The Grey Ghost

by Nicholas Cara

  This small tradition was known to all of Joe’s friends and family. Growing too old for his small room in the main house after high school, Joe had moved into the smaller house behind the main residence, which had belonged to his grandparents before their passing. However, since Joe’s first shift on overnight patrol, his mother would religiously wait for him on the front porch to come home. No matter what time of night it was, no matter how tired he was, Joe never tried to pass the main house to go his without stopping at the front porch to say hello to his mother. Before he had left for basic training, Joe had hugged his mom trying to calm her fears. He had told her he would be fine, and promised he would be back soon. Then, looking into his crying mother’s eyes, he had told her that he would meet her on the front porch like always when he got back. Then they could sit like old times and eat some chocolate chip cookies. Now, tasting that chocolate chip reward for his service, Joe reached out and hugged his mother with all his might. He lost his balance in the act nearly falling until he felt a hug from behind. His father had hugged him and his mother all in one large embrace keeping Joe upright. There the three stood for a moment, the Bevine family finally reunited.

  Joe’s mother was the first one to break the embrace to wipe away her tears of joy.

  “Well you have to be famished; you look so skinny,” she said. “Let’s not let all of the food get cold. Everybody, come on in. Let’s eat!” she called out to the visitors.

  Walking into the parlor with his parents, Joe noticed his mother kissing two of her fingers and touching the small crucifix hanging on the wall near the doorway.

  “You know ma, I think he owes you a little. Wasn’t the deal specifically safe and sound?” Joe chuckled to his mother.

  “Joseph, hush!” his mother snapped. “The good Lord brought you back one way or another and that’s good enough for me.”

  Joe’s mother came back and looked intently into his face cupping each side with her hands.

  “I know it’s hard my little Nic-Nac, but remember as bad as it seems at times, He never gives us more than we can bear. He will help you get your footing again, you wait and see,” she told him using a name she hadn’t called him since he was a little boy.

  With that his mother, the small matriarch of the family, let go of him and slowly walked into the kitchen where her three sisters, Wanda, Ceil and Mary were busy preparing Joe’s welcome home feast.

  “It must’ve taken her at least an hour to get to St. Pat’s everyday walking like that,” Joe said to his father as they watched his mother enter the kitchen.

  “Every bit that in nice weather, and there was no stopping her even when it was nasty out there,” his father responded.

  Joe had been marveling at his mother’s commitment to both their religion and to him ever since his father had written him early in his deployment telling him of what his mother had done. On the day Joe had left for boot camp, Vera had gone to the church and promised God that she would attend daily Mass everyday if He would only return her Joe back from the war safe and sound. To most this would have been an idle promise, but the deal had been struck in Vera’s opinion and she became determined to keep her end. So awaking early every morning for the past 2 years, she got ready and walked the six blocks from Franklin Street to St. Patrick’s Catholic Church for the morning Mass. The letter from Joe’s dad had entailed how poor Father Noga had on certain days celebrated morning Mass for only Vera and himself, finding her to be the only parishioner in attendance. Vera would not be swayed from keeping her bargain even in the bitter cold winter months.

  “Well, Mom kept her side of the deal and here I am. I guess for better AND for worse,” Joe thought looking around the parlor of his childhood home. Joe had always believed in his faith and its teachings though maybe not to the extent of his mother, but he had still been a regular churchgoer every Sunday near the back of St. Patrick’s with them when he has home. Thinking back now though, Joe knew his mother would have been ashamed of the man he became after he awoke to find his leg missing.

  There had been no forgiveness in his heart those days, least of all for himself. He remembered the feelings of hate he fumed towards the fools in his unit he had saved every time he looked at what it had cost him. Even worse he remembered the spite he had levied at himself for playing the hero and where that had gotten him. The many nights of self-pity and hatred had crushed his very spirit while he laid in the infirmary cursing life itself for his pain.

  “What kind of man has God left me?” he remembered thinking. “All I’ve ever been is a cop and that’s all gone now. How can I support myself, my family, or what about Kate? What is she going to think? Why would she want half a man? Who would? How did that The Riddle of Man go? Four legs, then two legs, then three…not one! I’m spitting in the Sphinx’s eye, laughing at her Riddle and now all I want her to do is crush me for it, or at least what’s left of me,” Joe thought again thinking of the character in the book Kate had given him. “I’m a shadow of the man that came here, a ghost who just doesn’t know he’s dead yet.”

  Time disappeared in that lonely bed during weeks of recuperation before he was informed of his medical release and return to the States. By then his inner fury had been replaced by a burrowing fear of an unknown future that had planted root in his every thought of returning home. His next move was an uncertain journey that Joe was not looking forward to making.

  Sloughing out his memories back to the present, Joe looked around his parent’s parlor and thought, “Well, we made it back here at least and I guess that’s a start. Keep that left kicker on ice for me Big Guy, I’m going to need it back one day…” Tapping the small gold crucifix Joe smirked and hopped into the kitchen, headed straight for his Aunt Ceil, knowing the longer he waited the stronger one of her famous bear hugs would be.

  “I LOVE coming to your house to eat!” Patsy exhaled sitting back in his chair slapping his stomach a few hours later. The setting sun now beginning to cast an orange hue into the dining room caused his friend’s round girth to resemble that of a small pumpkin, Joe mused to himself. Looking away from his satisfied friend, Joe glanced outside the dining room’s large decorative window taking in the view of the shadowed man-made forest of steel-mill smokestacks dotting the not so distant horizon.

  “Well it definitely looks like you’ve been here at least a few times while I was gone, BIG guy,” Joe joked pulling himself away from the scene and pointing to his friend’s ever expanding stomach.

  “What can I say? Your mom always seems to think that I’m the better looking son she always wished for, and who am I to argue with her?” Patsy replied.

  “Laughter, now that’s a sound I haven’t heard around this place since you’ve been gone,” Kate told them while bringing in a tray with three mugs of coffee. Sitting down next to Joe she passed out the steaming brew adding two spoons of sugar to her own from the bowl in the center of the table.

  “Just a little bit of milk, right hon?” she asked Joe, preparing his cup.

  “Sure, thanks Kate,” Joe replied sitting back sipping the hot beverage and inhaling the bold aroma.

  “I had to literally wrestle the tray from your aunt to even bring in the coffee. They are not letting me help out at all lately,” Kate exhaled sitting down. “It’s like a well-oiled machine in that kitchen.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less from the famous Mossynski sisters!” Joe replied. “I’ve seen drill units that didn’t work as in step as those four.”

  Joe’s mother and her three sisters had been the owners of a small catering business since their early teens. Originally serving local events or church functions, their small business’s name had been spreading quickly because of the quality of the home cooking the quartet provided. Their catering business was always special for Joe. Not only did it help with extra income for the large family, but it was where during one summer, a younger Joe had worked as a dish washer for his mom and met a young high school girl named Kathryn Stone, who worked as a waitress. B
e it fate or one of his aunts secretly meddling in his love life (Joe always expected the latter), but after numerous rejections that young waitress finally agreed to a date with the dish washer and they have been inseparable since.

  Joe smiled at the memory and looked around the dining room at the walls filled with framed photographs.

  “You know I really didn’t settle into the thought I was back home until I smelled that spaghetti sauce from the old stove in there,” Joe told his friends. “I had a buddy in my unit who used to tell me: You know what Joe, I’ll know the minute I’m dead or back home by the smell of the oatmeal. As soon as I smell my grandmother’s homemade oatmeal that’s when I’ll know I’ve bit the bullet. But if I smell a hit of cinnamon in the oatmeal then I know I’m home. My mom always put cinnamon in it. I didn’t know what I would smell if my time was up but I knew I would smell that sauce when I got back here. You can almost smell it in the wood of this place.”

  The Bevines, a second generation Italian family originally named Bengiveno, hailed from the city of Pagentro in the lower mountain Provence of Italy. Their name changed when Joe’s grandfather entered America venturing for a new life for his family. Later, Stanley met a young girl named Vera Mossynski and the two were married. Vera, of Polish decent, had made it her duty to learn all of his mother’s Italian recipes for her husband, especially the sauces. Tweaking and then perfecting those dishes, she had created the foundation for their family’s small catering business.

  “Well you wait until some of the fellows from the station walk by on their way home and get a whiff of that smell. Half the precinct will be pounding on your door for some of your mom’s pasta,” Patsy laughed. “Oh! That reminds me, speaking of the precinct, Captain Robison wanted to me to tell you to be in his office when you are up to it. He has something he wants to discuss with you.”

  “What does he want with me?” Joe questioned.

  “I’m not sure but he said he would have my hide if I didn’t tell you, so do me a favor and give the old man a meeting, hmmm? I get in enough hot water with him all on my own, thank you very much,” Patsy answered.

  “OK, OK I’ll get down there. Hey Kate, I’ve been looking all night for your dad. Where is he?” Joe asked.

  “Oh my gosh!” Kate said lightly smacking her forehead. “I’m so sorry Joe. I forgot to tell you. Dad wanted me to tell you he’s really sorry he couldn’t make it tonight. He’s actually been gone for months on a dig in Greece and only got back a couple days ago. Not only have I been going crazy worrying about you over there, I had to deal with him braving a war zone for a bunch of stupid old pots or whatnot. Ever since he returned though he’s been fully occupied trying to find a grad-student he said should’ve already returned here before him. All I know is there was trouble on the trip and the entire department is in an uproar about the whole thing. He won’t tell me anything else. He said for you to stop by his office whenever you get settled.”

  “Well now that you are back, what are your plans?” Pasty interrupted in between bites.

  “Patsy, he just landed an hour ago. Let the guy rest for a little bit. The last thing Joe needs to do is over-exert himself. His leg is still healing,” Kate said.

  “Well this… is as healed as its going to get,” Joe said looking down at his missing leg, slightly embarrassed by Kate’s mothering. “It’s not like it’s magically going to grow back. I guess I’m just going to take things slow and one step at a time...” Joe responded thinking of his mother making those long, slow treks to St. Pat’s every day, her comforting words from earlier in the evening still echoing in his head.

  “He’ll help you get your footing again, you’ll see.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You don’t know how much it means to your mother…to both of us to have you back here son,” Stanley said over his shoulder to Joe. “It felt like there was a big hole in the family while you were gone.”

  “Well I guess Pop…its nice...to be missed,” Joe responded through hard breaths trying to keep up with his father on the walk to the bus station the next day.

  That morning Joe had spent nearly every second he could with his mother just as he planned. What he had not planned was the incredible amount of moving that would entail. Starting the morning with a huge home-cooked breakfast, Joe insisted on walking with his mom to morning church services and then stopping with her at the local Pirret Street Market for groceries on the way home.

  However the market, teeming with produce, was a welcomed assault to his senses that Joe had been looking forward to. Ripe fruit and fresh flowers from local grocers and farmers displaying their wares seemed as long lost treasures to the returning soldier whose meals and life had been reduced to a darken corner and K-ration box meals during his deployment. The memory of a honey-crisp apple’s sweet taste when he saw the stocked barrels at Mr. Meyer’s lot made Joe’s mouth salivate. The everyday experience of going to the market with his mother was surprisingly comforting to Joe. Even keeping step with his mother had not posed a problem with her slow shuffle of a walk.

  The darkest cloud of their morning was the awkward moment after they had paid for their groceries. Packed into two small bags, the realization that Joe was useless to help his elderly mother carry the bags home embarrassed him. It was the worst feeling of uselessness he had felt so far in the long list of such moments since he had lost his leg. Vera seeing the down-casted eyes of her son had tried to save his dignity by paying a young boy that lived in the neighborhood a quarter to carry the small bags home ahead of them. She had carried larger bags almost daily when she was by herself and the walk wasn’t that far, but a quarter was a small price to pay for her son’s pride.

  Once back at home Joe collapsed in the easy chair absolutely exhausted while his mother fixed lunch for his father who was on his way home from the Ole Barnes Steel Mill for his break. After lunch Joe kissed his mother’s forehead and headed out with Stanley on the journey back to his job at the Mill. Along the trek was one of Capstone City’s multiple public bus stops. The walk into the city, though a relative far distance, was a simple run across one of the multiple bridges, usually the Mahoning Bridge since it was closest to the Bevine house and spanned the distance to Capstone City proper. This notion barely crossed Joe’s mind before the rest of his body had screamed to him that it was a fool-hardy idea. The slow walk with his mother in his own neighborhood had simply exhausted him. Both arms burned from the pressure the crutches had exerted on them and his full leg, not yet used to supporting his complete step, was sore and unforgiving. Joe was also experiencing a constant small pain near his knee at the end of his missing leg, a pain he never understood but had slowly been learning to cope with over the last few months. However, now coupled with the rest of him it had combined to simply make Joe miserable.

  Try as he might to hide this from his mother, she still had requested that he take it slow with this being his first day back.

  “Nic-Nac, everything and everyone will still be here tomorrow. You don’t have to push it so much on your first day. You know, there is really no reason to go all the way into town. I’m sure Kate and her father would understand.”

  Trying to smile his way through his pain Joe laughed and hugged his mother on their way out.

  “Mom, don’t worry. I’m just headed to the university for a while. I used to do it all the time with two legs and look, I’ve got three now. It should be easy!” Joe teased. He knew that if his hands had a mind of their own they would’ve slapped him in the head for being so pig-headed, but he would not allow his injury to stop what he considered a normal day’s activity no matter how much common-sense said otherwise.

  “Am I going too fast for you, Bud?” Stanley called out looking back at his red-faced son snapping Joe back into the present.

  "Nah...Nope I'm good," Joe said caught between huffs. The last thing he wanted to do was look weak in front of his father. However, try as he may Joe knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

  "The man is 30-year
s older than me and he's waiting for me to catch up...I can't tell who should be more embarrassed, me or him."

  "How's it been going down at the Mill lately, Pop?" Joe questioned trying to change the topic. "Are they still talking about moving the entire operation down to the new place in the Scar?"

  "Yep, some young pencil pusher sold the idea to the big man and now its full speed ahead, which lately has meant a ton of overtime for every shift getting everything up and running. The split shifts have been nice though. They’ve been letting me head back here and check on your mom. I can't complain about the money but I'm going to hate the commute all the way to that rat hole every day," Stanley replied. "But you know why complain…?"

  "Who's going listen...?” Joe finished for his father with a chuckle. "You know Pop you're going to have to get some new material."

  “Hey, you know some of the best things are old," Stanley laughed stretching his arms. "And when things are honest why change them?"

  The rest of the journey consisted of small chatter about how terrible the Cleveland Indians, the preverbal favorite baseball team of the two, could never seem to beat the St. Louis Browns.

  "I tell you it’s the coach. He never seems to know what inning it is," Stanley laughed. "Mark my words that bum will go to supper one day in the 6th inning thinking the game's over!"

  With that, the two reached the bus stop with the noon run visible coming up the street.