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? |