This is my first attempt at short-story
writing. It is based on an anecdote I read in the Readers’ Digest some 60 years
ago and found again recently as a poorly written paragraph on a Christian Joke
site. It deserved better. Lying in the
hospital with nothing to do, I wrote and rewrote it in my head until I could
put it in print.
Old Bob ran
the garage at the Junction since the heyday of the Model T. The solitary gas
pump was lever-action fill and gravity drain. The garage itself consisted of a
bay with a pit, a large room with a counter and a ceiling fan, and a back-storage
room. The entire place was littered with new-and-used belts and tires and
new-and-used parts. It smelled of rubber
and oil.
The garage attracted
other elderly men and on days when it was cooler inside than out,
they sat under the fan, around an upended cable spool that doubled as a table
and was handily placed near the Coke cooler.
Their philosophical discussions were wide ranging though problems were
rarely solved.
Old Bob was
a quiet-spoken man who never had a bad word to say about anyone or anything. One day they were discussing the peccadillos of
a local politician when Old Bob said, “I think we should not judge, just be
more careful when we vote. He that is without sin among
you, let him first cast a stone”. He had a bible verse for every occasion.
On this
particular day, a shiny Studebaker driven by a man in a shiny suit ground to a
halt at the pump. Both were steaming. Shiny
Suit ran into the garage, obviously an important person with important places
to be. Old Bob was identified as the
proprietor.
“Hey, you
old coot, I don’t expect you have a fan belt for my car in this godforsaken
dump?”
Old Bob
never said a word, got up, went out and looked at the car, then disappeared
into the back room, returning with a belt that seemed to satisfy him. He went
outside to the car with Shiny Suit yelling at him to hurry up.
In 15
minutes he was back, went behind the counter and tallied up the bill. “That
will be $60,” he said. The village elders held their breath as the amount was
three times the normal price. This was not the Old Bob they knew. Shiny Suit
exploded in rage and deleted expletives, swore he would not pay it and stormed
towards the door.
“Jessie!”
Jessie, a
lifeless red pile of hide, paws and ears lying in the sun, suddenly appeared at
the door, displaying both life and teeth. Shiny Suit calculated the odds and
slapped three $20s on the counter.
Jessie collapsed back in her sunny spot and the shiny Studebaker and Shiny
Suit departed down the road. This time
only one of them was steaming.
“Well?”
said one of the village elders, wondering how Old Bob would bible-verse his way
out of this one.
“He was a
stranger, and I took him in.”
