J e r r y s p I n e L l I
12 . The Nine Hundred
Download 0.63 Mb. Pdf ko'rish
|
Loser
70
12 . The Nine Hundred Block of Willow His father parks the Clunker, and they sit in the front seat having lunch. Donald has given much thought to lunch. On an ordinary day he might have packed a peanut butter and banana sand- wich and a pack of M&M’s and a strawberry Twinkie. But that is not what a mailman would eat. So he made himself a sandwich of Lebanon baloney and cheese and lettuce and pickle chips and mustard. For dessert he chose an apple. He wanted to bring coffee in the thermos jug, but his mother would only allow decaffeinated iced tea. It’s the best lunch he’s ever had, sitting in Clunker Four with his dad, pith helmet and leather bag waiting in the backseat. He pours iced tea into the red plastic cup and pretends it’s coffee. He eats half his sandwich, two bites of the apple and a sip of iced tea. As he opens the car 71 door his father says, “Where are you going?” “Back to work,” says Donald. He can’t wait. He’s too excited to eat. “Close the door. Relax,” says his father. “You don’t just wolf down your lunch and run off. Lunchtime is not for eating. Working man needs a break.” Donald closes the door. He sits back. He folds his arms. He looks at the ceiling. He whistles. His father laughs. “Are you relaxing?” “Yep.” “Well, we don’t just relax. We talk too. We have a chat.” “What do we chat about?” “Anything we want.” Donald doesn’t have to think long. “Dad,” he says, “do you think it’s going to snow?” “Someday, sure, next winter. But not today. We got a warm day in April here.” “Oh,” says Donald. “How about rain?” Mr. Zinkoff looks at the sky. “Doesn’t look like it.” “Hail?” Donald says hopefully. “Sorry.” 72 Donald punches the seat cushion. “Phooey.” To Donald, one of the best things about being a mailman is that you have to deliver the mail in spite of snow, rain, hail and, for all he knows, tidal waves and tornadoes. In fact, it was on a day when he saw his father come home with icicles hanging from his earmuffs that he decided to become a mailman. He watched his father shake the snow and ice from himself, and he said, “Wow, Dad! Was it hard?” He has never forgotten the answer. His father picked an icicle from his hat, stuck it in his mouth like a toothpick and said, “Nah. No problem. Piece a cake.” From that day on, when he sees stormy weather out the classroom window, he thinks of his dad trudging heroically through the blizzard saying, “Piece a cake . . . piece a cake . . .” The night before, Donald went to bed fer- vently wishing for a blizzard the next day. When he awoke he ran to the window and was met by pure sunshine. He searched sky and ground for evidence of bad weather, but could not find so much as a solitary hailstone. “But you know,” says his father, “weather isn’t the only thing you have to worry about.” 73 “It’s not?” “No way. There’s biting dogs and wild cats. There’s banana peels you can slip on. There’s turtles you can trip over and break your nose. There’s rhinos.” Donald boggles. “Rhinos?” “Sure. Who says a rhino can’t escape from the zoo and show up on your mail route? Do you know of any law that says that can’t happen?” Donald couldn’t think of a single law against it. “I guess not,” he says. His father nods. “There you go. It’s a danger- ous world out there. A mailman has more than just snow and rain to deal with.” Donald beams. “Yahoo!” He looks out the window, relieved to know the world is not as safe as it appears to be. “Is lunchtime over yet, Dad?” Mr. Z consults his watch. “Almost. Just enough time to talk about the Waiting Man.” Donald stares. “Huh?” “The Waiting Man. You’ll see him in the next block, the nine hundred block. Nine twenty-four Willow. You can see him in the window behind the mailbox.” 74 Donald is intrigued. “Is he waiting for the mail?” “No, he’s waiting for his brother. I hear he’s been waiting for him for thirty-two years. His brother went away to fight in the Vietnam War and was MIA and never came back.” Donald senses a sadness somewhere in the distance. “What’s ‘MIA’?” “Missing in action. It means they’re pretty sure he was killed but they can’t find his body.” “Are you pretty sure, Dad?” His father looks out the window. He nods slowly. “I’m pretty sure.” “Isn’t the Waiting Man pretty sure?” “I guess not.” Thirty-two years. Donald cannot imagine it. Donald cannot wait more than thirty-two seconds for anything. Of course, a brother isn’t just any- thing. Thirty-two years. Would he wait that long for a brother? Would he wait that long for Polly? His father claps his hands. “Okay. Enough of this chitchat. Time to hit the trail. Let’s go! People are waiting for their mail!” Donald scrambles into the backseat. He 75 straps on the bag, plunks on his helmet and hits the sidewalk. As it turns out, no escaped rhinos are out and about this particular day. No turtles either. Not even a banana peel. But Donald does see the Waiting Man. He’s a face in the window next to the numbers white against the brick: 924. He appears to be wearing pajamas. His white hair is thick around his ears and wispy on top. He is looking up the street, in the direction that Donald came from. When Donald stands on the top step, he is close enough to reach out and touch the window. But the Waiting Man does not turn, does not seem to know Donald is there. He merely stares unblinking up the street. Donald watches the Waiting Man for much longer than he realizes. He does not move away until, in his own mind, he has waited longer than he had ever waited for anything in his life. He is at the next house before he realizes he has forgotten something. He rushes back to deliver 924 its letter. The Waiting Man is still there. Several houses later Donald hears someone behind him calling: “Mailman! Oh mailman!” 76 He turns. He has to lift his head to see out from under the brim of the pith helmet. A white-haired lady in a mint-green dress is standing on a step waving her letter. She is sur- rounded by a four-legged aluminum walker. She’s smiling at him. “Thank you, mailman!” she calls. Donald calls back, “You’re welcome!” He stands at attention and salutes her. Shortly after that comes a moment Donald has not expected. He reaches into the bag and feels nothing but leather. He takes it off and puts it on the sidewalk and peers into it. Nothing. Empty. He has delivered his one hundred letters. Many times he has imagined the start of Take Donald Zinkoff to Work Day; never has he imagined the end of it. Clunker Four grumbles at the curb. “Workday’s over,” calls his dad. “Time to go home.” Reluctantly Donald drags the bag to the car. He gets in. He does not take off the helmet. His father gives him his day’s pay. He puts it in his pocket without looking at it. He cries all the way home. Download 0.63 Mb. Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |
Ma'lumotlar bazasi mualliflik huquqi bilan himoyalangan ©fayllar.org 2024
ma'muriyatiga murojaat qiling
ma'muriyatiga murojaat qiling