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WHISTLING SHADE |
It was a normal Tuesday morning at Wellgood's diner but Patty didn't feel all that normal. She felt tired and a little dizzy and before she wiped down the last food-stained table she closed her eyes and leaned against it to steady herself. Two hours earlier there wasn't an open seat in the diner and Patty had flown around like a flushed bird taking orders, delivering food and filling coffees. The hungry farmers piled in the diner after their early chores and ordered large, steaming plates of eggs, bacon and pancakes. Some swapped a word or two with their neighbor about the weather and the upcoming Sexytennial, others just shoveled the food into their mouths and left money on the counter before heading out for the day's work.
Patty managed the morning rush with a honed expertise. True, by most standards they were fairly slow, but only she and Oliver ran the place, and Oliver wasn't exactly the quickest cook in cowtown. It'd take him ten minutes to fry an egg, and even then it might not be fully cooked. "Turn up the damn griddle!" Patty yelled when they hit a backlog of orders, but Oliver would just wave his spatula and she would continue filling coffees and distracting the customers. Patty knew how to keep the diner crowd entertained. Anyone could hand out plates of food or fill a mug of coffee, but it took a certain skill to banter with the customer and make him feel like he had not been waiting twenty minutes for his order of toast. The service might not be as prompt as the Cracker Barrel in town, but Wellgood's devotees were not fazed by having to sit around a few extra minutes and swap gossip with their neighbors. It was as much a part of the meal as the flavor of Oliver's grease.
The last members of the Dead Pecker club had just shuffled out of Wellgood's. The main news item of the day was Artie's haircut, because he went to SuperCut in Bismarck instead of the usual Morris cut. At first Artie refused to take off his hat, claiming that SuperCut had "mangled" him, and it took the rest of the club nearly an hour to convince Artie to show them what happened. When he finally did, the old men laughed so much that Artie stomped out of the diner fifteen minutes earlier than usual.
Now the only souls left in the diner were Old Man Swelt and Goran, Patty's two favorite customers. These two composed the regular late-morning crowd at Wellgood's. Each had his own seat at opposite ends of the counter and they never, ever talked. It wasn't that they didn't like each other, or were unfriendly people, but Swelt couldn't really see or hear anymore and Goran was a mute. Otherwise they would probably have been great friends.
Swelt and Goran were two very different peas in the same pod. With Swelt, Patty made small talk about the weather, his grandson Bobby, and his hat. Swelt only had three hats, which went through a semi-annual rotation, and every time he came in the diner with a new hat it was an event to talk about. Patty knew that Swelt couldn't hear much any more, so she would bring her face in his line of vision and speak loudly, sometimes making hand motions as well. Swelt probably just liked to see a 'young miss' like herself pay attention to him. Then again, Patty wasn't sure how well he could see either, considering the way his eyebrows and cheekbones seemed to be on familiar tactile terms with each other. His glasses did as much holding his face flesh apart as they did sharpening his vision.
Whenever Swelt tried to say something to Patty, no matter how close she put her ear to his mouth, it mostly sounded like: "mmmm mmm mmm an' a mmm mmm mmm." Patty would say, "Is that so?" or, "How about that?" and give a slight laugh which would turn up the corners of his mouth into a lumpy smile. In the ten years that Patty had worked at Wellgood's there had been little to no change in the man, or his habits, except he seemed to be getting slightly smaller and more hunched over. But Swelt came to Wellgood's almost every morning and was the sole reason the diner stocked pecan ice cream. No one else ordered it except Swelt; his breakfast was a cup of coffee with three sugars and a bowl of pecan ice cream topped with a small tower of whipped cream.
Five stools away from Swelt sat Goran. Goran was an odd character, even by Bunson's high standards for that sort of distinction. One day he showed up in town driving a 1972 Cotner/Bevington Oldsmobile Ambulance and wouldn't say a word. Most people agreed that he was a nice guy, nodding and smiling to answer all questions, but no one knew what to think of this mysterious mute ambulance driver. Soon it was found out that Miss Marta was his aunt. She was an old, solitary lady of failing health and Goran had come from one of the Scandinavian countries, no one was quite sure which, to help her out. He had flown to the east coast, somehow bought the ambulance, and drove it across the country to Bunson, North Dakota. Miss Marta died a few years later and for reasons unknown Goran stuck around. No one knew exactly how he made his living. He never worked for any of the farmers or went to Bismarck for a job, so many rumors flew around, with the most prevalent being that he crafted intricate wooden toys and sold them on the internet. The other rumor that he was filthy rich, but if that was true, no one could come up with a good reason why he would stay in this little town of Bunson.
As time passed Goran unofficially became Bunson's ambulance driver. The C/B Oldsmobile still drove well and even the lights and siren worked. With the nearest certified ambulances being in Fairview and Bismarck, both an hour away, Goran's instant appearances at the scenes of accidents came in handy. Eventually he became a certified EMT and the town of Bunson bought him a modest supply of first-aid equipment so he could become Bunson's official ambulance driver. Everyone in town knew Goran's phone number by heart. On the phone the local citizens would quickly tell him where to go and ask him to punch one button if he understood and two if he didn't.
While it had been agreed upon that Goran could understand English, the big debate in Bunson revolved around his ability to speak. Someone had claimed they had once seen him talking with his aunt, but no one in Bunson had heard his voice. That's what Patty liked about him; he was a quiet man, not someone who wanted to shout out and tell everyone what he had found. Goran minded his own business. He didn't seem bothered when Patty talked to him, as far as she could tell, and that was another thing she liked. She could unload her worries or talk through her problems without having to be concerned about any rumors spreading. It had the same therapeutic effect to her as throwing a tennis ball against a brick wall.
Patty stood up straight and put all her weight on her feet. Putting her hands on her hips, she leaned backwards to stretch her back. Then she wiped down the last table and returned behind the counter to fetch the coffee pot.
"More coffee, Mr. Swelt?" She shouted. He looked up and pushed his mug forward, even though it was only missing a couple of sips. She topped him off with about two thimbles of liquid. "There you go, hon." Swelt smiled at her and mumbled something. He had eaten about half of his ice cream. Swelt usually alternated scoops of pecan with sips of coffee, and by the end the ice cream had melted and he slurped both liquids with equal relish.
Patty walked down the counter to where Goran was sitting next to a half-consumed plate of ham and eggs. In front of him was his sketch book and he leaned over it, scratching with a pencil and pausing every once in a while to take another bite of food or a sip of coffee. This morning he was sketching a salt shaker. Yesterday it was a pile of pancakes. In all the meals he had eaten here, Goran had probably sketched everything in the diner. Except for people—Goran never drew people. Patty had always half-hoped that she would see herself among the pages of forks and coffee-stained mugs, but she never did. He only drew objects and food.
"Doin' alright, Goran?" Goran looked at her and nodded before returning his attention to the drawing. She filled his mug and placed the pot on the warming plate. Then she leaned against the back counter and wiped her hands on a damp cloth.
"Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday," Patty sighed. "Another day and then I'm off. I guess you could say it's my Thursday today. And I only have another..." she looked at the clock on the wall, "three hours here, so I guess it's almost my Friday. Then the weekend. Think I'm going to take the kids out to Bismarck on Thursday... or Friday. Maybe go see a movie or go surprise their poppa at work... take him out to lunch. He'd like that. Supposed to be nice weather too..." Goran glanced at her with his blue eyes, but then returned to his sketch. Patty used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her brow and face. "Been feeling these spells, these... dizzy spells all morning, not sure why. Hope I'm not getting sick. That would mean I can't take the kids anywhere and I'll spend the weekend home in bed. Maybe I should drink some tea or..." Patty bent over to find the tea bags below the counter. They weren't in their normal spot so she stuck her head inside the counter and was rummaging around when she heard a loud ragged cough. It surprised her so much that she jolted and banged the back of her head against the wood.
"Ow...SHIT!... ow." Patty rubbed the back of her head to erase the pain but she still heard the coughing and she realized it was coming from Swelt. It sounded like a report from a small-caliber gun and it was the loudest noise she had ever heard come out of the old man. He was doubled over on his stool, facing to the side with one elbow on the counter and the other hand in a fist covering his mouth.
"Swelt! Swelt!!" The pain disappeared in her head and Patty ran around the counter to him. "Are you OK? Are you OK?" She slapped him on the back a few times and could feel his ribs buckle. Swelt stopped coughing and took a few wheezing, ragged breaths. "You need some water... here." Patty found a glass and filled it up from the tap. Swelt took it with a shaking hand and brought it to his lips. Goran was standing up and looking concerned. Swelt's wheezing had calmed down and he soon began breathing in a normal rhythm. He drank half the glass water and then put it down.
"Swelt, are you OK?" she spoke loudly. Swelt nodded his head and mumbled something. "Do you need me or Goran to drive you home?" Swelt shook his head and mumbled something. Then he picked up his spoon from the counter and scooped some pecan cream liquid in his mouth. "OK, well, Bobby will be here soon enough. Do you need... anything?" Swelt's spoon had left a small spatter of cream on the counter, so Patty found a damp cloth and wiped it clean. Once the old man looked composed and was eating his ice cream again, Patty returned to her spot by Goran.
"Jeez, that was a little scary. Old Swelt is getting to be... old." Goran nodded and sat down, returning to his sketch of the salt shaker. Patty let the silence rest between them. The quiet in the cooking corner indicated that Oliver had finished cleaning the griddle and had gone out back to smoke a cigarette. He had missed the whole scene. Patty kept glancing at Swelt, who seemed fine now, and he continued to consume his coffee-ice cream duet.
"That old guy sure likes his ice cream. You know, between you and me, Goran, he spends something like seventy bucks a month here on ice cream alone. He could probably eat at home for half that. But I guess he likes the place and he likes being around people. If he didn't come out here, why, I guess we'd never see him. Sure is nice that Bobby takes the time to drive him here every morning... but I guess for him that means a few more moments away from Mr. Woodsby. I wouldn't want that man for a boss either, what a sourpuss. Tsk tsk tsk." She clucked her tongue.
Patty found the cloth again and started wiping the counter between the two men. It was already clean, but she wiped it anyway. She stopped mid-wipe and opened her mouth to say something to Goran, but was interrupted by another attack of loud coughing. It was Swelt again and this time the reports sounded a little more frantic. She dropped the damp cloth on the floor and ran to the spasming old man, feeling the blood rush up to her face and head. She reached across the counter and banged him on the back again. It did not seem to help and he kept coughing and choking, unable to drink the water she held out to him. Goran was there too, kneeling down in front of Swelt and looking up at his wracked face. Patty straightened up and looked around; her head was whirring from the excitement and spots danced across her vision.
"Oh, I'll get Oliver... or, and give... give him some of that... Goran... I'll call... I'll just... I, oh..." The words didn't make any sense. She felt far away from her mouth and eyes, as if she had taken a few steps back inside her head and she was no longer in control. She moved towards the kitchen area and felt the room start to spin away from her. Patty grabbed the counter with one hand and steadied herself against the wave of heat and nausea, but then the steadying hand made no difference. The muscles lost power, the floor dropped away and Patty crashed down into an overpowering cloudy whiteness. The last she saw was herself flopping onto the floor, but she did not feel a thing.
*
The feeling was unreal. A buzzing coursed through Patty's veins as if they were packed with agitated centipedes, all emanating from her core and traveling in waves through her arms and legs. It didn't exactly feel bad, but it frightened her a little and she didn't know when they would stop. Then it became a sickly mess in her stomach, and she became aware of the faded smell of Lysol. Only when these sensations appeared did she realize that her senses had been gone, perhaps for some time. When enough pieces of her consciousness connected, her neurons fired with a small click and Patty realized she couldn't open her eyelids. They refused all commands and remained shut. But she could hear a flurry of activity around her. Some voices were filled with grave tones and others punctuated with sobs. One voice she recognized as Doc Crumbpacker and another was Officer Wiley. She could feel the hard tile floor beneath her. What had happened? How long had she been out? Couldn't have been more than, well, who knows? A minute? Then came a blink and her eyes opened to a blurry ceiling—white and stained from the years of greasy smoke. Patty took a breath and when the hot, stale air hit her lungs all the sensations inside her compounded like she had burst out of a deep well into a summer's day.
"Air, she coughed, "I need..." more coughing, "I need some fresh air." Patty gasped and sat up. Her head swam with sight and sounds, melding and mashing together into a confused sensory stew. Sitting did not help so she pulled herself up by the counter into a stooped position. The nearby hands and voices tried to stop her; to tell her to lie down and rest for a moment but she needed to get outside. "No, no... I'm need... air, I'm," she coughed again, "fine, I must have fainted because of..." She stopped, "because of... Swelt?" Her head shot up and her eyes focused enough to catch a glimpse of Wiley and Goran carrying a stretcher out the door. There was a white sheet over the stretcher and everyone had quieted down to watch them leave.
"Oh!... Oh, no! Swelt!" Patty cried. Her insides wilted and the air became even harder to breath. She pushed aside the people standing near her and stumbled through the kitchen and out the back door. In the back lot Patty collapsed on Oliver's crate, hot tears running down her face and into her palms.
"Poor... poor old fella," she snuffled, the mucous catching in her nose. But through her rattled breaths, the cool air came into her lungs and she started feeling much better. The dizziness faded and she was able to think again. Sitting on the milk crate, she looked at the yard that lay between the diner and the row of houses on the next street. The grass was still a fresh summer green and the lawns looked well-maintained. The apples on Frank's tree were the size of baseballs and in a couple of weeks they would be ready to put into a pie or a cobbler. Perhaps she would ask Frank later if she could take some of his apples and make him a pie. He would probably be in for lunch, but after the tragedy this morning should the diner even stay open? Patty didn't care about the diner or lunch this afternoon. All she wanted to do was help bring Swelt to the hospital.
Patty stood up. The dizziness had not quite disappeared, and she had to grab another stack of milk crates when her vision darkened at the corners. After a few breaths the spell passed and Patty circled around the diner to the street. A dozen people silently stood on the sidewalk watching the ambulance. Women wiped their eyes with hankies and the men held their hats in hand. The stretcher had been loaded into the ambulance and Wiley and Goran were talking next to the vehicle. The door to the passenger side was ajar and Patty walked straight to it and climbed in. In a few moments Goran sat down in the driver's seat and Wiley came around to the passenger side to look at both of them through the open door.
"I'm sorry this had to happen. It's been a sad spell for Bunson these days, lots of people it seems..." Wiley trailed off for a moment, looking towards the diner, "but it's kept you busy though, right Goran?" Goran nodded his head. "Should start paying you overtime for all these bodies, har, har." Wiley closed the door and banged the roof of the ambulance, thump thump. Goran started the vehicle and the old 1970's engine thrummed to life. He pulled onto the street and stopped at the red light. No other vehicles were in sight. Goran took a left through the intersection, bumped over the train tracks, and brought the ambulance to cruising speed as they passed the sign that read "Bismarck 52".
They rode together in silence. Goran rolled up his window and Patty could only hear the warm hum of the vehicle as she watched the familiar landscape roll by. Those not from the area might find the scenery mundane, but to her the details fit a precise and known pattern. She had been on this road so many times that she knew who owned each field, the current status of their crops, how their houses and lawns were kept up, or if there was a new car in the driveway. The familiarity was heightened early in the journey, but as they progressed towards the city the houses and the details of the lives within became less familiar. As she waited for the next house to evaluate, Patty watched the land roll away to depths far behind her sight. Words organized themselves inside her, and they soon began to flow out of her mouth.
"Gosh, I haven't fainted like that in... who knows how long. It's been a while. Not since I've had the kids, I know that."
She paused, thinking.
"Poor Swelt. I'm sure gonna miss him a lot, you know, Goran?" Goran glanced at her and brought his eyes back to the road. "He was such a sweet old man... though you couldn't get a word he was saying, you could see it in his face. That's where it counts—the twinkle in his eyes and the way he smiled."
Patty looked out the window for some minutes then picked up the thread. "I think he was the oldest man in Bunson, wasn't he? I've only been here what... fifteen years, now. Jeez, has it really? That was... hmm. Yep, it's been fifteen. Time flies, doesn't it? Well, he basically was the same, just like that, the whole time I've been here. I heard he was a bit of a rabble-rouser back in his young days though. You hear that story about the time he fought that stranger who called Bunson a... what was it? a... 'good-for-nothing something something burg'? Or was that the other time when Lloyd... I can't remember, but Swelt fought that guy for insulting Bunson, he cared for it that much. I think he spent his whole life here... a long time..."
*pause*
"Life is so... it's so funny that way. Just like that, one morning you are enjoying your ice cream like every other day and then you're dead, off somewhere and all's left is your body. They bring it to the hospital, fill it up with liquids, then bury you in the ground and that's it. Maybe someone will come an' remember you, but," she sniffed, "you won't remember anymore... oh look at me getting all philosophical and such..." she sniffed again, "and crying too, look at me."
*pause*
"I guess we'll stop buying the pecan ice cream. What are we going to do with the rest of it? No one eats the stuff."
*pause*
"Do you believe in ghosts, Goran? I do... sometimes, I guess. I hope... well, I don't know. Do you think... do you think that Swelt's ghost... I mean he did die there in Wellgood's, so... could his ghost stay there? I'm not sure I like that, I hope he just stays dead. It would creep me out if I heard Swelt's mumbling all the time. Maybe I'll put out a bowl of the ice cream for him every once and a while, just in case."
*pause*
"Goran, I haven't told this to anyone in... twenty years but I'll tell you. I... thought I saw a ghost once. Down at my house in Fairview when I was a little girl. I went out to the barn one night, back behind the house. I had forgotten my shoes in there and needed to clean them or something. I was about to shove open the door—it was a sliding one and heavy, it took all my strength just to move it, and... something made me stop. The door wasn't closed all the way and I looked through the crack and I saw an old man. The light was still on, mind you, and he wasn't all shimmery and didn't look like Casper, so it could have been a real old man but something… something about him wasn't real. He was just sitting there on a crate, looking down at the ground. I didn't go in, no, I didn't even breathe cuz I was scared I might make a noise. But he sat still and I watched him for a long time, or what seemed like a long time. Then suddenly he looked up at me and I screamed and ran. I told my poppa and he came out with the shotgun, but when he opened the door there was no one inside. He checked all the stalls and the pile of hay in the corner. The back door was closed and locked—no way for him to get out. I found my shoes and poppa turned off the light and locked it up. I felt a little silly, but I never went to the barn by myself at night again. That's a silly story. Sorry for talking your ear off, but you don't mind, do you? You're such a good listener, and one of the only people I can talk to. Gosh, I haven't thought of that story in years."
*pause*
"My little girls, they've grown up so much. Shaila, she's fourteen now and Bernice is eleven. I guess that's about how old I was when I saw that ghost. I can't believe it, it seemed just like yesterday that they were in diapers. Now Shaila wants to go out on dates! Can you believe that? I say, dates to where, Toolie's store? My little girl! I can't imagine them ever being as old as Swelt was, I mean, and what will the world be like then? To tell you to truth, I can't imagine myself ever getting as old as Swelt. All that he has seen over his lifetime and all that he's done, too. The way life is so crazy these days with the TV and cell phones and the internet. Couldn't have imagined it back when he was a kid. It's... amazing, isn't it?"
*pause*
"Goran, do you ever mind riding with the dead bodies?" Patty turned and looked through the back door at the sheet covering Swelt's body. "I mean, someone's gotta do it, and Bunson thanks you for doing your job, but dead bodies like that creep me out. I don't think I would want to do this, I mean, all of the time."
*pause*
"You know, I think I am going to go to church this Sunday. I can't go to the morning one, 'cause of work, but maybe I'll go to the six o'clock over at the Apple. It will be good for me, I'll see if I can drag Dave and the kids too but that probably won't happen with Sunday night football and all. But maybe it will be my new thing, my Sunday night football, go and see what the new Father has to say. Probably haven't been to church... I mean regular church, not Christmas or Easter, but I probably haven't been to that kind of church in about as long as I haven't fainted. It's funny something like this will make you want to go to church."
They were approaching the outskirts of Bismarck. Patty had poured all the words out of her, and was feeling much better. The farms disappeared and were replaced by suburban houses waiting for their residents to return from the day's work. Patty saw groups of town kids playing in yards or riding bikes as they tried to squeeze in the most fun they could before the school buses came in a week. As they passed St. Mary's College the traffic began to increase and Goran slowed down. He did not put on his sirens or lights, but drove among the other cars heading towards the city's center. He slowed for a yellow light that he could have made and stopped at the red, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Patty looked out her window at the Tesoro station on the corner.
"Gas prices are high," Patty said.
When the light turned green, Goran eased the ambulance forward. As he gained speed he glanced at Patty. Patty looked back at him and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Then Goran did something astounding; he began to sing.
Patty's jaw dropped when she heard the sound come from this silent man. His voice was delicate, high-pitched and the words spun through his vocal chords as if they were dipped in honey before they painted the space inside the ambulance. The song was in a different language, Norwegian probably, and Patty could not understand what he was saying, but before the first verse was through she had tears streaming down her face. She would never have guessed Goran's voice would have sounded so beautiful. Why didn't he share this with the world? Patty watched his face as he sang; the way his cheeks moved in and out and the way his mouth and tongue combined in seemingly torturous ways to create the watery Scandinavian words. An ambulance driver, an artist and now a singer? Patty at once realized she knew nothing about this man.
It was a sad song, Patty could tell that, but she soon decided that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. When he finished, he cleared his throat and Patty was not sure if she should applaud or what. They were nearing St. Alexius Medical Center and Patty wanted the ride to keep going, to hear that song again, to hold this perfect moment in her fingertips.
"Goran, that was so... so beautiful, I had no idea that you could sing like that and I just..." Patty paused. Goran spun the wheel and drove up the paved incline towards the emergency room entrance. When he turned into the unloading area, Patty saw a group of figures standing outside the door. The first person she recognized was Officer Wiley, who had his hat in his hand and was looking official in his uniform. The next person she recognized was... Dave. Dave, her husband. He was standing next to Wiley with his arms at his side, his fists clenched and a devastated look on his face.
"Why that's funny, why is Dave..." She froze on that word. Next to Dave stood young Bobby and next to Bobby stood... Old Man Swelt. He leaned on his cane, his flat-brimmed hat still resting on the top of his head and his jean jacket on over his flannel shirt, even though it was a warm day in August. But Swelt was standing there and he was alive, he was alive, he was...
Patty whipped her head around and looked at Goran. Then she looked over her shoulder at the sheet-covered body in the back of the ambulance. Then she turned back to Goran, the strange feeling of terror gushing up and covering the lining of her throat.
"Goran? Goran! Can you hear me?" Goran looked in the driver's side mirror and sniffed. "Say something! Oh, Lord... no, please, no not yet, Goran SAY SOMETHING TO ME!"