Chapter 4
Death was old and death was new. It had been to many places but this land was fresh. The breath of the trees below swept up and held the wings of the dove aloft carrying it closer and closer; deeper and deeper into the land of memory. The smell of life was to its a nose a stench and the sound of the song behind it grew quiet. Down to earth death dove, looking for a place to rest.
Fred’s boots crunched the leaves beneath them as they made their way down the hill in the dark. The glow of the city illuminated the path ahead of him dimly and the scattered fires of his neighbors signaled where he was headed. His homestead was the closest to the hill and almost had the look of a true property. You could tell that the outdoor stove had been there a long time from the way it sat low into the ground. The pile of odd tools and spare parts had brown grass shooting up in between its rusty red bones, and the walking lanes between each feature had been set for some time. The cold and damp of the season could be sometimes expelled by the familiarity of this old homestead.
As his boots got closer and his footsteps changed over from the leafy ground onto his hard packed dirt paths, the sound of Geebo stirring behind the tool pile rose to signal his greeting. A deliberate walk carried a small, soft tabby cat out from his bed and up to Fred’s tired legs.
“Geebo! I bet you want some food huh?”
A meow and a paw on his boot told him, ‘Yes’.
“A huh, well, I wish you coulda gotten some of that saag paneer, I guess it didn’t have any meat so, it wouldn’t have been enjoyable, but I think you still woulda liked it.”
Fred walked slowly to a cooler that sat behind his stove and bent down to grab a can of cat food from within. He grunted and his voice became raspy as he rose and popped the can open, “Therree ya go, Geebo!” Setting the can on the ground and plopping into his camping chair was done in one motion as he settled in and let out a sigh.
He realized he had sat down too early and grunted again as he rose to make a fire. Bringing pieces of a palette over from under the bridge, he cracked them and placed them in a pile. He fished in his old pockets for a lighter and scanned his homestead for dry newspaper. Last week’s was crumpled up and matted down from Geebo’s loaf-like body behind his chair. Flick, flick, flick, the lighter gave up its flame to the newspaper. The fire started to crack and pop as he sat back down in his chair and was finally, truly, at home.
Entranced by the fire, Fred’s mind went in and out between short replays of the day and nothingness. His heart would rise and fall at each memory, wishing that he could just live the day over again, and again, and again until he was ready to go. I guess I still have some time.
The flow of the fire’s flames always put Fred to sleep and tonight was no exception despite the troubles on his mind. After about the second time that his eyelids wandered southward and were raised back up in hasty but weak protest, a pair of slow, sliding feet approached from under the bridge. Kicking at trash and crunching the leaves, Fred knew those feet belonged to Warbler.
Fred called out into the darkness to his right, “What you want, Warbler?”
“What the hell, how you always know it’s me?”
“Cause you always drag your feet like you ain’t got nowhere to be.”
“I don’t.” Warbler finally made it to the homestead and pulled a paint can under his behind and sat down.
“Bed? You don’t wanna be in bed?”
“Naw, not really, not yet I guess.” He paused and picked up a twig from the ground. “I heard from Nicko you dying. I didn’t really believe him, but he insisted, so thought I’d come see.” Warbler looked straight at Fred and didn’t move.
“Yup! Doctor told me today and took me out to dinner cause of it.” Fred leaned down and threw another piece on the fire.
“Damn, Fred. That’s uh- well, that’s uh, I guess, what uhh-” He looked down and back up at Fred, “What is it that killed ya?”
“Shit, I’m not dead yet, Warbler. Some kind of cancer thing, bladder? I don’t know, I zoned out when he was telling, and all that matters now is how long I have.”
“I told you to not eat Starla’s canned shit.”
“I don’t think it was Starla, Warb. Nicko said the same thing, but you’re not as crazy as him. Why you think it was that?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Just-” He had been bending and twirling the twig in his hands as he spoke. “Just don’t know what to say I guess.”
“I’m fine, you know me, I’m always ok. Everybody’s done it and everybody’s gotta do it.”
“What?”
“Dying.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so.”
Fred didn’t really know what to say, Warbler always loved to initiate a conversation but seemed to hate keeping it going. They both sat there, one staring at the fire, the other still playing with the twig in his hands. Geebo came over to check out Warbler’s smells but turned and walked back to his bed.
Fred wanted to go to sleep soon but also didn’t want to be rude, Warbler had taken the time to come over and visit.
“How was your day?” Fred broke the silence.
“What? Oh, it was fine.”
Fred paused, “You do anything, or eat anything good?”
“Mm, no. Just the usual.”
“What’s the usual?”
“McDonald’s and some leftovers from the dumpster behind Cass’.”
“Not bad, not bad.” Fred looked into the fire and started to lose the energy to keep asking questions. He was about to call it a night when Warbler shockingly broke his character.
“I’m glad you’re dying.”
“Huh?” The eyelids were no longer at war, “You say you’re glad?”
“Yeah, I’m glad.”
“Why’re you glad?” Fred was so very confused.
“Well, I- I guess, you know, I never had a grandfather, or well, I never knew him.” Fred did not know this. “And, uh, I’ve always felt like you were sort of a grandfather to me.”
“And you want me to die?”
“No, I don’t want you to, that’s not- I’m not- I’m just saying that I’m glad I was able to have a grandfather and experience a grandfather dying. I always felt like that would be good for me, or that it would be something I need. I don’t know. Is that fucked up? Damn no, that’s fucked up, but I mean, you know what I mean.”
Fred still didn’t know what to say, but he understood what Warbler meant. “Naw, naw, I get you, Warbler. I understand.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad I can be of service to you in some way, finally after all this time of trying to help you. You shoulda told me I was like a grandpa to ya! I always wanted a grandson anyway!” Fred laughed and smiled at Warbler.
Warbler seemed ashamed for some reason and broke the twig between his fingers. “Yeah, I think I’ll get going back to my tent, I should sleep I think.”
“Okay! Well, it was good seeing you, Warby. Stay warm!”
He turned and rose without looking at Fred and shuffled away kicking the same things he had when he arrived.
Fred clicked his tongue and shook his head as he threw one last piece on the fire. Pulling his blanket closer around him and settling deeper into the chair, his brain wandered back into the realm of the drowsy. The variation among the people that Fred knows, among the people he talked to today puzzled him. Why were they all human, why were they all functioning in some way or another, functioning enough to survive this long but they just seemed like they were missing something, or at least in the case of the doctor, just finding it. Whatever that ‘it’ was. Warbler doesn’t even know how to converse and share his feelings without saying something almost wrong. Nicko’s world is soda cans and trash food, a kind heart hidden under a soul still in survival. Fred settled on keeping the realization but leaving the discovery for a more lively, daylit mind. He scratched his leg and sniffed against the cold.
Then, for the millionth time today, Fred looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. He needed more time all of a sudden, not to just be alive and do the same things that he had always done. He needed more time to think, he was sleepy and these thoughts would die in minutes, they would lead only to sleep. He used to use these thoughts to put himself to sleep, to run his brain into paired exhaustion with his body’s.
A few cars occasionally passed over the bridge beating the nighttime heart of the city. A distant siren signaled an eventful night for someone out there. The coals of the fire hissed and spewed their smoke. The old wrinkly eyelids of the old homeless man sleeping in his camping chair lowered slowly and were still beaten back up by this defiant old man. He wanted to think, think about his father again, think about the food and watch that couple again. He was gonna get up and look at an old photo. But down again the curtains went, halfway up and down again. Another car passed by, but the whoosh had no effect this time as the eyelids won their daylong battle. Sleep joined hands with darkness and settled over the homestead, and sleep brought what sleep always brings, each thing closer to each thing's end.
