by Steven Hunt
On the opposite edge of the field he spotted an old, dilapidated shack decorated with only a single strand of haphazardly-strung, multi-colored Christmas lights around the front door. They blinked without any sequence or order that he could tell. A mishmash of color. Not much larger than a tool shed, the flimsy house remained upright not because of master carpentry, but by a few strategically placed nails and screws. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.” He smiled at the childhood memory. Why he had thought of the line of his favorite children’s book he didn’t know, but it felt good to smile again—even at something as insignificant and silly as a child’s story. For all the bad that had been cast on him, he needed that smile.
Three hundred or so yards from the shack lay the edge of a small town. It could have been the edge of a larger city, but from where he stood he could only see fifteen buildings. Some of the buildings appeared more modern than others and all but one or two had a fresh coat of paint.
Rectangle-shaped Christmas banners were mounted on the few light poles lining the asphalt street. Even though he stood too far from the banners to read the slogan or message, he could make out the shapes of green Christmas trees, red Santas, and gold rings adorning the triangle shaped pennants. He guessed that the banners said something like Happy Holidays since the government had taken Christ out of Christmas and dissuaded cities and states from endorsing messages like Merry Christmas for fear of offending anyone.
He sighed as he walked through the pasture, stepping on the brown, ankle-high weeds while avoiding the crunchy snow sections. A moan escaped his throat as a frigid wetness soaked through his socks—socks already moist from the lengthy hike.
As he neared the shack, Teddy saw that the small house was in worse shape than he’d suspected. Not having seen a paint brush in many years, the sun and wind had stripped the walls almost to its bare wood. Patches of wood rot had eaten away the lower section of most of the boards along the walls and doors. The windows—on the front of the house—were covered in a filthy, brown film, keeping anyone from seeing in or out.
A rickety picket fence that once had been painted white circled the yard. Sections of the fence had been knocked down—or fallen down from the lack of maintenance—granting parole to the roaming weeds and shrubs that once had been imprisoned inside the small lawn. Old tires, a rusted washing machine, a sun-bleached tricycle, and mounds of countless bottles and aluminum cans were scattered about the area.
Teddy skirted around a pile of discarded trash to the makeshift, plywood front door. Its two sheets of warped wood had split, forming a protruding bow down the middle of the door.
This couldn’t be the house. It wasn’t even fit for a stray dog to live in. How could anyone living in such poor conditions be capable of teaching anything? Especially an important lesson vital to Teddy’s future?
He’d decided to walk away and not waste his time when the feeble door creaked open and an elderly man with sun-darkened skin emerged. “Thin as a rail” as his grandmother used to say, the man’s legs bowed like he’d spent most of his life on horseback. His shoulders slumped as he bent forward at his waist, forcing the old man to depend on a crooked tree branch as a cane to keep him from pitching face-first into the dirt. His dark skin contrasted with his full head of cotton, making the latter appear more brilliant and vivid. His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled a wide, toothless grin.
“Welcome! I’ve been ‘spectin’ you.” The man’s calloused hand bit into Teddy’s injured palm as they shook. Tough as stone and twice as thick as normal, the old man’s hands were as hard as an anvil.
“Name’s Ezekiel Laer. But you can call me Ezi.” He pronounced it ‘easy.’ “C’mon in, young feller.” Ezi had a strong Southern accent more fitting a person from Georgia in the 1860s than eastern Missouri—a Rhett Butler-esque thick drawl.
Ezi waved his hooked right hand—probably the result of rheumatoid arthritis, thought Teddy—in a whirlwind motion while holding open the crooked door.
Lit only by sunbeams brave enough to breach the deep layer of dirt on the windows, the interior of the small house looked dark and bleak. An old, yellow sofa—which had seen better days and a brighter color—had been shoved against the wall next to the front door and under one of the dirt encrusted windows. A green recliner that tilted back and to one side—obviously Ezi’s favorite place to sit—sat in the middle of the room in front of an ancient console television with volume and channel knobs. Two handmade, wooden tables completed the furnishings in the tiny living room. Beige—or what used to be beige—carpet covered the floor, matching the dingy paint on the walls. A sad little Christmas tree, absent the presents, sat alone in a corner.
Ezi hobbled into the room, snatching up an unfolded newspaper from the sofa. He folded the paper before placing it neatly on the corner of one of the tables.
“Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” Ezi motioned to a space on the sofa with his branch-cane as he dropped onto the recliner. The chair tilted at such a dangerous angle Teddy thought it might topple, but it righted itself at the last possible moment.
“Oh, my goulash! Where is my manners? I done forgot to ask if you wanted a cup o’ tea.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Teddy said as he surveyed the sofa. He preferred to sit somewhere else—somewhere cleaner—but he didn’t want to offend Ezi. Annoying his new teacher seconds after they’d met would plant the feet of their relationship on shaky ground. To be honest, he didn’t even want to be in this squalor of a shack Ezi called home. But the old man was trying his best to be hospitable. As Teddy sat on the sofa a loose spring poked him in the rear.
Not knowing what to do, Teddy added, “My name’s Teddy Whitaker.”
Ezi waved his comment off. “Makes no never mind, no how. I’m bad with names, so I’ll call you ‘son’ most of the time.” Ezi looked at Teddy over spectacles whose cleanliness matched those of the windows. “If that’s all right with you?”
“Yes, sir, that’ll be fine.”
“Don’t go sir-ing me now, son. Name’s Ezi. That’s what I ‘spect you to call me. People been callin’ me Ezi all my life and I ain’t about to start goin’ by some other name now.”
“Yes, sir…um, Ezi.”
With his crooked index finger, Ezi pushed his glasses up, holding them in place while looking hard at Teddy. “So you the one, ain’t you?”
“The one?”
“The one I’ve been ‘spectin’, I reckon.”
“I guess I am. How did you know I’d be coming? Did Christy tell you?” If Ezi knew Christy maybe he’d divulge some information about her. Like who—or what—she was.
Ezi shook his head. “Don’t know no Christy. Christopher’s the one that told me you were comin’.”
“Christopher?”
“That’s right. Christopher. Fine young, black man that comes ‘round now and again.” Ezi chuckled. “Well, he used to be young when he first started stoppin’ by. Now I reckon he’s close to fifty years old. I wonder if he still prefers that pink and white checked shirt he always fancied.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know any Christopher.” Teddy’s voice dropped. How was he to find out more about his Good Samaritan if no one claimed to know her? Surely at least one of the teachers he’d meet knew her. With something as logistically complicated as arranging these lessons she’d have to have contacts.
Maybe he was looking in the wrong direction. Too many plans had been enacted for these lessons to be considered spontaneous. Could it be that Christy just marshaled the plan crafted by her father? In addition to being the patriarch behind the proverbial curtain, could he be the principal of this school of redemption?
Wait! Did Ezi say Christopher wore a pink and white shirt? Like Christy’s dress? It couldn’t be a coincidence. What were the chances of his Christy and Ezi’s Christopher favoring the same colors? He’d have to pay closer attention to Ezi’s words. That one had almost slipped by.
Ezi waved his hand. “Makes no
never mind, no how. His bein’ here or not don’t affect what we’re here to do, no how.”
“What are we here to do?”
“Didn’t they tell you nothin’, son? We here to learn you how to be a better man—a better person—and to scare that ole darkness away from you.”
“Sounds good since this…um, darkness has been harassing me for months now. So, when do we start?”
“We’ve done started.”
They hadn’t done anything but sit in this small living room and talk, thought Teddy. Ezi hadn’t said anything important—other than that brief mention of Christopher’s preferred color choice. “Well, how long will it take to teach what I need to know?”
Ezi rocked the old chair, causing the recliner to screech an ear-popping, high-pitched, metal-on-metal sound every time the rocker came forward or went back. The tiny hairs on Teddy’s arms stood up as if Ezi’s fingernails had scratched a chalkboard. “The best way’s not to worry ‘bout time. Let time worry ‘bout itself.” Ezi rocked back and forth in rapid succession, as if trying to propel himself from the chair. “I reckon I’d better get supper goin’. Is meatloaf OK with you?”
****
After a meal of meatloaf—that had to be with some type of meat other than beef—brown beans, and hard, dried bread, and after the dishes—or the metal pans that had been used as plates—had been washed and replaced in a door-less cupboard, Ezi said, “I know, son, what you is goin’ through. Terrible, just terrible.” Ezi shook his head as he eased into one of the two plastic chairs positioned on opposite sides of the kitchen table. “Christopher told me. Plus–” he winked. “—I’ve been there, too.” He sipped water from a chipped cup. “My heart’s full o’ ache for you.
“But we can’t let a small thing like this keep you from your loved ones, now can we? Nosiree, we can’t! I plan to get you on your two feet and back to your wife and child before you know it.”
The table rocked as Ezi leaned on it. “But, listen to me, son, and listen good.” Ezi’s brown eyes bore into Teddy’s. “You have to listen to your Christy and do everthin’ she says. Understand? I know that to a man in your situation her words can seem somewhat crazy. But she knows what she’s doing.”
Teddy nodded.
“Good, good. It’ll be a full day tomorrow so you better get some rest. You can sleep on that old couch.” He pointed his branch-cane to the yellow sofa.
Teddy glanced at the couch, grimacing. He didn’t want to think about all the different bugs and rodents that called the sofa home. “Go to bed now? It’s only six o’clock in the evening.”
Ezi nodded. “Son, there’s not much to do out here, but work. So when you get the chance to rest, you best take it and be thankful for it. See you in the forenoon.”
Standing must have been hard for Ezi, because his face distorted and he groaned as he fought to stand. Without another word, he ambled toward the back of the house. A door slammed and Teddy knew he was alone with only his thoughts for company. Not a good thing, considering how the fog kept his mind prisoner.
It would be a long night.
14
The noise of Ezi rummaging through the small kitchen, banging pots and pans, woke Teddy. A strong aroma of bacon and coffee wafted throughout the tiny shanty.
Twisted like a pretzel for having slept on the too small sofa, Teddy inhaled the pleasing fragrance, allowing the smells to shake the scales of a fitful sleep from his mind. Rolling off the couch, he stretched his limbs as hunger pangs assaulted his stomach. When the aches of sleeping like a human-sized hamster subsided, Teddy stumbled into the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said as he fell into a chair.
“Well, there you are.” Ezi said turning from the small gas stove. “I was beginnin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to dowse you with cold water.” He chuckled.
“What do you mean?” Teddy asked, looking at his watch. “It’s only five o’clock. Even the roosters aren’t yet awake.”
“Yep, I know. We’re gettin’ a late start. But I reckon you needed the rest.”
Teddy shook his head.
Ezi placed a mug of steaming coffee on the table in front of him. “Do you take it black or candied up with milk and sugar?”
“Black’s fine.”
“Good. I ain’t never seen a man who candied up his coffee do a fair day of work.”
Teddy blew on the coffee, but stopped short of taking a sip. “Work? I thought you were going to teach me what I needed to know.”
“The Good Book says that if a man don’t work, he shall not eat.” Ezi placed a dented plate loaded with bacon and stale bread in front of him. “Since I’m feedin’ you, I ‘spect some work outta you.”
“What kind of work?”
“Just eat your breakfast, son. I’ll show you after you’ve finished.”
After downing two cups of coffee and emptying his plate, Teddy followed Ezi into the living room. As Ezi stepped inside, he stopped. Teddy watched with a smile as his teacher slowly inspected the room. The old newspapers covering the floor were gone, the carpet swept, the furniture dusted and straightened, and several layers of dust had been beaten out of the sofa’s cushions. More colorful and a lot cleaner, the area took on an appearance unlike the one Teddy saw yesterday. Teddy had even transferred the gloomy Christmas tree from the corner to a small table and had propped it up where it stood as the center of attention.
“You do this?”
Teddy nodded. “I wasn’t sleepy when you went to bed so…yeah.”
“I’ve been meaning to get around to cleanin’ it myself, but this old body just can’t handle all the stoopin’ and bendin’ anymore.”
Ezi turned to him. “You’ve helped your neighbor and that’s a good thing. Truthfully, I harbored serious doubts whether you were worthy of this gift of learnin’, but I’ve changed my mind. Thank you.” Ezi slapped Teddy’s shoulder. “This is a good start.”
Teddy didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying that the reason he cleaned had been a selfish one—he didn’t want to sleep on a grungy couch.
“Here, son, take these.” Ezi shoved a closed fist toward Teddy. Once Teddy held his open hand under Ezi’s, the old man dropped a small pile of tiny seeds onto Teddy’s palm.
“What’re these?” Teddy stirred the seeds with his index finger, moving them around in a small circle.
“Those are mustard seeds. They’re used to grow mustard plants. The leaves can be used in salads and the crushed plants can be used for cooking.”
“So what do you want me to do with them?”
“Plant ’em, son.”
Teddy’s head shot up. “You do realize that it’s the middle of winter outside, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say to plant ’em outside, did I? Nosiree. I ain’t no fool. I want you to plant ’em in these here buckets so they can be transplanted into the ground in the spring.” Ezi picked up three plastic buckets from the floor near the front door and handed them to Teddy. “By then, they’ll be strong and big.”
“But why are we planting mustard seeds? Wouldn’t it be more economical to plant tomatoes or radishes or green beans or anything else that you can sell? You could use the money to buy additional food or to repair your house. I’m sure this home could be—” he almost said livable “—ah, nice, with a little investment.”
Ezi pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Well, I guess that all depends on who you are. Me, I want to grow mustard plants. Let’s just say I’ve a genuine soft spot for mustard plants.” He stepped closer to Teddy and, with his finger, separated the seeds where one sat apart from the others. “You see that lonely seed there? If we’ve enough faith in the Truth to fill that small seed, we can do anythin’. But we have to believe without any doubt in our minds and hearts.” He plucked the lone seed from Teddy’s hand and held it between his thumb and index finger. About the size of a pinhead, Teddy strained his eyes to see the tiny seed among the backdrop of Ezi’s leathery fingers.
Ezi rocked his head back, looking at the seed through the bifocals of his glasses. “These seeds remind me of what’s possible to those who believe. Very powerful gift, yes sir.” Ezi dropped the seed back onto Teddy’s palm. “That’s why I want ’em planted.”
“What do you mean? What’s possible to those who believe?”
Ezi chuckled. “Well, take that mountain, for example.” Ezi shifted where Teddy could see through the grimy window. Through the haze, if Teddy squinted, he could just make out the peaks and valleys of the Ozark Mountain range. “If we had enough faith to fill that little seed, we could tell that there mountain—” Ezi huffed as he dragged Teddy by the arm to the door. Once he’d thrown it open, he pointed with his branch-cane to a rounded-top mountain forty miles east of the shack—“to move into the ocean, and it’d hafta do it—even if we’re half a continent from the nearest sea. We could tell that apple tree over yonder—” his branch-cane pointed at a young tree ten feet south of the shack. Nothing lay within ten yards of the tree “—to wither and never produce fruit again and it’d hafta do it.” His smile matched his branch-cane—crooked. “But what would be the point of that? Why would we want that beautiful mountain to jump into the ocean? Or that fruit tree to stop producing delicious fruit? We don’t. I just used them as visual references to teach you what can be done if we had a little faith.”
Teddy looked at the seeds in his hand. “Faith, huh? You mean to tell me we could have this enormous power by only having enough faith to fill one of these little seeds?” His eyes met Ezi’s. “Come on! I wasn’t born yesterday. That mountain can’t move. Everyone knows it. It’s a…well, it’s a mountain!”
“By havin’ great faith and believin’ in the Truth, we have the power through the Truth to do anythin’, includin’ movin’ that mountain. Nothing’s impossible. See how small that seed is? You wouldn’t think that it’d take much faith to fill that little thing, would you? But, that’s the problem. In this world we tend to believe only what we see. Faith has taken a back seat. Not many people have that much faith no more, no sir. We need to believe in the Truth to have faith in the Truth.”