by Nancy Lieder
between the beds, from use.
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Several oldsters are tending the garden. Half are in wheelchairs, which
pull alongside the beds so the oldsters can simple reach over and pull
weeds or collect produce or whatever. Some oldsters are using walkers
and sit on the edges of the beds. The beds were intended to be
accessible and to not require bending down, designed for the
handicapped or aged.
Finegan and the manager are followed by a curious Joey who is trying to
get the many cats to come up to him. He bends over and calls to them,
but they are illusive though interested and keep circling him. The
manager is pointing while talking.
We were fortunate, having these put in ahead of
time. And we saved the seed, year to year. All
those things were therapy, physical therapy.
We’d make a big deal out of it, sorting seeds
into plastic zip bags and labeling them,
sharing them with family. Now it’s proved to be
a Godsend.
Some of the oldsters turn their heads at their approach and smile and
wave. Finegan asks,
What do you do for meat?
The manager puts her finger to her mouth, a shush motion, and in a low
voice replies.
I’ll tell you later.
Finegan and the manager have been walking along the path, which circles
around and returns to the complex buildings. They are approaching some
benches along the path. The manager sits down, patting the seat next to
her for Finegan to do likewise. She looks down the path to be sure no
one is close enough to hear.
You can see we’ve got cats. We’ve got a
population explosion.
The manager glances at Finegan’s face, prepared to drop the bomb and
wanting to see if he’s ready for it.
I’ve got several female cats that bring me
their catch. It’s the females that hunt. . .
Must be a rat population explosion somewhere,
as they rarely fail to deliver. Every morning,
there they are, dead rats, fresh meat, on my
doorstep.
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She glances at Finegan’s face again.
Well, it’s protein! I cook it to death, meat
falls off the bone, mix it into the soup that’s
supper every night. . . No one’s died yet.
Finegan leans back against the bench back, putting one foot up on the
other knee, relaxed. He says,
I’m sure you’re not the only one. . . Don’t you
fish?
The manager says,
We don’t have a pier. Don’t have a boat. And
except for myself, who could manage it? They’d
drown trying. . . We do have a pole and line.
Some relative would come for a visit and haul a
resident off to some riverbank for a picnic. So
we had a pole and line on hand. . . But I can’t
leave. I’m the only one here. . . Plus my day
is long enough as is.
Just then one of the female cats saunters up with a dead rat in its
mouth and drops it at the manager’s feet. The manager leans forward to
praise and pet the cat.
Why thank you Mitzy! That’s a beautiful gift!
______________________________
The peace on the main street has been shattered by the sound of lumber
being pulled apart, nails loosened but still holding and complaining as
boards are pulled apart. The mayor comes to his window to see what’s
going on.
Hey! You can’t take that! That belongs to
someone.
Finegan appears in a window near where his canoe has been tied. The
window has been pushed out for easy access. He sticks his head out the
window to yell back.
So sue me. . . How come you’re not helping that
woman up there tending the old folks?
The mayor gets a disgusted look on his face and flaps his hand again in
the direction of Finegan, as though dismissing him, and turns to
shuffle back into his apartment. Lumber pieces start flying out of the
window – studs and railings and numerous floorboards, splashing as it
hits the water. In the background there is more hammering as Finegan is
retrieving nails as he dismantles the building.
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The oldsters in the garden are all shock still, their jaws a bit agape,
heads turned in the direction of the noise, listening to the sound of
construction.
______________________________
That evening the manager, Finegan and Joey, and several of the oldsters
in wheelchairs or clinging to walkers are looking out over the water in
a beautiful sunset. A floating pier can be seen, with a long ramp down
to the pier accessible by wheelchairs. Former 6” wide hardwood floor
boards from one of the old flooded town buildings, torn from the floor
of the second floor, are used as the pier bed and lengthwise as a ramp
to the floating pier. As the water raises, the pier will too.
Posts from an interior railing are placed along the side of the ramp
and pier, with rope strung between the posts as guardrails. The whole
lot is irregular, the posts painted white, the floor boards a scuffed
brown, and the rope of varying thickness. Finegan did not have a saw so
the ends of boards stick out at the end of the pier. Studs have been
hammered along the top of the pier bed, along the edges, as wheelchair
guards. Some chairs from the raided second story apartment are placed
here and there for those coming to fish on walkers.
The manager looks sideways at Finegan, who is standing beside her. She
says,
You must stay for supper. And I think the
residents have some seed they want to share
with you. They don’t see much family these
days. In fact, not in over a year.
Then realizing what he must be expecting for supper, she whispers.
Tonight, it’ll just be vegetable soup!
Finegan whispers back.
No, no, have your usual! I’m fine with that!
Then, turning to the residents grouped around her, the manager says,
We may not have TV any longer, but now, during
these beautiful sunsets, we can do some
fishing! Does anyone remember what we used for
bait? John, do you remember? Worms. Yes, it was
worms from the garden!
______________________________
Finegan and Joey are coming through the fog, approaching the houseboat
where it is moored below the nursing home complex. Finegan has a clear
plastic bag filled with little zip lock bags of various seeds, hand
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labeled and dated. All is taped watertight. Barney is barking in
greeting, his tail wagging. Finegan says,
Better tuck this high and dry.
Joey reaches down to pet Barney, appreciating the fact that he is not
evasive as the cats were. Joey tells Barney,
You wouldn’t have wanted any of that soup
anyway, buddy. Just yucky vegetables. . .
Joey stands up and looks around for some leftovers from breakfast to
give Barney, taking them from a covered frying pan atop a box. Barney
snatches the fried potatoes from his hand and gobbles them down. Joey
says,
Just dead rats.
Finegan smiles as he puts away the package of seeds, and
says,
Yeah, who’d eat a rat!
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The Pawn Shop
Finegan and Joey are walking through a business district of a small
flooded city. The business district is above the water line, though
most of the small city and its suburbs have been flooded. The area
appears deserted and has as usual been devastated by quakes and high
winds. Shingles have been ripped off roofs, masonry buildings have
collapsed, frame buildings have been thrown sideways, and any signs not
painted on the buildings themselves have been blown about and are in
the street. Portions of the signs can be read, saying things like
“Insurance” or “Municipal” or “Handy Mart”.
It is drizzling, so Finegan and Joey are steadily becoming damp, their
clothing starting to stick to them. They arrive at a former pawnshop,
the fading sign painted on the wall above the door. The door open, and
they hear noises of someone bustling around inside. Finegan says,
Ya spose they’d have an umbrella?
The pawnshopman is rearranging shelves, moving items off a shelf,
dusting the shelf, then returning the items. For all the clutter, the
place is immaculate, all except for the pawnshopman himself. He is
short, has an extremely dirty white shirt on, rolled up at the sleeves.
He wears a gray-stripped vest, also covered with dust in places. His
gray striped pants are bagging and stretched out over the knees from
too much kneeling. His black leather shoes are scuffed, the shoelaces
flapping under foot.
The pawnshop is filled with items, so every shelf is crowded and every
corner piled high. Items line the front of the counter and are piled on
the counter top. These are all items formerly of value, when a monetary
system was in place and people were not starving. Jewelry lays in
piles, though some is placed under the counter for safekeeping.
Electronic equipment is stuffed into the shelves behind the counter,
with some speakers placed along the front of the counters. Fine
ballroom dresses and tuxedos are hanging on a rack toward the back of
the shop. Dish sets, fine pottery, glassware and crystal are displayed
on one shelf, the boxes containing the full place settings behind these
display items. Leather cowboy boots and matching belts are on another
shelf, along with accompanying items such as cowboy hats. Under the
counter in one spot are displayed metals of honor from past wars or
with a presidential seal, given in appreciation.
Finegan and Joey are gawking, looking around in amazement as they
slowly walk down the middle of the shop, between the counters. They
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look high and low, not saying a word, taking it all in. The pawnshopman
says,
What can I do you fer?
Finegan says,
Got any umbrellas?
The pawnshopman says,
None of those, but got a sale on over here . .
He walks over to a counter top piled high with video games.
Half price, today only.
Finegan says,
But we got no electricity!
To which the pawnshipman replies,
It’s coming back.
Both Finegan and the pawnshopman stop the conversation and just stare
at each other at this point, as Finegan is stunned at this delusion and
the pawnshopman does not want to get into details. Finegan leans an
elbow on the counter, leaning toward the short pawnshopman who is
standing proudly behind his wares, fingertips resting on the counter
edge and back ramrod straight.
How do you figure? You must know something I
don’t.
To which the pawnshopman replies,
Yez sireee, it’s coming back. When they come
through here laying new lines and roads, we’ll
all be back in business again. Yez a matter of
time.
Just then a man wearing his Sunday best, suit and bow tie and shined
shoes and hat walks into the pawnshop. He is carrying a small wooden
box, which he sets on the counter. He opens it carefully and music
plays. He almost visibly breathes a sigh of relief, as though he had
expected it might not work right. He looks at the pawnshopman, who
says,
Not much call for these, but it is a beauty.
What you looking for?
The man in his Sunday best looks a bit worried as he is going to try
for food instead of the usual – cash.
I’d trade for a sack of flour for the mizzus.
The pawnshopman replies,
None of that, but I do have a sale on over
here.
He gestures at the pile of video games.
______________________________
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Finegan and Joey are walking away from the pawnshop, followed closely
by the man in his Sunday best who has several video games in his hands.
Finegan turns on his heel to address the man, still fascinated by the
mass delusion ongoing in this town. Finegan nods to the pile of video
games he is clutching.
Can’t eat those.
Finegan is now walking alongside the man, who is trying out the
pawnshopman’s sales pitch on Finegan, as he must now go home and face
the little lady.
These are worth more, overall. Growth item. Low
price now but the value of these babies will
skyrocket!
Finegan asks,
So when are the crews expected to arrive?
The man in his Sunday best says,
We ain’t heard, but that’s cause they’re real
busy.
Finegan is still engaging the man in his Sunday best in conversation as
they approach his home, having never encountered a mass delusion
before. The path is along a path worn into the yard, which is no longer
mowed. Joey has now caught the fascination too, and realizes what
Finegan is trying to do with his polite questions. Joey is walking
along beside Finegan, straining to hear every word.
The home where the man in his Sunday best and his missus live has
collapsed, the roof falling into the center of the home, the beams
having broken during the quakes. But an entry into one wing has been
arranged through a window, a piece of rug placed over the windowsill to
soften the slide in and out. The porch of the small home is sloping but
the roof is holding.
The missus is wearing a cotton dress and slip-on shoes, sitting on a
stool in the yard, plucking a chicken. She has her long hair piled on
top of her head and pinned with hairpins, out of the way of her work.
The missus is gutting the chicken, pulling the entrails out into a
bucket between her knees where she has also placed the feathers. She
tosses the plucked chicken into a roasting pan to her side, and digs
around in the entrails for the heart, liver, and kidneys of the
chicken, also to be roasted. As the threesome approach, she looks up.
The man in his Sunday best says,
Another bargain, my dear! I’ll just put these
away with the rest of our treasure.
; 96
At this, he sprints for the padded window frame, and putting one leg
inside he slips through to escape any questions from the missus.
Finegan and Joey are left to introduce themselves but no need as the
missus starts talking.
Oh Lord. More junk.
The missus swings on the stool so she is facing the roasting pan and a
pot with some dressing, and begins to stuff the dressing into the
chicken. It’s evident that she does the work around the place while her
husband dreams on about the recovery to come. Finegan is in the midst
of motioning toward the window where her husband disappeared, ready to
speak and has his mouth open, but is interrupted again. The missus sits
up straight, catching her breath, and brushes away a strand of hair
that has escaped the pins.
At least it keeps them busy. We had some that
just withered away, couldn’t take the loss.
She nods in the direction of the padded window where her husband
disappeared as she bends to finish stuffing her chicken.
He thinks he’s got gains.
Just then the man in his Sunday best appears in the padded window,
slinging one leg out and turning to pull the rest of his body through.
He has a chalkboard in his hand and holds it up with an ecstatic look
on his face.
Maw, best ever!
______________________________
The pawnshopman walks up to his shop and opens the door with a key.
A crowd of a half dozen people has formed outside the pawnshop, all
carrying clothing or small boxes or electronics in their hands. Some
are dressed in casual clothes, others wearing their Sunday best. The
pawnshopman says,
Open for business!
Finegan and Joey are walking down the middle of the street, past this
congregation, heads turned to watch the drama.
The crowd is bargaining with each other while waiting for their turn in
the pawnshop. One woman holds up a sequined dress, holding it out to
her side for display, trying to sell it to a man who is holding a box.