Watertown, Chapter 1, Poldy

BERESHIT
“GOD that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made of hand.”
--Acts 17:24

“When the Lord saw how great was man’s wickedness on earth, and how no desire that his heart conceived was ever anything but evil, he regretted that he had made man on the earth, and his heart was grieved.”
--Genesis 6:5

"If capitalism is criticized for treating human beings like Commodities, what are we to say of an institution — the state — that treats human beings like garbage?"
-- Historian Ralph Raico

"It weren’t the storm but what came after that nailed us."
--Anonymous


WATERTOWN
Chapter One

Warm wind danced his hair about his face. Jack peered out the window as the Santa Fe Super Chief brushed to a stop. The April sun glinted through the trees, the leaves bursting green in the early light. Seven hills ringed St. Michaels, rounding out the lilting town. Jack squinted up at the clouds as their shadows floated across the streets and up the hills. He mouthed their names: King Hill, Queen Hill, Devil’s Backbone, Wyeth’s Hill, Aventine, Esquiline, and Palatine. Crazy town, he whispered.

Jack stood up. He slung his rucksack across his shoulder. He walked down the aisle and jumped out the door onto the platform. He turned to face the train. The Super Chief let out two long blasts. The air brakes hissed. The conductor stuck his head out of the caboose window and nodded. The engineer up front snapped his fingers twice. Checking his pocket watch, the engineer clasped shut the hunting case. The train whistle let off two short blasts. The pinions engaged. The Super Chief chugged and rolled away.

The engineer waved. Jack waved back. He stood and watched the train gather speed and curl along the tracks at the edge of the shimmering river. When the Super Chief disappeared around the bend, Jack stepped across the platform and stopped. He turned around, looked down and jumped on the tracks. Crunching gravel underfoot, he crossed the tracks and walked on. He stopped, and looked to the town spread out beyond the platform. Cocking his head, he could hear the Westerly winds roar in his left ear. He turned and faced the river, watching it silently move and sparkle behind a giant wall of Sycamores.

He hadn’t been home in years. On the train he had imagined himself sprinting all the way home. Instead, he stared at the river. Minutes crept by. Jack finally shook his head and came to life and laughing out loud he shambled down the sloping valley floor, squeezing past the Sycamores and the saplings. The ground cleared off as he approached the river below. Foxtail moored the shore. Moss-covered boulders lay tumbled, piled upon a sand bar near the shore.

Jack jumped onto the nearest outcrop. He hopped from one boulder to the next until finally he stopped on a massive rock sticking out six feet from the shore. He dropped his rucksack on top of the rock and sat down, crossed-legged.

Staring down at the water, he marveled at how muddy and high it seemed, more so than he had ever remembered. His eyes followed the traces of eddies and riffles flowing across smooth-buried rocks just below the water’s surface. Looking out across the other side to the west, he could see a line of Sycamore trees, some with their branches canopied over the water. Directly beyond, large bluffs stood off in the hazy blue-green distance. Jack could just make out a small town nestled in the foothills; a few half-hidden houses and a gas station. The tops of their galvanized tin roofs reflected the rising sun.

To the south, along the river’s edge, he could just see the top of a Ferris wheel from sticking up over the trees. It was an old wooden, creaky thing built at the turn of the century. But fifty years later, here it was, still upright. Jack wondered if the Midway still ran. He gazed back at the half-hidden river.

Jack’s father used to take him hunting pheasant and camping along the bluffs over on the Kansas side of the river. He remembered how his father had calmly and gently explained how the river once had been part of a deep inland ocean. He also had told him about Lewis and Clark, how they were working their way from downstream St. Louis, had decamped somewhere close by and had stumbled upon an Indian hunting party. The Indians made faces at the wanderers and were just about to attack when one of the travelers, Sacagawea, a young girl of just barely sixteen and carrying her newborn baby boy, ended the standoff when she suddenly realized that one of the braves was actually her brother, and they embraced.

He wondered about such a chance encounter in the woods and along the river before the town had ever been born. He heard a “plop” and a water moccasin in a tree branch had just dropped into the water, darting away with its head above water.

Jack heard another noise: a low vibrating sound of an engine close by. A flat-bottom Johnboat soon came from up around the bend, skirting the shore, heading for the chute in the middle of the river.

A man in glasses wearing a Khaki uniform sat upright at the till. When the boat moved directly into Jack’s line of vision, the man spotted Jack. The man clenched his jaw, and the sun glinted off his glasses. Jack put up his arm to block the flash of light. Jack rose slowly and stiffly.
The man in the boat swiftly gunned the engine, turning directly towards Jack.
Jack crossed arms and watched him approach.

The boat stopped and idled about sixty feet from the rocks. The man started yelling over the outboard motor.

“You there!” he cried out. “You there on the rocks. What are you’re doing there.”
Jack stood silent. He could see the man’s sharp cheeks, his furrowed brow and cleft chin.“Get outta’ there,” the man shouted. “You don’t belong here.”“Hell if I don’t,” Jack shot back.“This river’s rising, you dumb-ass fool. You got no business here. Now run along, boy.”“Screw you, mister, you don't own this water!”“Shut up. We’re monitoring this river, and you best move out, like right now. Now move out or else.”“Else, what?”

Jack unfolded his arms and remained standing. After about a minute, the man in the Johnboat mumbled something and spat into the river and turned away. The man then stood upright and looked straight ahead and gunned the boat upstream towards the Pony Express Bridge. He and the boat soon disappeared past the concrete pylons. “This town ain’t worth a spit,” Jack muttered to himself out loud. A mosquito whined in his ear. Jack swatted at it and the buzz went away. He hopped over the rocks and started walking back to town, shaking his head in disgust, cursing under his breath.It was trickier going uphill back to the train station. Along the way, he bushwhacked a tree branch and it swung back, scratching his face and drawing blood from his cheek. He wiped it off with a forearm, and looking at his torn sleeve, he noticed that while the cut didn’t seem deep, it bled a lot.

Jack hiked around the train station and made his way past the platform and entered Felix Street, the town’s main avenue. St. Joseph now spread out before him as he walked down the center of the street leading away from the station. He spied a solitary car far off moving away from his direction. On his left, he noticed the brick courthouse and its golden dome, planted firmly on the town’s main square. Across the street, stood a two-story county jail, with rusty iron bars on the windows up top. A big hand-painted star was embossed on the front door. Turning to the right, Jack saw the old familiar dusty, one-story worn-out brick shops, lined up like sentries on duty. It was still early and the shops weren’t open yet. He made his way up the street. Looking up towards one of the highest hills, Jack could see the twin spires of the Immaculate Conception church, each of the spires capped by a silver cross sparkling white heat in the morning sun. A slight breeze picked up, and chimes tinkled far off. The trees bent low in the breeze, heavy with new laden branches and buds. They seemed to be praying like angels as they bowed and then lifted up again, Jack thought. He remembered Easter Sunday was just a week away.

As the sun rose higher, he began to sweat. A trickle ran down his neck. He walked for nearly a mile and was deep into town when he stopped. Not wanting to draw too much attention, Jack slipped through two buildings and into a back alley that separated the shops from a line of small bungalows. He found a small patch of manicured grass with a shade tree in the center. Using his rucksack for a pillow, Jack lay down, and soon, lulled by the wind, he fell asleep.

Several hours passed. When Jack finally opened his eyes, he felt the sun directly overhead. As he rose, he noticed a man in a black suit staring at him from the back of the building where he had stopped.The man was trim, and with a shock of white hair. He was wearing black-rim glasses. The man smiled, crow's feet crinkling around his eyes.

"Hello there, young un," the man said.

Jack put his hand to his eyes to block out the sun. "Hiya, hope you don't mind me. I’was just resting here a bit."

The man came forward, and walking over to Jack he extended a hand to help him up. Jack rose, dusted himself off and picked up his rucksack.

"Hmm. I gotta say you look awfully thin and threadbare there young friend," the man said. "When's the last time you ate, son?"

"I dunno," Jack replied. "Might have been yesterday. Can’t really remember, ‘cept it may have been some hardboiled eggs at the station bar. Just got in from Chi-cargo. Spent my money on train fare to get here."

The man peered into Jack's eyes, and then slowly gazed down at Jack's feet. "Chicago, huh? Well, I bet you could use a new pair of work boots."

"Sure could," Jack said looking down, smiling back.

"Come with me, I got plenty to choose from."The man wrapped his arm about Jack's shoulders, leading him to the back of the building."My name's Poldy... Leopold Vander Roemer," the man said."I'm Jack. Actually it’s John Boudreaux, but mostly they just call me Jack."“They just call me Poldy.” Poldy walked Jack up the stairs and led him inside the building. Jack peered into a series of rooms full of arranged flowers and rows of empty chairs in each one.

"Mr. Bowman is at the Immaculate Conception," Poldy explained. "They had a wake for Mr. John R. McDaniel last night. I still got some sandwiches left, if you want some."Jack nodded his head, taking in the scenery of the wood-polished floors and the stained glass windows. Poldy led him to a room. "Wait here."

Jack did as he was told. Poldy disappeared and returned after about five minutes with a chambray shirt and a pair of workman's boots.

"Here try these on. They look like they just might be your size," Poldy said, handing the boots and the shirt to Jack.

"Geez, mister, I do appreciate this but..."

"Oh, come on, don’t fuss, I got plenty where these come from. You see, the family, they rarely wants them back. They bring in the good clothes, you know, um, for later on."Jack sat down on one of the wooden chairs lining the wall in the hallway and quickly began undoing the laces of his boots."That’s right, you try those on. I'll be right back."Poldy disappeared into one of the back rooms. Jack stripped off his shirt, threw it into his rucksack and put on the flannel shirt Poldy had given him. It was too long in the sleeves, so Jack rolled the cuffs back. The boots were a perfect match. Jack was inspecting the quality of the soles when Poldy re-entered the room.

"Here's a couple of sandwiches left over from last night’s vigil. Eat the egg salad first. The summer sausage will last a little bit longer. Here’s a cold glass of buttermilk, too. I bet you're thirstier than all get out. Go on. Go on."

Jack took the glass from Poldy and drained it. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and gave the glass back to Poldy while stuffing the summer sausage sandwich in his rucksack. He unwrapped the wax paper around the egg salad sandwich and was about to take a bite when he stopped, mouth agape.

"Say, Poldy," Jack began. "Thanks all the same. Think I'll just eat this outside seeing as I don't want to cause a mess in here being so clean and all.""Ho ho! Poldy said, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“No need to worry ‘bout that, son. No one here right now will ever care about a few breadcrumbs, believe me. But, if you gotta get, use the front door. Where you headed, anyway?"

"Home," said Jack. "Mountain Grove. I was feeling mighty puny for a while there, mister, so thanks a million."

"Don't mind at all," Poldy said, leading Jack down the hallway to the front door. Poldy opened the massive wooden double doors. The sun momentarily blinded Jack, but after a few seconds he could make out the doors and he walked out into the sunshine.

"Mr. Bowman and the McDaniels will be coming back soon, so it’s about time these doors opened up. Now you have a safe trip, son, and you take better care of yourself. Sooner or later we all wind up in a place like this, but you, you got your whole life stretched out."

Poldy winked at him and stood on the porch, smiling down at him. Jack grinned back. He started walking down the sidewalk, feeling immensely better as he munched on the egg salad sandwich. He turned part way around and waved to Poldy standing on the front porch, watching him. Poldy waved back.

Jack continued eating his sandwich and carefully folded the wax paper and put it into his shirt pocket. As he did so, his fingers brushed against something inside the shirt pocket. Jack pulled it out. He fingered two bills folded together with a paper clip, a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill. Jack laughed out loud, and quickened his steps.