The Digger's Rest

by K. Patrick Malone

  “Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Bramson,” the man in white said to him in Italian.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too,” Mitch responded in Italian himself.

  “Whenever you come in just ask for Giosua, Giosua Tintoretto. That’s me. I’ll take good care of you,” he said tapping his finger to his own chest proudly

  “Thank you, Giosua, I will,” Mitch said, waving as he headed back out the door to feel more of that cold snow on his face. And he kept that promise, visiting Giosua every year since then on Christmas Eve and receiving a card from Father Perez, every year, with the handwritten note, “You’ll always have a home here with us, Mitchell, Catholic or not.”

  From Giosua’s pizza shop he just started walking and kept walking. The cold felt so good to him he never wanted it to stop. It wasn’t long before he’d reached the East Village again and saw a dive bar with a sad looking wreath tied up with a faded red ribbon in the window.

  The door opened and a bearded man dressed in biker leathers with the Harley Davidson insignia on the back of his jacket came out came out with a stumbling, frowsy haired, mini-skirted blond on his arm. He heard his mother’s voice come singing behind them through the door from the jukebox inside and he started to cry. “I did it, Ma,” he said out loud to himself, looking up to the snowy sky, then went inside to lose himself for a while.

  He hit every bar in his path from there on, losing count somewhere after about ten; having completely lost track of time but knowing that whatever time it was it was late. He ended up outside Jack’s townhouse practically crawling on his hands and knees up the steps, fumbling clumsily to find the key Jack had given him long ago exactly for that purpose, and went inside. The last thing he remembered was flopping himself down on Jack’s living room sofa, bending over to take off his boots, then… darkness. He was gone.

  The next morning, Christmas Day, he woke up to find Jack standing over him dressed in his flannel pajamas, robe and slippers, a large cup of steaming coffee in one hand and four Advil in the other.

  “Okay, what did you do now? And more to the point, were the police called?” Jack asked him in a soothing tone of voice, knowing after twenty years of this ritual how to handle him. “You didn’t hurt anyone this time, did you?” he asked, knowing from experience that there was a fifty-fifty chance Mitch had gotten himself into a fight and beaten someone senseless for saying something he didn’t like about his mother’s song.

  “Nope, no police, no fighting this time,” Mitch rasped, raising himself to sit and take the coffee and Advil, his head screaming with blinding pain and suddenly remembering that he hadn’t eaten all the day before. “But I did do something… different.”

  Jack was already walking away toward the kitchen. He held his breath waiting for the other shoe to fall, knowing full well how volatile and unpredictable Mitch could be at that time of year.

  “Okay, let’s have it…” Jack said patiently, searching in his mind for all the possibilities, but not really caring. Whatever it was…short of murder…he knew he could, and would, get him out of it, so he didn’t trouble himself too much over it. After all, he’d had over twenty years of experience in doing exactly that. “Okay, so what didja do?”

  Mitch paused for a moment, not quite knowing how to break it to him. “I adopted a brilliant teenage boy, an orphan from a Catholic foster home downtown. He’s kind of…crippled, Jack, and I need your help. Will you help me?” Mitch said and waited, his intellect telling him he’d probably overstepped even Jack’s seemingly endless well of patience with him, but in his heart somehow knowing that Jack’s own brilliant mind couldn’t help but see the parallels with what he’d done himself those many years ago and understand, maybe even better than Mitch did, the whys and the wherefors of what he’d done.

  Jack stopped in his tracks. Of all things, this was out of the realm of even what he might have expected. Mitch got up and handed him the crumpled letter. Jack read it and smiled, shaking his head, thinking, That’s my boy, then without turning around to face him, said, “So what’s he like?” Mitch let out a deep sigh of relief.

  “He’s from one of my lectures. He’s got a bum leg. He’s really a sweet kid and he’s had a terrible life, abused and abandoned. I couldn’t leave him there, Jack. I just couldn’t, so I promised we’d get him into Columbia and that I’d take care of him,” he rattled in nervous rapid shots. “I’ll use the Bramson money my mother left me. I’ve never touched it. I’ve only ever used what she left me that was her own, so it’s got to have at least doubled over all this time. He’s got top grades and’ll be graduating as valedictorian in June. We’ll have to pull in all the strings we have. Can we do it?” he asked, worrying that he might be pressing Jack for more than he had a right to. Jack laughed out loud making Mitch’s head hurt.

  “I’ll start making calls first thing in the morning. Don’t worry. I think I can handle that,” he said as he went into the kitchen to make breakfast. He also knew Mitch well enough to know he probably hadn’t eaten in a while.

  As the door closed behind him, Jack’s heart fairly burst with pride. He’d been wondering if the old boy would ever make him a grandfather. He just hadn’t expected it to come the way it had. He’d always expected something along the lines of a process server and a law suit. “Yes, I think we can handle that,” he said to himself chuckling as he reached for some plates. Ah, responsibility at last! Atta boy!

  From there on it was easy, Simon showed himself to be more than capable of handling the intense curriculum of an Ivy League school. He flew immediately to the top of his class and stayed there with very little real tutoring from Mitch. They spent a full day together every week so Mitch could keep track of his progress and make sure he had everything he needed to be the best he could. Then once every semester, where appropriate, Mitch would go and lecture in his classes on ancient art, medieval art preservation and the like, more to help build Simon’s self-esteem than for any academic reason. Nothing could have impressed his professors and the other serious students more than to have the ‘Bayeux man’ come in to speak, and he made sure everyone knew that he’d come in because of his close association with Simon, making Simon feel connected and seem, in their eyes, like a campus celebrity in his own right.

  The only time Simon ever came to Mitch for any real help was when he went into his fourth year. He remembered like it was yesterday; Simon coming to his apartment at the Dakota in a panic. For the first time in his college career, he had some competition, a rival for his highest honors spot; a transfer from Stamford nipping at his heels since she’d arrived a year earlier. The time had come for them to declare the topic for their theses and Simon was at a loss as to what he could do to assure his position.

  Mitch would never forget the look on Simon’s face when he opened the door, anxious, nervous and…lost. “Dr. Bramson, I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this, but I really need your help,” he’d said shyly before he’d even come in. “I’m afraid this girl is going to beat me and I can’t seem to come up with a topic different enough, or interesting enough, or challenging enough to make the kind of impression I need to keep my place.”

  “Come on in, Simon, and have a seat. Let’s talk this thing through and see what we can come up with.” Simon came in and started pacing, the limp in his leg made worse from the fatigue of pacing most of the day.

  “I can’t seem to get my head around it, Dr. Bramson, and the more stressed I get, the less I can think. What do I do?” he asked, pacing and pulling nervously at his curls as if it might help the ideas just pop out of his head. His eyes looked tired and had the beginnings of dark circles coming up around them. Mitch knew that look all too well. He was pulling all nighters studying, trying to keep his edge. He probably wasn’t eating as well as he should have been either.

  “First of all, I want you to stop pacing and sit down, take a deep breath and stay there,” he ordered. Simon did as he was told and took a seat opposite Mitch’s computer chair. Mitch went into the kitch
en, coming out a few minutes later with a big plate of left-over Chinese food and a big glass of soda on a tray. “Eat this,” he said to Simon.

  “But, I’m not…”

  Mitch cut him off. “Eat this!” he commanded and pointed at the plate.

  “Yes, sir,” Simon said, taking the tray on his lap and beginning to eat. “But this…is so…important,” Simon said, speaking with his mouth full.

  “Sssshhhht!” Mitch said, putting his finger up to his mouth. “You eat and listen. I’ll do the talking.” Simon nodded with his mouth full. “Right now, you’re your own worst enemy. You’ve got yourself so worked up, you can’t think straight. You’re tired, stressed and working against yourself. I’m glad you came to me.” He stopped and went to his bathroom. When he came out he put out his hand for Simon to take something. Simon put out his hand, palm up.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his mouth full again.

  “It’s a mild tranquilizer. It won’t hurt you,” Mitch said firmly. “Take it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon said and swallowed the tiny blue pill with a long slug of soda. By then, his plate was empty.

  “So, do you know this girl’s topic?” Mitch asked.

  “Well, not officially, but I hear through the underground that it’s the art and history surrounding the Devils of Loudon,” Simon said, sounding worried.

  “Damn!” Mitch said out loud. It was a fucking good topic. Simon’s eyes started to bulge.

  “I knew it! I knew it. She’s gonna beat me,” he said getting himself all hitched up again.

  “Stop, stop,” Mitch said waving his hand. “Yeah. it’s good, but you don’t really think that some undergrad chick could ever beat me. Do ya?” Mitch said confidently.

  “No, sir. That’s why I came to you. I need you to help me, please,” Simon pleaded.

  “…and I’m glad you did. Now the first thing I want you to do is go back to the dorm and GO TO SLEEP!

  “But…but…”

  Mitch held up his hand again in a ‘halt’ motion. Simon swallowed his words.

  “Do you trust me, Simon?” Mitch asked the panicked boy.

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely,” Simon answered nodding, a renewed confidence in his voice.

  “Good,” Mitch said and took out his wallet, handing Simon a ten dollar bill. “Take a cab and go home and go to sleep. Your problem will be solved by the time you wake up in the morning. You have my word on it,” Mitch told him. A look of relief came over Simon’s eyes, probably brought on both by Mitch’s assurance and the effect of the pill.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,’ Mitch said, putting his hand on the boy’s back as he walked him to the door, giving him a further sense of peace.

  “Your problem will be solved by the morning. Do not worry about it any further. Do you understand me?” Mitch said firmly as he watched the boy limp into the elevator.

  “Yes, sir,” Simon said smiling and blushing as the elevator door shut.

  As soon as Mitch shut the door, he went over to his computer and turned it on, smiling to himself. “You’re gonna have your fucking hands full now, you little bitch. I’ll make your fucking head spin.”

  Once his computer was geared up, he went to work. It didn’t take long before he had his answer and shot off an email to Simon to greet him when he woke up the next day. It read:

  Simon, your topic will be the art and history surrounding King Charles V of Spain’s 1550 trials held at Valladolid to determine whether the natives from the new world were possessed of human souls. Get this approved and run with it the way I know you can and you’ll be A STAR! Mitch”

  P.S: The Devils of Loudon! Hahahahaha. A bunch of sexually repressed hysterical nuns thinking they were possessed by demons. Haahaahah. Aldous Huxley wrote the seminal book on that in the 1930s, not particularly original in 2003.Hahahahahahha! MWB

  And Simon did, he ran with it like the Olympic athlete he could never physically be, and he was a star, graduating at the top of his class with the highest honors.

  When his graduation ceremony came around that summer, they were all there, Mitch, Jack, Father Perez and Sister Mary Immaculata; all overflowing with enormous pride at Simon’s accomplishment, and when the dean of his school called out Simon’s name, they all went wild, clapping and cheering, hugging each other.

  Sister Mary was the first to let the water works loose. Father Perez was next to start wiping his eyes. Mitch took him by the arm and pulled him up with him to stand on their chairs to howl, wolf whistle and chant. “Simon! Simon! Simon!” so loud they sounded like a dozen people. Even Jack with his usually reserved demeanor got into the act and stood on his chair, clapping loudly, and saying to himself, “Well done, my boy, well done.” Then just as he was limping across the stage and was about to take his diploma from the dean’s hand, Simon turned to the crowd, smiling as brilliantly as he was, his face crimson from blushing, and gave a small wave to his people. They’d done it! They’d all done it, together.

  After the ceremony was over, Jack took them all to Carmine’s, probably the best Italian restaurant in New York, as his gift. After dinner Jack presented Simon with a letter from the Museum offering him a job as Mitch’s assistant while he went on to get his doctorate. Mitch gave him a small envelope with a set of keys to a small studio apartment between school and the Museum, not accidentally right next to a subway stop so he wouldn’t have to walk too far.

  When it came to Father Perez and Sister Mary’s turn, Sister Mary handed Simon a small box. In it was a beautiful solid gold crucifix on a fine gold chain, and a jet rosary with a matching solid gold crucifix on the end. “We love you, Simon, and you’ve made us so proud” she said crying and kissed his cheek.

  “I love you, too, Sister…Father. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,” he said, his eyes getting teary as he hugged them both.

  While this was going on, Father Perez sought Mitch’s hand under the table and slipped something in it. Surprised, Mitch looked down and saw it was an antique looking gold St. Christopher’s medal on a chain. He looked at Father Perez curiously, who leaned into him and said, “As he did with our Lord, you have given this child safe passage in your arms across dangerous water, leading him into a good life, and no matter what the modern church says about St. Chris, we who have faith understand what that can mean to a boy like Simon and a man like you.”

  ***

  The train jerked bringing Mitch back to the present, a train headed for Exeter with Simon still sleeping peacefully opposite him. A coachman was standing outside of the door. He knocked, then slid the door open. “Next stop is Salisbury, sir, about half past eleven. Mitch looked at his watch. It was ten forty-five. Without knowing it, the coachman had given him a brilliant idea. Salisbury Plain, huh? Brilliant! I should have thought of it myself, Mitch thought and smiled to himself. This one will definitely send Simon over the edge.

  Mitch nudged Simon to wake him up when he saw the girl with the refreshment cart coming around. Hot coffee. Just what the doctor ordered, he thought to himself with a chuckle. Simon was hard to rouse, somewhere deep in the land of Nod. Mitch nudged him gently again. “Simon, come on get up. We’re almost there.” Simon sat up, rubbing his eyes. Mitch waved at the girl with the cart. She opened the door. “Two large coffees, please,” he told her. She looked at him strangely.

  “We only have one size, sir,” she said and held up a pea sized cup. “Damn!” It’d slipped his mind for a second that he wasn’t at a Starbucks in America.

  “Okay, make it four of those, please.” Given his American accent, the girl smiled as she poured the coffees, thinking to herself, A stranger from a strange land, explaining his faux pas.

  Once Simon was more fully awake, he started asking questions about why they were stopping.

  “I forgot I told an old friend I’d stop by and see him when I was next in the area. It’ll only take us a little out of our way.”

  Simon still seemed like he was more asleep t
han awake so when the train stopped at Salisbury, Mitch took charge of the bags, hailing a porter to help. They were in a cab before Simon knew it and, as per Mitch’s instructions, apparently on their way to the closest car rental agency.

  Less than an hour later, they were on their way in a new SUV, Mitch taking it easy until he could get used to driving on the left side of the road again. The site wasn’t far and Mitch relied mostly on his memory on how to get there, creating a diversion for Simon every time a road sign came up to give away where they were going. “Simon, could you get me a piece of gum from my shoulder bag in the back? Simon, could you look for a map in the glove box for me please?” Then, when they got close, Mitch made sure that Simon’s attention was focused on the road ahead. “Keep an eye out for the next road sign will ya? I don’t wanna get lost,” and there it was, clearly visible from the road on the hill in front of them. “Simon, what’s that?” Simon’s jaw dropped, speechless. “Simon, what is that?”

  “Oh…my…GOD! It’s…it’s…Stonehenge.” Simon was beside himself. “Mitch, it’s Stonehenge!” he cried out, tugging at Mitch’s jacket sleeve and pointing ahead of them. His eyes went wide, glowing with childlike wonder and amazement as he bounced up and down in his seat; calling him “Mitch” for the very first time. ‘It’s Stonehenge. I can’t believe it!”

  “Why not, it’s only been here for about five thousand years, give or take,” Mitch laughed, thrilled with Simon’s reaction.

  “Can we go see it, huh? Please?” Simon pleaded.

  “Well, we’re almost there. Better get your camera out,” Mitch laughed again, thinking to himself, This was definitely NOT a mistake.

  Mitch had no sooner shut the engine off when Simon jumped out of the car, homing in on the great circle of Neolithic stones in an almost trance-like state of fascination. When they got to the gate entrance, Mitch just pulled out his wallet and paid for them, letting Simon go on ahead. Limping over to the site, Simon’s camera came out and he began clicking away frantically as he walked slowly around the structure, making sure to get it from every possible angle.