The Questioner

by William Gardner

The Questioner

  By William Gardner

  Copyright 2012 William Gardner

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  THE QUESTIONER

  A work of fiction written by:

  William A. Gardner

  4612 Miramar Drive NW

  Albuquerque, NM 87114

  William.A.Gardner@ATT.NET

  This short story is dedicated to Keith H. Weber of Los Angeles, CA. Keith, a grandson, kept the old man writing during those times when doubt was overwhelming.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  THE QUESTIONER

  Chapter 1

  “Excuse me, sir!” she said as she stood next to his table.

  He wasn’t sure whether the utterance was declarative or interrogative as he looked up from his food tray, but he felt that some kind of response was required in the name of civility. He was alone and had been lost in his thoughts. In truth, he was pleased with the interruption even if just for a moment. “Certainly, how may I help you?” came the reply.

  The reply was quickly followed by his smile as he recognized his inquisitor as one of the clique of high school girls who routinely lunched at this neighborhood McDonald’s on Tuesdays. He had developed a habit of watching them over the past several weeks when they came in to eat and giggle and carry on. It reminded him of his high school days of some sixty years ago when he was a teen.

  Standing before him was the prize of her group. She was a delightfully pretty girl – a beautiful woman in the making. She was fully developed physically and her complexion was flawless. An infusion of sophistication to tamp down the giddiness seemed to be all that might be required. He had admired her from afar for these past several weeks. The young lass would stir the manliness of any red-blooded male. Tom had to admit that he was just as guilty as Jimmy Carter. Her bosom was such that his old high school buddies at the Tastee Shop would have coded her as very intelligent. He wondered if this was the moment when he should pinch himself. Reality quickly set in, though, as he recollected a joke a former senior manager liked to tell on himself...that he was so old that he would have to give up half his sex life...either the thinking about it or the talking about it.

  Before she had a chance to answer, he continued, “Please, won’t you sit down and join me?”

  She smiled, but continued standing. “I’ve seen you here every Tuesday when we come in. I’m taking an advanced placement social studies course at Cibola High that is essentially a combination introduction to sociology and psychology. The section we’re now studying is called Assumptions Vis-a-vis Reality. Our instructor has given us an out-of-class assignment that requires us to interview a stranger. It shouldn’t take more than an hour at the most. We could do it here at McDonald’s next Tuesday. Are you up for it?”

  Hardly taken aback, he continued to smile as he considered her somewhat audacious approach. He admired her gumption. “I think I’d be delighted, yes. I’m Tom Graham and you are...?”

  “My name is Trina Watson. I’m pleased to meet you.” She extended her hand and Tom noticed that the handclasp was indeed firm. “Here’s how this works...I sketch out a composite of you based on what I surmise at this moment and then write a critique of that composite based on a more in-depth follow-on interview. I think that it is sort of an experiment to show us that things are not always what they seem. It’s kind of my guess as to who and what you are. I promise to be respectful. I’ll lunch with you next Tuesday then if that’s all right with you?”

  “I look forward to it, Trina. I’ll see you then God willin’ and the creek don’t rise.”Trina returned to the five classmates in the circular booth in the corner to shrieks of laughter.

  Tom noticed furtive glances coming his way in between bouts of frivolity at the corner booth. He wondered in what way he was being skewered in their juvenile minds. Nonetheless, he thought, this might be a very interesting experience. He thought of something that had stuck with him from his English class in high school many years ago. For most folks, the source had long been forgotten if ever known, yet it was a quotation that many people had heard at one time or another. It was from the Scottish poet, Robert Burns, in his To A Louse. “O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us to see oursels as others see us!” Tom amused himself with the idea that perhaps he was about to be granted the giftie.

  He was finishing the last of his dollar-menu double-burger as the girls departed. He could see them in the parking lot as they all piled into a Toyota Corolla to return to school for the afternoon session. Trina, he noticed, took the wheel.

  Chapter 2

  “I think he’s the devil incarnate. Never have I seen a person who looks more stern. He’s downright scary!”

  “Don’t you think that people just tend to look that way as they get older?”

  “Well, he’s old all right. Did you notice his big ears? I learned in biology that human cartilage never stops growing. I say he is at least eighty years old.”

  “Really? His hair didn’t look at all white and it would if he were eighty!”

  “Have you never heard of Grecian Formula? My dad says you can spot an old timer by the hairs in his ears and blotches on the backs of his hands. That fellow is old, all right. I bet he’s a retired old coot.”

  “And he’s either a widower or a confirmed bachelor. Did anyone see a wedding ring anywhere?”

  “Maybe he’s a homosexual. You should put your hand on his thigh to see how he reacts.”

  “Didn’t you see his eyes light up when Trina approached him? Did he paw you? I think he’s lascivious! That’s sex-crazed to you non-intellectuals.”

  “What dirty book did you learn that word from?”

  “I noticed the white socks and I saw a pocket protector in his shirt. Obviously, he is, or was, an engineer and engineers are too left-brained to be rapists ... no real emotion.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Letterman wears white socks and I don’t believe that Letterman is an engineer!”

  “He seemed harmless to me... rather submissive in fact. I think he’s watching his shekels or he wouldn’t be indulging from the dollar menu. And he had small fries and no drink. He’s probably homeless. Maybe he lives in his car.”

  “Well, he certainly isn’t starving. It wouldn’t take much padding to turn him into a department store Santa Claus.”

  “Talk about a round tummy, I noticed he had on both suspenders and a belt. Who wears suspenders these days anyway? I say he’s a kook.”

  “He didn’t stand up when you approached him. He is certainly mannerless. Does he have any kind of education? Where is he from? He could be the pharmacy robber!”

  “I say he’s an ignoramus or at best a buffoon! Did you see him wiggling his ears?”

  “Enough already!” said Trina to quiet her entourage. “You all are letting your assumptions go wild. He couldn’t have stood up if he had wanted to; he was trapped by the table. This write-up is going to be the end of me if you all don’t pipe down. I wish you would worry about your own interviews.” Trina was already appreciating the difficulty of the assignment. Truly she could hardly deduce anything of certainty from what little she had seen. All she knew for sure was that he was an older Anglo male.

  Based on almost next to nothing, she made several mental notes: From what little he spoke, he had no distinguishable accent and his grammar was excellent...except for his “and the creek don’t rise.” H
e didn’t appear to be handicapped in any way. He exuded confidence in himself. Except for the handshake, he kept his mitts to himself. He was neatly, if somewhat oddly, attired. A preponderance of male customers wore denims with or without keys hanging from the beltline. He wore khaki washables. Could this be a clue of significance? Did he spend his employment days as a white-collar worker? His long-sleeved casual shirt revealed some fraying at the cuffs, but it was clean-pressed. A pen and a mechanical pencil were clipped to his shirt pocket accompanied by a packet of Kleenex the whole of which had been mistaken for a pocket protector by one of her girlfriends. He had what looked like a civic service group pin attached to the collar of his shirt, but the lettering on it was so small that she couldn’t make it out.

  He was clean-shaven, but apparently had postponed the time for his next haircut. His hair was thinning and had traces of gray. He did indeed wear both suspenders and a belt. He did indeed have on white socks under latticed shoes called Keens and had a Kansas City Royals baseball cap on the bench next to him. He wore bifocals. His wristwatch was a brand available at Costco and it had a rather bad scratch across the crystal. She noticed too that he seemed to have a slight tremor in his hands. Pinpointing his age might not be too difficult, but station in life and character are altogether a different problem. What questions would be most useful in assaying such things? He was willingly co-operative. Trina had a feeling that that fact alone maybe spoke volumes about his character.

  Chapter 3

  The laughter continued on the short ride back to school. With Trina’s stranger now identified, there was a collective sigh of relief as she was the last to complete that task. It was surprising perhaps that every one of the girls had picked out a man as the stranger for this assignment. A suggestion that they refer to their interviewees as johns triggered yet another burst of laughs. One schoolmate had picked out a newly-moved-in neighbor; another chose a stranger on a train that she met just recently on her Saturday trips to Santa Fe on the Railrunner Commuter when she spent some weekend time with her divorced father; yet another selected a tourist bench sitter on Old Town Plaza who said he was in town for several days staying at the Sheraton Old Town Hotel; a fourth met a fellow reading a newspaper at the Downtown Public Library who looked intriguing; and so it went.

  Trina was relieved that her interviewee had been identified, but her mind was troubled as she sat through her afternoon classes. She pondered the overall project guidance and wondered if character perhaps determined station or whether station maybe determined character. She decided that her own experience had shown her that there were persons of both good and not so good character in all walks of life and that station is determined by a multiplicity of factors with character being but one. She wondered if simple good fortune was a significant factor in establishing one’s station in life as one of her mother’s favorite sayings was “It’s as easy to marry a rich man as it is a poor one”.

  As a recommended reading assignment, she had already checked out and read The Millionaire Next Door from the North Valley Public Library. Trina wondered if Tom might possibly fit that mold. The badge of office seemed to be to own a perfectly serviceable, but quite older car. As far as she knew, Tom walked to the McDonald’s from nearby apartments. This might be something to investigate. She promised to be respectful so she felt she couldn’t just ask if he were rich...or poor for that matter. Besides, rich is a relative term, isn’t it? ...rich relative to what? Tom doesn’t look rich in the normal sense. If he were rich, would he even eat at McDonald’s? He had an inexpensive lunch and had either a debit card or a credit card slip on his tray. Why would he not pay cash? Could he be using some sort of food stamp card from the New Mexico Human Services Department?

  Trina continued to review any and all clues that she had observed to this point in time. On the several occasions that she had seen him, he was always alone and seemed to mind his own business. His attire didn’t change much style-wise. He took pains to leave a tidy table upon his departure. He was tall – certainly over six feet tall. He walked slowly, but his gait seemed unimpaired. He seemed to react in a friendly fashion when acknowledged by fellow diners or wait-staff like when a sweeper would pass by. He watched small children with devoted interest as they ate their Happy Meals. Could he be a secret collector of child porn? She found that hard to believe; he seemed more like a pleasant grampa awaiting a need for his services. Was he lonely or simply alone? Trina had not noticed him striking up a conversation with anyone. It seemed he granted everyone their private space. A sense of loneliness would probably have driven him to be more aggressive on that score.

  Tom appeared to be a creature of habit in that he chose the same table locale each time – an area that exposed the rest of the dining area to his view. There was never an open area to his back. Is that of any consequence? Her clique chooses the same circular booth every time. Trina had already noticed that her other acquaintances repeatedly choose a particular location whether in classrooms, church sanctuaries, or movie theatres. Some classmates walk down the middle of hallways; others walk so close to the walls that they have to dodge all the lockers. She believed that each individual has his or her own tropisms defined by who knows what.

  Trina realized that she was in a tough spot having to draw a conclusion based on far too little evidence. Yet people do just that every day in this world. She was going to have to rely on her intuition and her instincts and hope it to be the right call.

  Still she had some statistical evidence to back her up. The vast majority of her Anglo friends in high school were second or third generation former Midwesterners whose families came to New Mexico from states like Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, and Missouri. Retirees from east of those states seem to gravitate to Florida.

  Trina was willing to predict that Tom was not quite eighty, had retired as an accountant or bookkeeper from somewhere in the Middle West, had some college, was financially secure on social security and a company pension, had some family here and probably had grandchildren somewhere. Trina suspected that Tom was happily married and that Tuesday was the day his wife played bridge, did community service, or had some other weekly appointment. She presumed that he and his wife lived in a very modest home on the west side of town relatively close to the McDonald’s. Like most retirees, he and his wife probably enjoy some traveling...not much, but he has probably been to Vegas or the less extravagant Laughlin a time or two and even driven to Branson to watch an old favorite performer...maybe he even spends a week in Arizona each year watching spring training baseball. He probably coached little league when he first retired.

  Trina’s sense told her that Tom was gracious, moral, and honest. Like Lincoln, he would walk a mile to return a penny to its rightful owner. She detected no disturbing vibes. And she was on her guard. Although she had never discussed it with her classmates, her mother had warned her from personal experience to be wary of lecherous old men; they had trouble keeping their hands to themselves.

  Although her social studies instructor, Mr. Trujillo, had specifically exempted determining political affiliation as part of the exercise, Trina, as a future collegiate poly sci major, couldn’t help herself. To herself she said, “I’d bet lunch that he’s a Democrat!” It was, as the guys say, a gut feeling.

  Although the age difference was substantial, she saw a lot of her own father in Tom Graham...not in station, but in character. She liked Tom Graham; she had to admit to some kind of attraction. Was this hopeful thinking on her part? Was she validating her evaluation by some sort of transference? Anyway, there it was. She had defined her opinion of Tom’s character and station in life. She would trust him with her treasures. She would feel comfortable getting into a car with him. Was it wishful thinking? Trina thought she would have a handle on that question one week hence.

  Chapter 4

  That same afternoon, Tom returned home and wondered if there was any reasonable way for him to prepare for the interview. He decided that it was, of course, her call all t
he way through. She was a lovely girl and he wanted to do absolutely right by her. He was not pleased that she had apparently awakened his libido. On the other hand, he was pleased to discover that he wasn’t dead yet. It was somehow comforting that he could still be moved by temptations of the flesh however false the interpretation.

  Nonetheless, he was perturbed. Was he developing some sort of Lolita complex? He went to his bookcase and pulled out one of his old high school English poetry books and found a particular work that had been on his mind for a week. He had cherished these words with all his youthful exuberance. It seemed like only yesterday. He read a portion of them aloud to himself.

  “An hundred years should go to praise

  Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.

  Two hundred to adore each Breast;

  But thirty thousand to the rest.

  An Age at least to every part,

  And the last Age should show your heart.

  For Lady you deserve this State;

  Nor would I love at lower rate.

  But at my back I alwaies hear

  Times winged Charriot hurrying near;

  And yonder all before us lye

  Desarts of vast Eternity.

  Thy Beauty shall no more be found;

  Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound

  My ecchoing Song; then Worms shall try

  That long preserv’d Virginity;

  And your quaint Honour turn to dust;

  And into ashes all my Lust.”

  Tom stopped reading To His Coy Mistress at that point, thanked Andrew Marvell for the loan of his words, and fell into an afternoon nap. He felt absolved of his mental indiscretions. Tom prayed that his wife would soon return.

  Chapter 5

  It happened to be raining a little as Trina drove off to school that following Tuesday. She had dressed with alacrity, however, because today was interview day. She felt especially good and she wanted to look attractive. After all, it’s not everyday she has a date for lunch. She had picked out one of her favorite light blue scoop-necked tees that complimented her skin color especially well. Albeit somewhat revealing, she felt it wasn’t all that much in violation of the school dress code. Besides, a lightweight cardigan sweater for the chill of the rain would keep everything properly modest. She was truly excited...she had designed perfect open-ended questions for Tom Graham and she was looking forward to this as she really wanted to know how close she had come in her initial appraisal. Her morning classes droned on ad infinitum it seemed before the final bell rang. She drove by herself to McDonald’s as her social studies cronies agreed to eat elsewhere so as not to interfere with the interview proceedings. Tom Graham was standing in the order lines as she joined him.