended his hand to help her up the steps, while musing on conversation topics he had considered appropriate. Once home, he took a yellow pad from the desk and started to list the pros and cons for the evening. After number eight on the pro side, he tore off the page, placed the tablet back, and went to bed.
Two of the children grabbed his hands as he stepped into the classroom and were swinging his arms up a down when Bertha stopped sorting cards at her desk and looked at him. He stopped moving and looked back. Nothing was said, neither moved, both just looked as if framing a picture that would be remembered at some future time in a place different from what they knew.
Maria wore a pink chiffon dress and black satin shoes, a gift from Bertha and Gus for her fourth birthday. The new apartment was walking distance to one of the repair shops where Jorge had established his business office, and a grant from the New York City Immigrants Foundation funded a temporary position for Hortencia to teach Spanish at the preschool part time. Forks were set down and laughter erupted as Fred stood and made a show of tightening his belt another notch. To Gus, the highlight was when Maria rose from the table and crossed over to whisper in his ear. The private exchange was not shared with others, but two, different in age, different in life experience, were sealed in a bond that would hold for a lifetime.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD (RICK) SWAIN
Gus Walker was not always this way. Everybody takes a few punches as life has its way with you, but times changed when Alice died in a botched car jacking. Botched as in pushed out the passenger side at 30 miles per hour.
The kid was caught, jailed, and would be out in 36 months because he was 15. The anger was not toward the kid, yes he would strangle him if the opportunity arose, nor the law because it was the law, but he held himself accountable for the crime. It was a hot day, he left the car running so Alice could have the air conditioning while he ran into the deli for a lousy pack of cigarettes. Who would let their wife die for want of nicotine.
Over months, his son and daughter-in-law tried their best to help a suffering father, but slowly pulled back hoping time could be a better therapist. A best friend was as helpless as the kids. Gus pushed Fred away with equal disdain, but perhaps with Fred, it was more about him being a smoker than anything else.
There is a risk when you are a man of routine. The person who can say “What box, what line, what constraint,” that person has a chance to move beyond a self-imposed prison cell, but not a person of routine. A team of horses could not pull the alarm setting away from 5:30 a.m. Starring at soggy flakes with too much sugar, wincing from bitter instant coffee, and unable to turn on any device that could be a voice of something other than negative self-thought, a morning drags likes dripping water into a large bucket. The afternoons were like mornings, and the evenings longer.
One day the doorbell rang, an older woman stood facing Gus. He was cordial, “May I help you?” “I am Fred’s sister Bertha, do you have a moment?” Cordiality has its limits, and they spoke at the doorway. He was restrained, and allowed the saving angel to give her speech. No, working with disadvantaged children would not be something he could consider, and he thanked her for her kindness and tried to slowly close the door. The woman put her foot in the way blocking his attempt and spoke, “Has Fred been a good friend to you for 25 years?” “Yes” was the one word answer. “All Fred would ask of you in return, would be to take my card, tape it on your refrigerator, and call me if you would be willing one day to come to our preschool at 8 a.m. for juice and an oatmeal bar.”
You had to hand it to Fred, or perhaps it was Bertha’s idea, but everybody goes to the refrigerator. That card stared at Gus even when he walked quickly by. It called out to him in the middle of the night, “Come look at me, see my fine print, consider the numbers 1324, do you recognize the pattern? Why would my numbers be married to Post Street, and can you visualize what I look like on a cool autumn morning with the sun streaming through white oak trees with their leaves a purplish hue?”
Annoyed by a business card with a plaintive voice, Gus pushed the cereal away and looked at his watch. At 6:30 a.m. he could have his look, not risk being bothered, and be freed of a promise. “Robin’s Nest Preschool,” he liked that name. As a youngster, Gus and his sister would play a game of who could find the first nest each February or March. On one mild January, Gus set a record that was never matched. He folded the card crisply in half and placed it in his shirt pocket.
He guessed it was the two story brick building surrounded by the tall black wire fence. The white oaks stood as his mind had advertised, and a nearby trash can stood ready to receive the folded card. A park bench sat across the sidewalk from the locked double gates and called to him for rest. Sitting in the center, he stretched his arms wide to grip the sides, leaned back, and inhaled a deep breath. The cool morning air beckoned eyes to close, and for once, his mind was quieted. How long he slept was only a guess, perhaps five minutes, but a rustling sound caught his attention. Without moving, other than the opening of his eyes, he looked directly at the little girl.
Perhaps 3 years of age with beautiful honey toned skin. Her hair was midnight black and matched her eyes which pierced his heart. The tiny hands grasped the gate rails, and the only movement was a foot swishing leaves back and forth. No words were voiced, only stares. Gus felt an anger that held no meaning, his stomach tightened, and his throat was parched. After an eternity of seconds, he stood, turned, and walked home. As he placed his right foot on the first step of his stoop, he paused, stepped back, walked back to the trash can and fished out the folded card.
A man of routine had no option as his watch struck 6:30 a.m. He laughed at himself realizing he never poured milk into the cereal nor drank a sip of coffee. Other than making the bed and getting dressed, in what world was his mind residing for the past hour. Before walking out the door, he did something purposefully and without understanding. He stood facing the refrigerator and placed his right palm against the Robin’s Nest card, felt the fold, and the coolness of stainless steel.
He was not surprised to see the school yard empty. Hands on knees and sitting upright on the bench, he stared forward. The sound of a door closing from the left side of the building broke his trance, and he saw her walking his way. As she neared, her head looked down as if surveying the ground along the fence line. Stopping at the largest gathering of fallen leaves, she grasped the wire fence, stood rigid for a moment, and then started her routine of foot sweeping, this time changing from left to right, and from right to left, all the time eyeing Gus as if she were non-verbally explaining her method of raking leaves.
He stood, rigid as if back in army days, reached up and turned his Yankees baseball cap backwards, paused for a moment, reached back up, turned the cap back to the forward position. He stared back as he repeated his action several more times, she sweeping, he hat turning. A smile appeared, first from the little one, and followed by the older one. “Hello, what is your name?” She quickly shook her head sideways as if his words were disturbing, and the smile evaporated back to a stare.
Gus again thought of his younger sister and the games they played. Staring forward, he brought a flat palm across his face and paused when his eyes were covered. Quickly pulling his hand away, his cross eyed stare was always a winner. She broke into uncontrollable laughter. Gathering her composure, she stopped moving her feet and looked for another funny face. He thought of one Alice showed him when they entertained each other in late evenings. He bent his head down, placed palms on each side of his mouth, and quickly looked up with a perfect “Home Alone” shocking stare with gaping mouth. Again, laughing with glee, she twirled in a dance, paused, stared, and twirled again. She looked at him for his reaction. He gave a genuine heartfelt smile, and slowly and silently gave her a pretend clapping of hands. She nodded yes with a broad grin as she jumped up and down. Gus waved a goodbye as he turned toward home, and for the first time in what seemed an eon, he had a smile on his face.
The morning alarm blared, and Gus, soaked in sweat, felt like a hammer was striking his temple. He slept soundly for another six hours, and seldom left his bed for the next two days. Fitful and anxious, he was convinced a little girl would stand at a fence and feel forgotten. The third day could not come soon enough, and he sat at the breakfast table checking his watch. Unable to wait any longer, he left at 6:15 a.m. choosing to sit on the bench and enjoy fresh morning air. As he neared the school he could see her at the gate jumping and waving. They pantomimed games until a security guard arrived to unlock the gate, and taking the girl’s hand, walked her back into the building.
The following day, a few parents were walking their children into the building at 8 a.m. when Gus arrived. Once inside, Bertha waved as she stood with a couple and mouthed “Thank you.” Suddenly, there was a commotion coming from a corner of the room, and both Bertha and Gus looked that way. She held her arms high above her head, hands arched together as if a ballerina was ready to perform Swan Lake. A twirl, a big smile to Gus, and another twirl before running to him and falling to his knees and wrapping her arms around his leg. “Maria, do you know this man?” Bertha had whispered softly and with a lilt. Maria looked up and nodded yes. “We have been playing morning games in front of the locked gate,” said Gus.
Later that afternoon, Bertha sat in Gus’s living room and spoke of Maria. “Many challenges facing this family. First, Maria has, it is believed, misophonia, a strong reaction to specific sounds. People with misophonia can become irritated, enraged, or even panicked when they hear their trigger sounds. The family crossed the Rio Grande after a perilous journey from El Salvador, and something from that two months of travel afflicted her mental state. We do our best to create a “noise-free” zone, but not easy when you have 30 other children to teach.” Gus learned Maria apparently understood many English words, but only spoke in her native tongue when she spoke at all. Bertha said earning a living wage was nigh impossible for the parents, and dropping Maria at the school at 6:00 a.m. was at least a step in the right direction.
The world is suddenly off kilter as the alarm sounds at 5 a.m. Forty five minutes later, Gus was at the school’s side gate to meet Bertha, and together they waited for the first run of the Downtown Line to enter Post Street. Maria’s parents hurried to the gate as they had only ten minutes to race five blocks on foot to catch a second bus heading out to the warehouse district where they were employed as minimum wage custodians. Aware of the tight schedule, Bertha simply handed Mr. Gonzales a sealed envelope and quickly introduced Gus as both a friend of the school, and a special friend to Maria. The parents looked at Gus with suspicion, and again back to Bertha. She pointed to the letter and smiled as she drew Maria to her side.
Mrs. Gonzales placed the pupusa in the center of Bertha’s dining table. The thick handmade corn tortilla flatbread was stuffed with cheese, pork, and refried beans, the scent of spices wafting through the room. Mr. Gonzales would be late, she apologized, as he was fortunate to draw a double shift, and the added pay would go toward a bed for their daughter. A storming rain pelted the windows of the two bedroom cottage at the back of the school. Back in the 1850’s, the building housed a scientific library, and the cottage was a later addition built for the director.
After the dinner dishes were cleared, Jorge Gonzales handed his accounting degree certificate to Bertha. In San Salvador, he was the chief financial officer for a box manufacturing company in the Santa Telca area just west of the city. The owner was repeatedly harassed by the controlling gang for ever increasing amounts of protection money, and in return, pressured Jorge to alter the books to cover the siphoned funds. Resisting compromise to his professional standards, he was threatened and eventually kidnapped for his refusal. All their savings plus borrowed funds from relatives were exhausted in exchange for his release.
Maria’s mother Hortencia spoke of their odyssey to the border, skipping those parts that still brought the most frightening nightmares, but focusing on the intense daytime heat she believed caused the challenges to their daughter’s health. Gus sat quietly, listening intently to their stories, and felt chastised by the realization that grief is such a shared commodity. Fred arrived to drive the dinner guests home, first the Gonzales family, and then Gus. The bellowing wind occasionally rocked the car as they sat in silence. Finally Fred spoke, “Not one cigarette in the past two months, do I get my hall pass renewed?” Gus looked over as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Why would you want to spend time with a sullen and angry old coot like me. You should thank me for casting you off.” Fred carried too much weight, had terrible posture, but possessed a great belly laugh, “I see some cracks in that shell of yours old man, some folks even think you’re worth saving. In fact I hear a little girl thinks you are one funny guy, although I wonder if she has you mixed up with some cartoon character on TV.”
Alice would kindly tell Gus he was a “Rescuer,” that he felt it necessary to solve everyone’s problems. “Sometimes I just need you to listen to me, not fix what you think is broken or needs mending.” Gus was chewing on this thought as he considered Jorge and Hortencia’s plight. Here was an accomplished financial accountant cleaning toilets, and washing grime off outside factory windows in 100 degree temperatures. When Gus retired, the loss of daily work routine was a difficult mountain to climb, and among many trial runs was helping their son manage his two automotive repair shops. The kid, he always called him kid, was a genius at fixing cars, but completely scatterbrained with paperwork. Gus was sure he lost meaningful income through his lax management. No harm for his son Arnold to meet Jorge, let them talk, he would not even attend, just share cellphone numbers.
Fred sighed audibly, “How much further must we march, I like my weight just as it is?” Gus shook his head and rolled his eyes upward, “Ten pounds in thirty days, that was our agreement. You have $25 of my hard earned money from five negative comments, so fair is fair.” The two men were tackling the Shuman Reservoir Running Track and surely the record for the slowest loop would be broken. Fred found a bench and waved his hands for time out. “Bertha told me Arnold has a new office manager, and you were the instigator. For such kindness to others, I bestow upon you one free crabby pass.” Gus stretched his lanky legs out toward the water and kicked off his shoes. “I haven’t memorized a line in fifty years, but get this, ‘May I be loving, open, and aware in this moment; If I cannot be loving, open, and aware in this moment, may I be kind; If I cannot be kind, may I be nonjudgmental; If I cannot be nonjudgmental, may I not cause harm; If I cannot not cause harm, may I cause the least harm.” Fred did a pretend fall off the bench, sat on the grass, and looked up to Gus. “Did you hear God say this, or have you been been sneaking off to Kathmandu in your spare time?” Gus knocked a shoe into Fred’s lap, and spoke with a seriousness that further surprised his friend. “The guy was Yang, and his words were a wake-up slap to my face.”
Bertha chose Chinese over Italian. For sixty-five years, there were only two women in Gus’s life, his mother and Alice. He would not refer to this as a date, but in his mind, a business discussion with food included. Why not wear a tie, and yes the shoes were polished. He extended his hand to help her up the steps, while musing on conversation topics he had considered appropriate. Once home, he took a yellow pad from the desk and started to list the pros and cons for the evening. After number eight on the pro side, he tore off the page, placed the tablet back, and went to bed.
Two of the children grabbed his hands as he stepped into the classroom and were swinging his arms up a down when Bertha stopped sorting cards at her desk and looked at him. He stopped moving and looked back. Nothing was said, neither moved, both just looked as if framing a picture that would be remembered at some future time in a place different from what they knew.
Maria wore a pink chiffon dress and black satin shoes, a gift from Bertha and Gus for her fourth birthday. The new apartment was walking distance to one of the repair shops where Jorge had established his business office, and a grant from the New York City Immigrants Foundation funded a temporary position for Hortencia to teach Spanish at the preschool part time. Forks were set down and laughter erupted as Fred stood and made a show of tightening his belt another notch. To Gus, the highlight was when Maria rose from the table and crossed over to whisper in his ear. The private exchange was not shared with others, but two, different in age, different in life experience, were sealed in a bond that would hold for a lifetime.
RICHARD SWAIN