NOVAK

by Bergen, KC

  A sign displayed that there was one mile left to the exit to Solvang. Novak started thinking of Mary’s son. When Novak’s mom had brought home a stranger a couple years after his father’s passing, the young shepherd had not responded well. All in all, he’d given three suitors such a hard time that his mom had stayed single until he eventually moved out of the house.

  Novak stuffed the empty wrappers from his meal into the brown paper bag. How will Mary’s son feel about having me around?

  22

  Mary pulled up to the dilapidated old motel in which Novak had booked a room. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked.

  Novak checked the booking confirmation email on his phone. “Yes, this is it. La Cucaracha Motel.”

  Mary winced. This was by far the worst motel in Solvang, if not in all of California. Rumor had it that a prostitution ring used it as a humping hub, and one man had got himself shot there last year in a drug deal gone wrong. How could she let this nice guy stay in such a shithole? “Hey, maybe you should cancel your reservation.”

  “Why?”

  “This is a terrible place.”

  “I have survived among wolves, bears, and”—he thought of Bigfoot—“other creatures. I’ll be fine.”

  “I insist. You can stay in one of my guest bedrooms. I have three of them.”

  Mary spotted a man on the side of the street wearing a red velvet suit and a matching hat, flaunting a couple of women who looked like they belonged in a strip club. Again Mary insisted Novak should come stay in her guest room.

  “Okay. I’ll go cancel the reservation.”

  “No. Please call to cancel. Don’t even set foot in there.”

  Novak followed Mary’s advice, and she took him away from the run-down area. A few minutes later they were driving through a fashionable residential neighborhood with sprawling hills and big gated lots. Mary’s gate opened automatically, and she parked in front of a white, Mediterranean-style house. “Well, here we are.”

  Mary put the trash from Novak’s meal in the bin, and he went to the trunk and grabbed his bags. She invited him into an air-conditioned hall. Having lived his whole life either outdoors or in houses without this luxury, Novak gazed at the shiny tile floors and the high ceilings. The space was open from the large kitchen and dining room through the living room, and panoramic windows overlooked a lush backyard and a rectangular pool. He saw lots of brushed steel and treated wood in the kitchen, elegant lines and clean surfaces, white walls, plush chairs and couches. And a youngster slouching on the couch, watching TV while petting a cat that was curled up in his lap.

  “Michael,” Mary said. “Home so soon?”

  “Pops dropped me off early.” Michael glanced at Novak. “Who’s that?”

  “This is our guest, Novak. Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “Whatever,” Michael muttered.

  “Michael!”

  “It’s okay,” Novak said.

  “No, it’s not,” Mary said as the cat scurried toward her, trailed by a listless Michael.

  “Nice pussy,” Novak said.

  Mary frowned. “Excuse me?”

  Novak grabbed the fussy pet and lifted it up. “Nice pussy.”

  “That’s called a cat or a pussycat,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Holy shit.”

  Mary snatched off Michael’s cap and handed it to him by the brim. “Watch your language.”

  Novak put down the cat and extended his hand to Michael. “Nice to meet you.”

  Michael unwillingly shook it. “How long are you staying?”

  “Just for a week,” Novak answered.

  “Good.”

  Mary gave her son a stern look then softened her expression. “So …”

  “And this guy is what? Your boyfriend?”

  “No,” Mary said. “He’s just a friend.”

  “A friend from Eastern Europe, judging by the accent. And he came all the way to see you. Yeah, that’s normal.”

  “I am Novak, a shepherd from Slovenia.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Michael!”

  “What if he’s some kind of weirdo? Or a serial killer?”

  “I like cereal. Corn Flakes is my favorite. They’re gr-r-reat!”

  Mary laughed. “See? He’s funny. Serial killers don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “You don’t know that. Even a stand-up comedian could kill somebody. Maybe especially a comedian. They’re always angry.”

  “I am not going to kill you,” Novak said. “Or anyone else.”

  “Well, if you’re such a great shepherd, then where’s your herd?”

  “They are in a better place.”

  “That’s what a serial killer would say!”

  “That’s enough out of you, young man.” Sighing, Mary looked at Novak. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not this difficult.”

  “That’s okay. When boys go through puberty they tend to act out. The drive to become a man. The pursuit of independence, happiness, and pussy … cats.”

  “The pursuit of what?” Michael cracked up. “Jeez, this guy is crazy!”

  “English is not his first language,” Mary said.

  “No, it is my second. I pursued languages and sheep.”

  “To each man his own pussy,” Michael said.

  “Michael!”

  “That was a pretty good joke,” Novak said, raising his hand. Michael eyed his hand skeptically. “Are you just going to leave me hanging?”

  Cracking a reluctant smile, Michael finally slapped Novak’s hand. Mary eased up a bit.

  Novak pointed at Michael’s jeans. “You wear pants below butt. Is it so you can go quickly in case of an emergency? Like diarrhea or IBS?”

  “What?” Michael peeked at his saggy pants.

  “Irritable bowel—”

  “I know what it means,” Michael said. “No, that’s not the reason.”

  Novak loosened his belt and lowered the seat of his pants. “I like it. Very practical.” Novak stepped around in a circle. “Although it’s a bit hard to walk.”

  Mary laughed heartily. Michael blushed as he pulled up his pants and plodded back to the couch. Grinning, Novak pulled up his pants too. Mary then showed her guest to his room upstairs. It was nice and clean and boasted a queen-size bed, a walk-in closet, and an en suite bath.

  “You’ll be all right in here?” she asked.

  “This is great,” Novak said. “Thank you.”

  “I apologize for my son’s attitude.”

  “No need to apologize. Boys will be boys, right? He has plenty of time to grow into a man.”

  “I suppose.” Mary checked her watch. “Oh my, it’s getting late. I’ve got to run a few errands. Will you be okay here?”

  “Unless you want me to come along?”

  “I have to meet with a couple of clients. You know, work.”

  “I understand. I’ll be fine.”

  “Great. See you later.”

  ***

  Novak sat down on the bed. The trip had been arduous and less than enjoyable, but he was pleased to have finally arrived. Still, sitting by himself was disquieting. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Michael wasn’t the friendliest of people, but he was likely just being defensive. Novak was the new guy, a competitor on his turf. Seeing how the boy was a big part of Mary’s life, though, Novak wanted to get to know him.

  As he walked downstairs, the doorbell rang.

  Michael rushed to the door and opened it. “Hey, Dad!”

  “Hey, playa! How are you?”

  “I’m okay. I thought you had work to do?”

  “Things change fast in my line of business. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Something is different about you … Your pants!”

  “Yeah, I made a change. It’s not cool anymore to wear them down.”

  Standing in the middle of the staircase, Novak was unable to see the boy’s father behind the open door. He decided to go down and gre
et the man, who looked genuinely surprised to see him.

  “Hello,” Novak said, extending his hand. But Brian left Novak hanging, so he pulled back his arm. “I am Novak.”

  “Yeah, and I’m Brian.” He pushed out his chest. “I used to live here. Who are you?”

  “I am the son of Oleg Junior, a shepherd from Slovenia.”

  Adjusting his ponytail, Brian eyed his son. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Your mother leaves you alone in the house with a stranger from Slovenia. A shepherd? Who the hell herds anything these days? This guy could be a serial killer!”

  “That’s what I said!”

  “I am not a killer,” Novak said. “I came here to keep Mary company. I’m a good man.”

  “A good guy is humble and wouldn’t say he’s good. Unless he’s truly great, like me.” Brian slapped his hands together. “Let’s go, son! I’m taking you out of this madhouse.” He took Michael by the shoulder and ushered him outside. “Your mother made a mistake and I’m here to fix it.”

  “Are you okay, Michael?” Novak asked.

  “He’s my son,” Brian said. “He’s more than okay—he’s awesome! Ain’t that right, playa?”

  “I guess.”

  “Of course you are! Let’s go, buddy. Time to get down to business.”

  They got into Brian’s old convertible. He revved the engine. Wheels spinning, the car skidded down the driveway and swerved onto the road, barely missing an old lady walking her terrified little dog.

  23

  Novak had a bad feeling about Michael’s father. Brian was an accident waiting to happen, but right now there was nothing Novak could do about it. At least he was in California, and he also had the house all to himself. He sat down to watch TV.

  A talk show host pronounced that a young African American man was not the father. The young man immediately jumped up and began dancing as if he had ants in his pants in front of a young woman sitting in a chair. She started crying. A strange show, Novak thought. Then it was time for commercials. An army-like college professor called Novak lazy for wasting time in front of the TV. He virtually commanded Novak to enroll in a community college to earn a degree that would surely land him a great job. Maybe the professor had a point. Novak did need a job.

  “You need to make money!” the drill sergeant turned professor said.

  Novak certainly could use the money. He checked his account on his phone. Until La Cucaracha gave him his refund, he only had the equivalent of $257 dollars left. And he owed his grandfather two thousand.

  “You need a job!”

  Yes, the persistent professor was right again. And look at Mary; she was out working. Brian and Michael were about to get down to business too. And here was Novak, sitting on a couch about to find out from a talk show host, who was also working, whether Trayvon had fathered Latrina’s baby.

  Novak didn’t like to waste time and he enjoyed being productive. He walked over and checked himself out in the hallway mirror. He was wearing his finest outfit: a pair of slacks, a green buttoned-down shirt, and his polished brown shoes. Who wouldn’t want to hire him?

  He washed his hands and combed his hair, thinking about his previous work experience. He’d never had to go in for a job interview or even apply for a job. His father had trained him from a very young age, and then, at thirteen, Novak had inherited his dad’s herd. Thinking of his father, he felt his gut tense up and he considered abandoning the whole thing. After all, he’d just arrived. No one expected him to go out and get a job on the first day.

  And that is exactly why you should do it. Exceed everyone’s expectations.

  “You are the father!”

  As Trayvon buried his face in his hands, Latrina jumped up and began dancing around like crazy. Trayvon would definitely need a job. Novak needed one too.

  He turned off the TV and went outside, passed the driveway, and strolled along the sidewalk. He had noticed on the way over that Mary’s house was located within walking distance from the town center, where he figured he’d have the best shot at landing a job. And it was also a nice stroll in sunny weather. The two-lane street and the sidewalks were lined with trees and hedges. Luxury vehicles were parked behind closed gates. There must be a lot of good jobs around here, Novak thought, for all these people to afford their huge homes and pricey cars.

  An elderly lady was walking toward him, an adorable little white dog tugging on her leash. Novak recognized them as the ones nearly getting swiped by Brian’s car.

  He bent down, stretched out his right hand, and smiled at the furry little creature. “Hello, cutie—ow!” The dog bit his thumb! He yanked it out of the tiny jaws and gave the little beast the middle finger instead.

  “Stop bothering my dog!” the old lady yelled.

  “But I only wanted to pet him.”

  “Sure, you dog-napper! Thief! Foreigner!”

  As the old lady swung her bag at Novak’s head, he ducked under it and bolted down the road. Well out of reach, he turned, shocked, clutching his injured thumb. The old lady flipped him off, and then resumed her walk as if nothing had happened. Unbelievable! Here he was just trying to be nice to the locals, and this was the thanks he got. He watched the old hag for a minute to make sure she didn’t unleash the dog on him. Then he inspected his thumb. The tip was red as a tomato, and he was bleeding from the base of the nail. He had a paper tissue in his pocket, which he wrapped around the throbbing thumb. A young man was walking a Rottweiler a couple hundred feet ahead. Novak crossed the street, as he didn’t have any more tissues.

  Fifteen minutes later, as he passed an old-world windmill, he found himself in downtown Solvang. Quaint tree houses all around, cobblestone streets, people sitting at busy cafés and restaurants, dining and drinking and having a laugh. A family of four passed him. They were speaking a foreign language. Scandinavian, possibly Danish. Then he heard two kids speaking German. He felt more at ease around so many foreigners, like him, but he hadn’t expected this small town to be so packed. Well, it was early summer and tourist season had begun.

  Novak reminded himself to stay focused. His goal was not to join the tourist activities but to seek employment at one of these establishments. As most of the places were restaurants, boutiques, and souvenir shops, his background as a shepherd did not appear to come in handy. But he was standing right outside a busy restaurant and there was a sign on the door that read “Help Wanted.” Novak considered himself helpful and he’d also eaten in a few restaurants, so he decided to give it a shot.

  The sounds of people eating and chattering inside the restaurant were deafening. Disorientating. He was used to the quiet, tranquil life in the mountains. Waiters were hustling and bustling, bringing out food and drinks, taking orders, and so on.

  A young blonde greeted Novak with a smile and a question: “Table for one?”

  “Table for one? No, I come here to work.”

  “Hi, I’m Becky. You must be the new busboy.”

  Novak removed the paper tissue from his thumb and shook the girl’s hand. “No, I don’t drive a bus. I’m here because you have a sign on your door that says help wanted.”

  “Yes. Wait here and I’ll get the manager.”

  Becky left, and Novak stepped aside as a group of middle-aged men and women entered the restaurant. He checked out the décor: all wooden trimmings, stained beams crisscrossing the ceiling, a framed black-and-white photo of Copenhagen on the wall, another of a docked sailboat, a windmill, and other vintage Danish motifs. The chattering patrons appeared to be enjoying their meals.

  Novak noticed a young brunette spying on him. He gave her a friendly nod, and she smiled coyly as she averted her eyes. An older man sitting next to her glared at Novak. He gave the old man a thumbs-up but it didn’t appease him. Novak realized that the man was likely the girl’s elderly husband, so he looked away. Old men in Slovenia frequently took young wives, and they were known for being outrageously jealous. Novak al
so noticed that his thumb had stopped bleeding, which was a relief.

  Becky returned, addressing the middle-aged diners who were waiting to be seated. Just behind her waddled a burly bald man. He approached Novak.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Claus, the manager. You’re looking for work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you worked in a restaurant before?”

  “No. I have been a shepherd since I was a little boy in Slovenia.”

  The manager glanced at Becky, but she was busy attending customers. “Okay. Did you bring a resume?”

  “No.” He’d never applied for a job and wasn’t even sure what a resume looked like. But he decided not to ask the manager.

  “Can you clean?”

  “Of course I am clean!”

  “No, I meant if you can clean. You know? Tables, dishes, and so on.”

  “I see.” Novak nodded. “Yes, I can clean.”

  “Well, maybe we can use you. A new busboy was supposed to start today, but he’s late. Which means that you’re in luck. Can you start right away?”

  Novak couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Yes, I can!”

  “Great! First thing I need you to do is start taking the dirty dishes off the tables and put them in those baskets over there. You see them?” Claus pointed at a stack of red trays on a small station in the middle of the restaurant.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you can handle it?”

  “Of course!”

  “Great. I’ll draw up a contract and then we can take care of the formalities later on.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Novak fetched a tray and went over to the table where the grumpy old man and the young brunette were sitting. They were almost done eating, so Novak politely and patiently stood next to their table waiting for them to finish up.

  The old man scowled at Novak. “What do you want?”