♦◊♦
It was toward the end of winter on one of those visits into town to go drinking that Martin saw the woman he thought could save him. He and Ernie were walking down the sidewalk, heading toward the bar on a Friday afternoon late that spring. She was bending toward a boy who was probably about 4, needing to take a second to push her long black hair out of her eyes. She was the most beautiful woman Martin had ever seen. But she must be married.
“Davey,” Martin heard her say as the men approached her; then, her tone changed. “Davey!” The boy was coughing, and in the next instant he was wheezing on the sidewalk.
Ernie, of course, reached them first; Martin held back, then moved out toward them faster than he even believed he could. He plucked the little fellow off the pavement, got his arms around him from behind, pressed his fists intermittently into the space between the small ribcage. After a couple of goes, a round chunk of candy dislodged from the boy’s throat.
It was Ernie who first saw the stick from the lollipop on the sidewalk. He picked it up. “Did he have a lollipop, Ma’am?”
The boy’s mother wiped her hand across her son’s forehead. “Did you chew your lollipop off the stick again, Davey?” He nodded. “Oh, baby. Oh my baby,” she said, rocking him back and forth in her arms. “No more lollipops for awhile.”
She turned at that moment to look Martin full in the face. “Thank you, Mister.” She had a voice twice as sweet as Martin’s long lost mama wren. “How ever can I thank you?” She offered her hand, and Martin felt supremely aware of being touched.
“It was nothing, Ma’am,” he replied, wishing after he’d pulled back his hand that he had waited a while longer.
“You got to be mommy’s little man,” the woman said to the boy then. “It’s just you and me, baby.”
The boy looked at his mother. Martin half-expected him to bay like Ernie’s blue tick. But the little fellow said nothing, took hold of his mother’s hand.
“Shoulda told her you’d take a homemade dinner,” Ernie said as the two men walked on. Before Martin went into the bar, he turned a last time to see if the woman was still on the sidewalk. She had stopped at a building close to the hardware store, gathered the boy up. Then they vanished through the door.
The bar was noisy, as always. Crowded, as always. And Martin was stuck by the as always of everything—that he could walk away from the place and not come back for five years, and still, when he walked in, it would be like he never left. That night, he let them all to their ways; if anyone spoke to him, he either begged off, or (after he had a few drinks in him) ignored them.
After that night, Martin started to practice his walking again. The clothes got laundered properly at Ernie’s house, the shirts got tucked in. He bummed money from Ernie to get a haircut. He started thinking how salvation might show up anyplace, in anyone. And after Ernie did some talking in town, he took Martin in to the hardware store. He was hired on the spot, started the same day. The manager even let him have a desk. Martin asked him to put it close to the store window, so he could look out onto the sidewalk. It didn’t take him too long to figure out when Davey and his mom got home at the end of the day, and he took to sweeping off the sidewalk in front of the store then. One day mother and child walked right up to him.
“Hey, aren’t you the guy who saved little Davey here?”
The boy held out his hand for Martin to shake it. “Thanks, Mister.”
“You can call me Martin,” he said. “You too, Ma’am.” Her eyes were blue.
“And you can call me Grace,” she said. “We never did get to thank you properly. Will you let me fix you a good supper? Do you work ‘til they close on Friday night?”
“I do.”
“Then, how about 6:30?”
“That’d be just fine.”
“We’re down there at 315. Only apartment on the second floor.” Then a worried look came over her face. “Can you climb the stairs?”
“Yep.” But what he really wanted to say was I could fly up those stairs.
♦◊♦
“Got some news.” It was a Saturday morning a few months after Martin had started having Friday night suppers with Grace and Davey. He was enjoying having a day off when Ernie appeared at the door of the shack. His jowls sagged instead of turning into the crescent Martin was used to seeing.
“You’re kickin’ me out.” It was Martin’s ultimate fear. But if he said it, it wouldn’t happen, right? He tried to read Ernie’s face.
“Got a call up at the house for you,” Ernie said, fiddling with his pockets like he probably did in high school when trying to hide his cigarettes from the principal.
“Don’t bullshit me, Ernie. You never did so far. Don’t start now.” Something was brewing in Martin that he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t very good at saying things right. He could’ve decked Ernie right then and there. Just the way he was acting. Just the look on him.
“Listen. It was about your dad. You got to get on home. Guess your mom called lunch and when he didn’t come in, she went lookin’ for him. Found him out by the wood shed. Your sister says your mom’s not doin’ too well with it. She’s comin’ to get you, Martin. She’s on her way.”
Martin stood there for a moment, not even feeling his leg. Then he motioned for Ernie to leave. As the pain came back to him, he wondered if his dad had ever thought of salvation like he did—and he wished he could have somehow offered it. He knew now that some lives could be saved. Others would be blown away by mortars or broken by sons. Maybe the other side of saving was simply escape—whether by flying, moving, or dying.
I like this!
Nice!