by Tom Kealey
A cushion was found for his head, and a blanket to put over him. Omar ran warm water over a cloth and wiped the man’s face. After a time, the priest opened his eyes and looked up at the boys. He seemed as if he was still half-asleep.
“What happened?” he said.
“Somebody rolled you,” said Omar.
“They took your boots,” said Lewis.
The man looked down at his socks. “Did they get the wallet?”
Omar held it in his hand, and he opened it so that the priest could see inside. There were many dollars in the wallet.
“Do you want a doctor?” said Omar.
“No. I want you to bring me some wine.”
The boys looked to the cabinet where the wine was kept. The key was hanging there in the lock.
“You should go get your boots,” said Omar. “I can show you where.”
The priest looked up at the two boys. He squinted in the lights. “Leave me alone,” he said, and he set his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes.
The boys walked for many miles. When they came to the bridge Omar took Lewis’ hand, not for warmth, but because the younger boy was afraid of the water below. They walked carefully over the ice and crossed to the other side.
They found the address they’d been told about—an old foundry building, now falling apart—and they went inside, through a gash in the wall, and they walked past the broken glass and the blocks of old granite and concrete. Behind one of the piles of rocks they found the spiraled staircase. There were little white Christmas lights strung all down the banister, and the boys followed them down. Down and down. The little lights twisted below them like a long, beautiful water snake down into the dark. Both boys had the bad shivers, and they held their collars tight about their necks. Lewis remembered the face of the priest, and his head jerked to the side. It put him in mind of the bodies he’d seen at funerals. The expressions on the faces of the dead: lonely, it seemed to him, and sometimes deep in thought, as if the dead person was about to say something but didn’t. He’d asked Father Ramon once could he touch the hand or maybe the feet of a dead man, a parishioner they’d known, and for that Lewis had been sent out to clean the statue of Saint Joseph with soap and water and an old toothbrush. He’d done the work gently, and with some care, because he was Lewis’ favorite: not the priest, but Saint Joseph.
When they reached the end of the staircase they came to an open doorway, and the room on the other side seemed warm to them. They looked inside, and there was a large fireplace that was lit with coals. The coals burned orange and blue, and they shed a warm light on the rest of the room. There were candles on the walls and a small desk in the center of the room. A very large man, old and with long, stringy white hair, sat at the desk and was writing quickly in a thick tablet. All around the man were wooden shelves, tall and wide, and they were arranged in some kind of maze, and when the boys entered it they could see, in the firelight, what the shelves held.
Boots and shoes and more boots, of all sizes and makes and all manner of repair that they could imagine. Some were in pairs and some were alone, not set carefully but dropped, it seemed, in some random pattern, some laces tied together and some not. There were men’s shoes and women’s and many small shoes, so that some of them must have belonged to toddlers or even babies at one time. There were hundreds of them, and as the boys studied the shelves, the large gray man looked up from his ledger and said, “Hey!”
“Hey,” said the boys, and they moved closer to the shelves. There was a pair of white sneakers near them, each with a little hole in the tip, as if the big toes had worn them through.
“How did you get in here?” said the man.
“We walked down the stairs,” said Omar.
“I liked the lights,” added Lewis.
The man frowned at that. He set his pen aside. “Who told you about this place?”
“A child,” said Omar.
“And how did he know about it?”
“She,” said Omar.
The man’s expression didn’t change. He looked at them impatiently. “She, then. How did she know about this place?”
“Our friends know a lot of things,” said Omar.
The man leaned forward, as if he was trying to bring the two boys into focus.
“Come here,” he said.
They walked up to the desk and looked at the man. He was old, though they could not guess the age, and his eyes seemed very tired. He had his hands placed over the writing tablet, and there were other sheets of paper with long lists of names set next to the tablet. A thin film of coal dust covered many of the items on the desk. A lantern was set at the edge of the desk and there were shelves behind the man and two wooden chairs leaning against the shelves.
“What do you want?” the man said.
“The boots,” said Omar.
“Whose boots?”
“The priest’s,” said Lewis, and his head jerked to the side.
“What’s wrong with your head?” the man said.
Lewis looked at the floor. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”
The man studied them for a moment. He turned the lantern up so that he could see them better.
“What’s this priest’s name?”
The boys looked at each other. They didn’t know the man’s name. He hadn’t been all that friendly. Omar thought about taking a guess.
“What’s your name?” he said instead.
“I can’t tell you that,” said the man.
“Why not?”
“It’s not allowed.”
They stood there and studied the man, then the desk. They looked about at the shoes. The boys had stopped their shivers, and the glow from the fireplace was warm. They reached an agreement without saying anything, and they pulled up the two chairs and sat down in front of the desk.
“Hey, now,” said the man. “I have work to do.”
“What kind of work?” said Lewis.
The man pointed to the tablet. “I have to get all of these names written down tonight.”
He still held one hand over the tablet, and the boys looked there. They waited. The man reached over and turned the lantern back down so they couldn’t see what he’d written.
“You can’t look here,” said the man.
“Why not?” said Omar.
“Because it’s not allowed.”
“There’s a lot of things not allowed here,” said Lewis.
“That’s right,” said the man. “There are. And one thing that is not allowed is visitors. So if that’s all, I expect you’ll be going now.”
“Okay,” said Omar. “We just need the boots.”
The man pointed at the boy. “You’re not getting any boots,” he said, and when he lifted his hand to point, the boys looked at the names on the tablet. They read as fast as they could, upside down. The man quickly slammed the book shut. It was an old book, and dust blew up across the desk.
“Now you’ve done it,” the man said, and he wiped his fists into his eyes. “There’s so much dust here. It comes from the coal.” He looked at them. His eyes were filled with tears. “This is your fault.”
Lewis got up from his chair. He reached into his pocket and handed his handkerchief to the man.
The man frowned, looked at the boy. Then he took the handkerchief and wiped his eyes. The dust was floating about the lantern, like little bugs in the yellow light.
“Not many people carry a handkerchief anymore,” said the man.
“They ought to,” said Lewis.
The man nodded. “Yes, they should.” He wiped his eyes again, then unfolded the cloth. He held it up in the light. “This is a very nice handkerchief.”
“I’ll trade you it for the boots,” said Lewis.
“No,” said the man. “Thank you, though. Why are you concerned about these boots? They’re not your boots. How well do you know this priest?”
“Not very well,” said Omar.
“Then why do you care?”
“We take our responsibilities very seriously,” said Omar.
The man smiled at that. He set the cloth aside. “I’m sure you do. That’s to be commended. That’s also something that’s gone out of style. Can I ask you your names?”
They told him, and he picked up his pen. He looked at the ledger. He paused, and then he set his pen back down. “Those are very nice names. I deal often with names, and those are most excellent. I like those very much. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. It’s been very nice visiting with you. I don’t get many visitors here, and you two have been among the finest. Do you think you can find your way out?”
“We’ll just follow the lights,” said Lewis.
“That’s right, just follow the lights.”
“They’re really nice.”
“Do you think so?” said the man. “That was a touch I put on the place. I wasn’t sure that anyone would notice. Thank you for saying that. It’s been awfully nice to meet you. Lewis. And Omar. I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye,” said Omar.
“Goodbye,” said Lewis.
The man picked up his pen. “Goodbye, then.”
“There’s the matter of the boots, though,” said Omar.
“Yes,” said Lewis. “We’ll still have to settle that.”
The man opened the book and began copying names. “I think it’s good and settled,” he said. “I think that has been well discussed. I’m sorry if you’re not satisfied on that matter.”
“No,” said Omar. “We’re not satisfied at all.”
“Not even close,” said Lewis, and he pointed accusingly toward the man’s desk. “I think you were going to steal my handkerchief.”
The man looked up. He was quite indignant. “I certainly was not.”
Omar shook his head. “If you wanted it you could just have asked for it. I’m sure Lewis would have given it to you.”
“I would have,” said Lewis. He put his hands on his hips. “If he’d only asked.”
“I don’t want your stupid handkerchief,” said the man. He picked it up and held it out for the boy.
“No,” said Lewis. His head jerked to the side. “If you want it that bad you can have it.”
“I don’t want it at all,” said the man. The handkerchief was still there, held out for Lewis.
Omar reached into his pocket then. He took out the bone and placed it on the desk. He slid it forward for the man.
“What’s that?” said the man. He pulled back the handkerchief.
“It’s a bone,” said Omar.
“Finger bone,” said Lewis.
The man looked at it. “That’s disgusting,” he said.
“It’s all we have,” said Omar.
“Well it’s not enough,” said the man.
“For what?” said Lewis.
“For the boots.”
“So you will trade for them?” said Omar.
The man crossed his arms over his chest. He was looking very cross, and it put the boys in mind of Father Ramon when they asked to see the confessional. “Look, now,” the man said. “There’s not going to be any trade. I’ve got work to do here. The boots come in, all right? They come in and I write the names down in this book, and then that’s it. All right?”
Lewis’ head jerked to the side. “You write the names down?”
“Yes.”
“And then that’s it?”
“Yes, then that’s the end, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. It’s not pleasant work, but that’s it. Once I write it down.”
“Have you written the priest’s name down?” said Omar.
The man looked at the ledger. He studied the names. He flipped a page back and studied again. “No,” he said. “I haven’t yet.” He took up his pen and wrote down a name.
“Did you just write it down?” said Lewis.
“No,” said the man. “They’ve got to go in order. It’s very important.”
“How many names till the priest’s name?” said Omar.
The man looked at the boy. He still seemed very cross. He picked up the sheet of paper and studied it. He flipped back a few pages. “A long ways off yet.”
“How long till you write it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Another hour?”
“Yes,” said the man. “In another hour. If I’m left in peace, that is. I can’t write down the names if I have any distractions.”
“Well, we’ll stay, then,” said Lewis.
“No you won’t,” said the man.
Lewis looked at the man. “Can I have my handkerchief back?” he said.
The man picked it up and handed it across the desk. Then he set about writing down the names. He copied five names. Then ten, then twenty. The boys sat there and watched him. After a time, Omar took the bone back from the desk.
“Goodbye now,” said the man.
“We’re not leaving,” said the boys.
The man put his pen down. He was very cross this time. More so than before. He looked at Lewis, and then at Omar. He studied the boys. They looked back at him.
“Wait here,” he said.
He stood up from his desk and went back into the maze of shelves. They listened to him rummaging around in the shoes. The book was open on the desk, and the boys thought about leaning forward and reading the names again. But they didn’t. They sat on the chairs and looked back where the man had gone. Every few moments, Lewis’ head jerked to the side.
When the man returned he held a pair of white shoes. Leather, not sneakers. He placed them on the desk and sat down. He turned the lantern up so the boys could see. He placed his elbows on the desk and looked at Omar.
They were Omar’s mother’s shoes. She’d become a nurse’s assistant in her last year, had been studying for it for years before that. The shoes were large and worn, and the laces were still tied up in a bow. They seemed to hover there, in the lantern light, and the boy stood up and picked up the shoes. They were heavy and warm to the touch. He sat down and held them in his lap. Often enough, she couldn’t find them at home, and he’d searched under chairs and tables, in closets for them. She’d been a large woman, and he’d liked that about her. The way she might pick him up and he’d disappear.
Lewis held out the handkerchief to him, and Omar shook his head. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. He held the shoes in his lap until they became a white blur. He touched the laces and the rubber soles. There were strings hanging off the edge where the fabric had been worn away and he touched these gently. He thought of her name. Clara. Though he didn’t say it aloud. He took the shoes up in his hands and placed them back on the desk. Back exactly where he’d taken them. Then he sat in the chair and looked up at the man.
The man had taken the handkerchief that Lewis had offered, and he was wiping his eyes. He closed the book. He looked behind the boys, as if there might be someone standing there. Someone he knew. When the boys looked, there was only the doorway and the shelves of shoes.
“That was very mean of me,” said the man. “I’m very sorry about that.” The man picked up the shoes and placed them in a drawer. The boys listened to the drawer shut. “It’s just that I need you to leave. I know you came to see your mother’s shoes, not to get the boots. I’m terribly sorry about that. It’s time for you to go.”
Omar looked up at him. He wiped his eyes again with his sleeve. “That’s not true,” he said. “We came to get the boots.”
“Did you?”
“Yes,” said the boy.
The man sat back in the chair. He studied the boy for a long while. The fire had ebbed, and the man looked there. It was still warm in the
room. The man closed the book.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Okay,” said Omar.
The man opened a box next to the desk. “Do you like soda? Both of you?”
“Yes,” they said.
“I have cola and I have lemon.”
“Lemon,” they said.
“I have just the one can,” he said. “You’ll have to share.”
They said that was all right, and he took out two cups and emptied the can into them. He was very careful with the last drops. He watched the cups carefully, so there would be an equal amount in each. He passed them over to the two boys, and they drank from them. They sipped slowly. That was the polite way to do things.
“I have to go back to my work now,” he said.
“How many names before the priest?” said Lewis.
“Many,” said the man.
“We’ll wait,” said Omar.
“I’d rather that you leave,” said the man.
“We’ll wait,” said Lewis, and his head jerked to the side.
The man opened the book. He took up the pen. He began to copy names from the paper into the book. Every few minutes he’d look up at the boys, and there they were, sipping their sodas. He put the names down carefully, and in order. He blocked the boys out of his mind.
“You don’t know about waiting,” he said. “I’ve waited here forever. Do you understand that? I’ve waited here since before you were born, and I’ll be waiting here long after you’ve gone. Here. I’ve waited here forever. For the shoes and the boots, and especially for the names. And I will continue to wait here forever. Until all of the shoes and boots, and all of the names come in. You can’t outwait me. Do you understand that? I’ve waited the longest. I am the longest waiter.”
He looked up from his book at them. The boys stared. They seemed to stare hard at him, as if they were waiting for him to say something else. He wrote down a name, then looked back at the boys. They took a sip of soda. Swallowed. They stared back at him.
“We’ll wait,” they said.
The priest sat near the window and looked out at the snow. He had the blanket around him, and he pulled it close so that it covered his body up to the neck. He’d been into the wine a bit, and he’d had the shivers all night. When he closed his eyes he had a strange but familiar dream where he was sinking in deep water. There was something heavy in his pockets and it was pulling him down. The water was cold and it was dark below him. There were people above in boats, people he seemed to know, sitting and watching, though no one moved to help. The weight and the cold pulled him down and he struggled to get at the air. He breathed in and was pulled under.