Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  "Do they have good soup? I'm sorry, I forgot your

  name, son."

  "It okay about that. Call me Sander. And the soup

  is very good. It come in a bowl make from..."

  I quickly shook my head and gave him the stop

  look, even pretended slicing my neck. The soup tureens

  look like miniature witches' cauldrons. He took the cue.

  "...I can't explain so good but I think you will like

  it," Sander said, shooting me a wink.

  "Good afternoon my guests, I want to welcome

  you," the waiter said in perfect English. "What may I start

  you with today?"

  Sander ordered up a table full of good grub and we

  settled in for a nice lunch together. She gave us some

  church blather, acted like Sander was a seat-warmer and

  totally ignored his existence, and quickly painted a

  negative picture of everyone in the family, and all of her

  friends. What they don't do, and how they do it badly, and

  how they somehow let the church down; what a pal!

  Following the very excellent food and service at the

  passive-aggressive luncheon, we were off to our beautiful

  island of Fyn, and our tiny hamlet known as Gelsted. The

  whole way we—Sander mostly—fielded her loaded

  questions. You know the kind: "Do they have

  supermarkets over here like we do at home, Johnnie?"

  "Yes, Mom. We have supermarkets, and this is my

  home," I said. "Someday I hope we'll get toilets, and if

  we're good Hitler-lovin' communists we might even get to

  see what a television looks like someday."

  "When did you become so hostile? You need Jesus."

  "Probably the day you threw out all my CD's

  because that freak at your church said they were of the

  devil. I think that was when. That, and the time I was

  twelve and I trusted you enough to tell you that I was in

  love with Cameron Daniels, and you beat me. That's when

  I got a little hostile," I said, as dispassionately as I possibly

  could.

  "That was so long ago, and I have the right to

  discipline you when you do something wrong, Johnnie,"

  she said.

  "It was ten years. Just ten years ago. And I was

  doing nothing more than being alive. I was being who I

  am, and I was just sharing that with my

  mother. And it wasn't discipline; it was a beating. The kind

  that puts kids into foster homes," I told her.

  "Do you hate me? Is that what this is all about?"

  "No. Not at all. I just wish you'd meet me halfway. I

  have an incredible job, I'm happier than I've ever been, and

  I don't feel comfortable sharing any of that with you

  because I don't trust you. And I'm scared to death that the

  twins might buy into your church crap and it'll end up

  ruining their lives too," I explained.

  "Don't worry about Benny and Maisey, they're

  doing just fine. It's you that I worry about, Johnnie."

  "There's nothing to worry about. Okay?" I said.

  "And we'll leave it at that."

  INGRID DIDN'T RECOGNIZE the phone number at first,

  but when she answered, it clicked with her that it was the

  houseline at Sander and Johnnie's.

  "Hi, it's Ingrid."

  "Ingrid, it's Torben. Can you help me, please?"

  "What's the problem?" she asked him, not

  unkindly.

  "I feel so awful. I'm a little dizzy, and my side

  hurts. I'm so tired of this," Torben said.

  "I'll see you in a little while, okay? Will you be okay

  for about an hour, Torben?"

  He told her that he would be, but she could tell by

  the catch in his voice that he wasn't doing so well. There

  are good days and bad days. This was a bad one.

  "THAT'S THE TOWN TO THE LEFT. See Mom, a real, live

  supermarket! Has a deli, and everything!" She didn't

  respond to my jab. "We'll be home in about five minutes,

  and you can meet the cats, the wolf puppies, and..."

  "Wolves? You have wolves?" she asked.

  "Yes, Mrs. Cooper. The mother have them in a den

  she make behind the house, and one of the pups get almost

  kill. But my brother find him and fix him up so the mother

  like us," Sander explained.

  "I'll say she does! You would too if you got fed

  hamburger and didn't have to go all the way to the river

  for water. I swear you spoil those dogs like nobody I

  know," I teased. "They even named them!" I told my

  mother.

  "Will they turn on you and eat you? I always heard

  wolves were mean. You'd better be careful," she said.

  "I think they're almost domesticated by now. She

  could have left with them months ago and she didn't. We

  don't bother them, and they do the same. Kind of a mutual

  respect thing," I said.

  "There's coming the house!" Sander said, pointing

  to the white, 1848-built thatched roof farmhouse that we

  bought soon after that business in Belgium. It taught us

  that every day is precious, and that we should waste no

  time getting on with our lives. The first big step was

  buying this beautiful place and starting our lives together

  inside it, with its cozy rooms and old stove fireplaces.

  "Wow, that's really nice, Johnnie. It's so beautiful. It

  must have been so expensive!" Mom exclaimed. "How

  much property is it on?"

  "The equivalent of twenty-something acres."

  "Well you're a regular landowner!" she chuckled.

  "This is really nice."

  "Thanks. We really like it a lot," I said.

  "Yeah? Who's 'we'?" she asked.

  "Me! I'm living here too! It have so much rooms

  and the like, and we both loving the nature and the pretty

  town and all. It's perfect!" Sander said. "Here, I bring your

  bag inside and you get in your room and relaxing!"

  The thing I like most when coming home is the

  fragrance emitted by the wood and varnish when you first

  walk in. And because of the thick walls, it holds the heat

  really well, so whenever you enter the place you're met

  with the ship-like smells and the inviting warmth.

  "Well look at this!" Mom said, surveying the great

  room. That fireplace is gorgeous. And the furniture! My

  Lord, did you win the lottery?"

  "No, Mrs. Cooper. We both work very hard, but

  nobody works much as Johnnie do," Sander stated with

  pride.

  "Does. Nobody works as hard as Johnnie does..." she

  corrected him. "So where are you sticking your old mom?"

  she asked. Again, Sander did his best to please her. Been

  trying it for twenty-three years, Pokey. Quit while you can!

  "Just here. It's a very nice room and the toilet is

  there and you can have your own place for clothes and

  television, too." he said, placing her overnight bag on the

  bed.

  "Thank you, I'd like a little lie-down if I can."

  "What a... Lie-down? I'm sorry I don't not sure so

  much of what you are meaning," Sander said.

  "No problem. I just want to take a nap."

  "Oh! Yes! That I know what is. Okay, shall we wake

  you for when the dinner time is ready?" he asked.

  "Su
re." she replied, giving him less consideration

  than a bellhop. After an awkward moment passed, Sander

  just left and joined me at the kitchen table.

  "So did you say the Sinner's Prayer together?" I

  teased. "You guys heading out on a missionary trip to

  convert the natives anytime soon?"

  "Johnnie Allen, there's a very special hell just for

  you, I hope you know that," he joked. "I'm beginning to see

  that you weren't exaggerating anything about her," he

  said.

  "Yeah. She's one thing I really don't joke about," I

  told him.

  "Did she really beat you? I mean, how did she do

  it? With her fists, or..."

  "She did it with a belt, and she slapped me on my

  head maybe two or three times, and my face, too. Then I

  got more when my stepdad came home," I explained.

  "No!"

  "Yes. Very much yes."

  "Because you told her you're gay?" he asked.

  "You know, I didn't even say those words. In fact,

  I didn't really know the word 'gay' yet. What happened

  was, it all started innocently enough."

  "Tell me what happened," Sander demanded. "I

  really want to know. This is just crazy!"

  "Well, she was cooking dinner and I was drawing

  pictures of submarines and ships at the table. So she asked

  me some stuff about school and then the subject turned to

  do I have a girlfriend yet."

  "So?"

  "So I told her that I didn't. Then she asked if I'd

  ever been in love before? I told her that I was in love," I

  said. "She pressed it further, real sweet and nice and

  everything, and asked if I was still in love. I told her that I

  was, and then came the atomic bomb."

  "What happened next?"

  "I told her that I was in love with Cameron Daniels.

  I knew it was over for me when she turned off the stove,

  walked over to the phone, and called Bill, my stepdad, at

  work and told him to come home," I explained.

  "Then what'd she do?" Sander asked.

  "She sat by me at the table and asked what I meant

  when I told her that I loved Cameron. So I told her. I was

  honest with her and said I loved him more than anyone,

  and that he loved me too. Then she smiled like it was okay

  and asked if me and him ever got up to anything. I didn't

  know what she meant at first, but she clarified it. She was

  basically wanting to know if we were having sex."

  "Were you?"

  "Well, we checked each other out and got boners

  together and played with 'em. I had given him maybe four

  or five blow jobs, and he'd done about the same. And he

  really liked poking me in the ass with his fingers, and we'd

  tried kissing a little bit..."

  "And you told her all this?" Sander asked.

  "Yeah. And then it all went to hell. Without any

  warning she hit me really hard on my head. One—two—

  three! And then she slapped me a couple times across the

  face and dragged me into her room. She grabbed a belt and

  she was so angry at me that she couldn't even get it folded

  right, so she just started hitting me any way she could with

  it," I said.

  "I was sitting on the end of the bed and she

  was facing me, and she would just kind of lash it out in my

  direction and it would kind of wrap around me like those

  rodeo guys do. So it landed on my back and my sides," I

  explained. "And it hurt like a motherfucker!"

  Sander got up and pulled the pitcher of spring

  water from the fridge and grabbed a couple of glasses.

  When he returned to the table I saw the tears streaming

  down his face. He softly set the glasses down and poured

  us each a glass of the cool water.

  Then the sobs began. God, how I hate to see him

  cry.

  "How can a mother do such a thing?" he asked me.

  "I don't understand."

  "Why do you think I feel like I do about her? And

  I'm serious about my worry for the twins. I mean, what if

  they just say the wrong thing to piss her off? Or decide

  that the church shit is ridiculous? I know what she's like," I

  told him.

  Sander did his best to recover quickly from the

  emotions that he felt. But I could tell he was still very

  upset.

  "I'm gonna do my best to keep my temper while

  she's here, but frankly I don't know how you're even able

  to talk to her," Sander said.

  "It's hard. It's all I can do, ya know?"

  He gave me a big hug and a kiss, then we settled

  onto the romper couch and listened to some music.

  "Hey, guys." It was Torben. He looked tired. Just

  whipped. "I heard you down here and I thought I'd see

  what you're doing. How's your mum, Johnnie?" he asked.

  "We were just talking about her. She's in Jannik's

  room, and, I don't know. She's a handful," I told him.

  "Oh. Well, anyway, you get to see her. That's

  good, right?" he said.

  "Yeah. I guess so. Are you gonna have dinner with

  us?" I asked him. "Pokey's making it. Right, yes,

  Mister Pokes?"

  "Yep. Me and my assistant chef, Brugsen!" he joked.

  Brugsen is the name of our supermarket in town.

  We planned to take it easy and just order up a bunch of

  stuff from the deli counter.

  "What do you guys want, anyway? I should

  probably go get it pretty soon so we don't have to mess

  with it later," Sander said.

  "Anything's okay with me," Torben said. My

  answer was ditto. "Wait a minute," Torben said. "I'll be

  right back."

  "How about some curry rice if they have it," I

  suggested. Sander acted like he was going to barf. "I'm just

  kidding. You know what to do." He sat on my lap and

  hugged me around the neck, laying his head across my

  chest. My favorite hug position after spooning.

  "Do you know what I like about you, Johnnie

  Bond?" Sander asked. I shrugged my shoulders and

  hugged him tighter. "Everything, that's what."

  "Even this?" I asked him, releasing a perfectly

  timed fart. It was a good one, too. All rip-roaring noisy.

  "No. Not that. But you wait. One day I will eat a

  whole can of beans and make my revenge," he laughed.

  Torben rounded the corner and entered the room.

  "Shit! What died in here?" he gasped, which

  quickly turned to laughter. "Damn!"

  "It's Sander. He's been eating hard boiled eggs and

  Mexican beans again. Pokey! Shame on you, amigo!" I

  teased.

  "I didn't fart, asshole! You did!" he protested.

  "Oh, Pokes, that wasn't a fart. It was just my insides

  blowing you a kiss!" I grinned.

  "Here, Sander, take this please," Torben said,

  handing him a thousand kroner note. That's about seventy

  bucks U.S. "I want to help with the food tonight, please. I

  won't take no."

  "Thanks, Torben," Sander said to him, pocketing

  the money. "Let me up, Fart Man, I'm getting to the store

  before I pass out!"

  "Don't be long. I don't want to be alone with you

  know who, and poor Torbe
n doesn't deserve it!" I

  kidded—well, half kidded. I really didn't want to deal with

  her on my own. Sander took off, and Torben and I moved

  to the kitchen to get the table set and the drinks figured

  out.

  "You really don't like your mum very much, do

  you?" Torben observed. "I thought I was the only one with

  the hell mum.

  "Different reasons, but, yeah, I know I feel better

  when she's not around. I don't know; I just feel judged, like

  I can never please her. Unless I become what she wants,

  which is a straight, married, boring-job, Sunday Christian

  that's left his brain somewhere else so I won't question the

  Lord," I said.

  "But you're none of those things, and you never

  will be. So I guess just play along and be nice, and she'll go

  home, and you and Sander will be married and have a

  good life," Torben explained.

  "You're right. I need to let it go. It's really my

  problem at the end of the day, not hers. Because she is who

  she is," I said. "I guess that's why so many people are

  happy with talking about the weather, or the big game.

  Stick with beige subjects, I guess, and I can't go wrong."

  "That's the best way, I think, when somebody's so

  different." Torben agreed.

  We got everything arranged, made a big pitcher of

  tea, mixed up a strawberry and mango fruit drink, and sat

  down at the table. I felt such empathy for Torben. And

  having spent all these weeks with him, I understood what

  Sander once saw in him. They were kids. Yes, he was

  massively cruel to Sander, and we all know where that led.

  But given a different situation, they would have been good

  for each other. I could only imagine the regret that this

  young man must be feeling, especially seeing and

  experiencing the life that his former lover had built.

  "May I ask you something while Sander's not here,

  Johnnie?" Torben began.

  "Sure. What is it?"

  "Do you think when whatever's going to happen,

  happens, that both of you could come and say goodbye?"

  Torben asked.

  "Like... How do you mean?"

  "I guess there'll be a funeral. Or something like

  that. And, well, could you ask Sander if he'll go when that

  day comes?"

  "Look, Torben. I know him. There'll be no way he

  won't come. Even if you two hadn't met up again, and he

  just found out the news somehow, he'd be there. And