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THE LAST ONE CALLED
Hot Springs Arkansas---The benches were damp
along the
promenade above Central Avenue
Wednesday. At midmorning, when their regular
occupants had not appeared, the squirrels came
in a hop along the brick walk, quizzically, to
take their morning peanuts from a stranger.
For the second day, the weather was not just
right; nothing severe, but the dampness lay
against the benches and the walks, causing the
new leaf-fall to cling.
A splendid Indian summer might have slipped
away almost overnight.
"Have you seen Fred?"
He must have been eighty, the questioner. At
a fast shuffle he had come along the walk,
sweatered, capped, and wearing black rubber
overshoes. Under one arm he had a checkerboard,
wrapped in laundry bag plastic.
We guessed we had not seen Fred.
"He's the big, tall fellow, stooped over, and
wears a cap like mine. It's sort of
our trademark."
No, we had not seen him.
The checkers player started to sit down on
the bench but changed his mind, looking up
and down the walk.
"He hasn't been feeling good - said he
might make a trip back to Minnesota. Wouldn't
you know it's a damn poor time for that?"
Down on Central the horns were honking, but
all that was invisible beneath the trees.
"If you see Fred, tell him his partner
is looking for him."
He chose the direction of Reserve Street and
headed up the long gentle incline, straying from
center but at a pace strong enough to
send fat pigeons dodging off to both sides.
Thirty yards away he sat down on a bench
in thin sunlight, resting the checkerboard
on one knee.
A young couple came by, strolling and feeding
the squirrels and pigeons. Then an old man,
walking slowly with an umbrella cane.
The checkers player stood and watched the old
man approach and when he drew even, stopped
him. There was a conversation in the middle
of the walk, the checkers player raising one
hand above his head, no doubt to show
Fred's height.
When the man with the cane started on up
the slope, Fred's partner headed back down.
"You see, I don't know his whole name.
Old Strayhorn knew but he's gone. Old Rosse
knew him, but he's gone. They would have
known how to get in touch with him."
The horns were honking and the puny sunlight
was coming and going.
"You see he didn't show up Monday and
he didn't show up yesterday. Now he's not
showing up again today."
We thought Fred might show up soon.
"No", he said, shaking his head. "I don't
think so." He headed down the hill with
his checkerboard.
We remember from ancient times standing
under a streetlight, one-handing a baseball
into the air and trying to decide - was it
really best, being the last kid called home
before dark? |
