Within two hours the entire back side of the property was free of tumbleweeds. For the first time Cole could see the back fence, the pond and watering trough beyond. Ernie brought the tractor to a stop beside the pit.
“What do you think?”
“Amazing! We’ve burned nearly half the tumbleweeds.”
“Calls for lunch, don’t you think?”
“Well, it is only nine-thirty.”
“The hell you say! Well then, it’s beer break time. Hop on.” Ernie pointed down at a bar between the back wheels of the tractor. “Grab the back of the seat.”
Cole stepped up onto the bar and grasped the back of the seat with both hands. Without a moment’s notice Ernie hit the gas and lurched forward. The tractor bounced across the field. Several times Cole’s feet left the bar. In no time at all they pulled up beside a large white house.
The lawn was edged and trimmed. The flowerbeds were free of weeds and all the plants and flowers looked like they had individually been trimmed and wiped clean of dust. The barn that sat behind the house was a fiery brick red and was surrounded by gravel that was so even it appeared to have been raked.
Ernie jumped from the tractor and motioned Cole to follow. At the top of the steps that led to the back porch Ernie kicked off his boots. When in Rome, Cole thought and removed his tennis shoes. Inside the house the air was cool and had a crisp fresh aroma. Not at all what Cole would have imagined from his rough-cut bachelor neighbor.
“Coors or Hinny?” Ernie asked.
“Neither. Got a Coke?” Cole replied.
“Diet or Regular.”
“Diet. Nice place,” Cole said, as he entered the kitchen. “I like it.”
“Thank my Mom. God rest her. I just keep it clean.” Ernie twisted the cap off a Heineken. “Here.” He tossed a can of Diet Coke to Cole. “I got some chips or I can fix a sandwich.”
“How about another one of these?” Cole pointed at the four grits and chicken discs on a rack next to the stove.
“Help yourself. So, how long you plan on stayin’ here? You must have stuff to do in San Francisco. I mean a job or something, right?”
Cole wasn’t sure of the intent of the question. Up to this point the conversation the was light and friendly. The tone of the question landed somewhere in the accusing “Am I sure I want to do all this work” arena.
“I’ve got a month off. I work for the San Francisco Chronicle. Until this came up I was planning to spend my two weeks’ vacation in Canada. I had tickets on the Canadian Rockies Railroad for two weeks of quiet, relaxing sightseeing. Come to find out the time was running out on the place next door, so here I am. Thirty days to live here and as it turns out, to clean the place up. I sure appreciate your help on those tumbleweeds; I don’t know what I would have done without it.”
“Burnt your house down and probably mine,” Ernie said, lifting both of his massive eyebrows.
“Probably.”
“Well hell, I was just thinkin’ how nice it would be to have a neighbor.”
Cole saw for the first time a glimpse of the loneliness in Ernie Kappas. Cole spent years alone. He knew the long periods of dark despair and black loneliness followed by resignation. He knew the symptoms and knew even better the effects. Cole also knew too well the questions that caused the deepest pain: “Got a girlfriend?” “How come you’re not married?” or even worse, “We got to get you a girlfriend.” God bless him, if Ernie could have found a woman she would be here now. In this case culture and responsibility ground away the years when a “young man” finds that “special person”. Now, in a town the size of Orvin, there was about as much of a chance of finding someone as one of the tumbleweeds surviving the pit fire.
“Then I’ll work hard to find someone to rent the place that you approve of!” Cole lifted his Coke can and tipped it toward Ernie in a mock toast.
“How about blonde and curvy?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Cole said, taking a sip of his drink. “So, do I get the tour or what?” he asked trying to not be obvious about changing the subject.
The two men spent the better part of an hour talking, laughing and learning about the other. Cole saw all the antiques and cowboy art. He heard the story of Ernie’s parents’ decline in health and how he faithfully nursed and cared for them to the end. Cole told of his reuniting with Ellie and his love of Erin. He bragged about his granddaughter Jenny and told with pride of his son-in-law, the doctor. He didn’t mentioned Kelly.
Under the house-high pile of tumbleweeds Cole found a doghouse, two rolls of garden hose and a picnic table complete with benches. The thing that disturbed him though was the nearly three dozen wine bottles that were thrown here and there into the bottom layer of weeds. Someone drank a lot of cheap wine and lived in the delusion that whoever they thought they were hiding it from didn’t know. The thought of the despair of the people who lived there saddened him, and it took several minutes before he could sweep the images of alcoholics he knew and the great lengths they’d gone to hide their drinking, from his mind.
With gloves borrowed from Ernie, Cole pitched and piled tumbleweeds over the fence. By three-thirty, every tumbleweed on the place met its fate in the fire pit.
“San Fran, you owe me dinner!” Ernie shouted as he turned off the tractor and folded his hands across the steering wheel. “You can clean up at my place.”
“You pick it, I’m paying!” Cole called back. “You suppose we have time to stop at the hardware store before dinner? I want to buy a few things.”
“They close at six on Saturday, no problem.”
Cole bought an air mattress, garbage can, a shovel, paint masks, a paint scraper, a bundle of rags, tung oil, WD-40, a set of screw drivers, a hammer, a bag of ten penny nails, a pair of pigskin gloves, a toilet brush, a plunger (just in case), a push broom, a mop, a bucket and a seven gallon tank shop vacuum cleaner. Then he went back and picked up a chrome-plated fifty-two piece tool set made in China, “guaranteed for life to meet all your repair needs.” He decided he would come back for a ladder, tape, tarps, and paint later.
Ernie’s choice for dinner was Big Pete’s Cafeteria Style Deep Pit Barbecue. Along with the barbecue sampler platter that included beef and pork ribs, chicken and a sausage, Cole, with the help of Ernie and his good buddy Big Pete himself, also sampled deep fried okra, fried candied sweet potatoes, hot and spicy cole slaw, French fries and a side of Pete’s secret recipe beans. The secret was bourbon, and lots of it.
After the workout Cole got in the “Great Oklahoma Tumbleweed Burnout”, he was able to devour all the food put before him and there was even room for a piece of Miss Betty’s famous pecan pie. Miss Betty was Big Pete’s wife and had to outweigh him by at least fifty pounds. She wore red horn rimmed glasses and a big silk flower pinned in her long grey hair just above her right ear. They said they never had a “real San Francisco” person in the restaurant before and celebrated the event with several photos, together and alone, with Cole. The Cranfill’s owned and operated Big Pete’s for thirty-six years and it was the love of their life. They loved cooking but they liked eating a whole lot better.
“You know you’re welcome to stay at my place, got three bedrooms settin’ empty,” Ernie offered one last time as they unloaded the mop, bucket and plunger from the back of the car.
“I appreciate it Ernie, but I want to be up at dawn’s early light to get a jump on things. I want to thank you again for all your help though. You and that tractor of yours saved the day.”
“OK, but if you change your mind, I’ll leave the back door open a crack,” Ernie said, as he closed the back of the SUV. “Go ahead and use the pit for any of the crap you find in the house. We’ll cover it up and let the archeologists dig through it a thousand years from now, give ‘em something to do.” Ernie laughed and waved back at Cole as he made his way across the yard and disappeared behind the house.
FIVE
The air mattress that Cole bought at the hardware store was nearly
flat by the time the sun came up. He curled up and turned his back to the light but it was too late, five forty-five, he was awake. He smiled as he looked up at the white paper bag on the porch rail. Miss Betty sent a piece of apple pie and a ham and egg sandwich for his breakfast. She called it “a welcome to our fair city” and said apple pie always tastes best for breakfast. Cole had no doubt she was right. He opened the bag and pulled out the piece of pie wrapped in wax paper. Evidently Styrofoam hadn’t arrived in Orvin.
Ernie loaned Cole an ice chest and they picked up a gallon of milk and a six-pack of Diet Coke, a loaf of bread and a package of lunchmeat on the way back last night. Cole popped the seal on the milk and, as he stretched and looked around, he took a long pull from the jug. Pie and milk in hand, Cole made his way over to the butane tank next to the house. He wiped the dust from the fuel gauge, empty. He tapped the glass just in case the needle was stuck, no such luck.
Clearing the tumbleweeds changed the front of the property so much he could hardly believe it. If the other jobs around the place made half the improvement the clearing of the tumbleweeds did, the place would be a cover story for Farmer’s Monthly! The priority for today though was to move indoors. Cole sported half a dozen insect bites on his arms, neck and legs. One more night outdoors was out of the question.
Cole grabbed the push broom and a painter’s mask and headed upstairs. He started in the far bedroom and began sweeping toward the hall. Within minutes he swept the upstairs. He retrieved a screw driver and a pair of pliers from his new tool kit and began ripping up the carpet on the stairs. The tack strips that secured the carpet runner came up easily and step-by-step Cole pulled up the old rat eaten carpet. The pile of dirt, dust and refuse that he swept from the upstairs was poised and waiting at the top of the stairs. With a mighty push of the broom the pile fell like a waterfall over the stairs to the floor below. Step by step Cole swept the stairs clean.
Cole repeated the process on the ground floor starting with the office in the back. By seven-thirty all the dust and trash in the house was on the front porch. The old rolls of carpet were cast into the pit along with the rags and clothing. Cole pulled up his mask and took a deep breath of the cool sweet morning air. As he looked at the dead weeds that took over what was the lawn, Cole decided the dirt and dust found a new home. With great heaves Cole used the broom to project the dirt and dust off the porch and into the weeds.
Seven-thirty in Oklahoma meant it was still five-thirty in the morning in San Francisco, too early to call Kelly. Cole went to the back porch and began carrying armloads of newspapers and magazines to the pit. He hadn’t noticed before, but inside the pit, the ashes from the weed fire still smoldered. The dry, yellowed newsprint began to burn and before long the pit was once again ablaze. The flames engulfed one armload of paper after another but the carpet just smoked and smoldered. Cole found a wooden peach crate in the pantry on the back porch and filled it time and again with the canning jars and tossed them into the pit.
Using the water from the melted ice in the ice chest, Cole rinsed his hands and then wiped them on the back of his t-shirt. Nine-thirty, another hour and he would call Kelly. He took the ham and egg sandwich and rinsed it down with a Diet Coke. It was a long time since Cole did so much physical work. It felt good to clean and throw out trash and junk that was left in the house.
When he finished his sandwich and Coke, Cole attacked the charred remains of the barn. Board after half-burned board, he carried and dragged the boards and timbers to the pit. The flames jumped and crackled as they consumed the old barn wood. Somewhere in the inferno the old carpet was finally consumed. Cole scoured the yard and anything that would burn that wasn’t nailed down went into the pit.
It was noon by the time Cole’s urge to burn passed. His clothes and arms were black from the charred barn boards. His face was smudged with soot. He needed to clean up but without electricity the pump would produce no water, so for the first time Cole approached the pond.
The water in the pond was fed with the overflow from a horse trough. A three-foot pipe coming from the ground produced a constant trickle of water into the trough. Cole washed his hands and then gathered his cupped hands to collect water from the pipe. The water was cool and sweet and Cole drank again and again.
Cole peeled off his “Bay to Breakers” t-shirt and thrust his arms deep into the trough and came up with scoops of water splashing his face and running down his chest. He kicked off his shoes and looked around. Seeing no one, he stripped off his jeans and jumped in the trough. Even without soap the water made for a cleansing bath. He submerged and shook his head under the water. The coolness refreshed him and seemed to strengthen his tired muscles. Closing his eyes he leaned back against the end of the trough. He realized he kind of liked being a farm hand.
Cole changed into a pair of khaki walking shorts and a John Fogerty t-shirt. He needed furniture. So, refreshed and cleaned up, he made the trip back into town. It would be eleven o’clock in California and he rang Kelly’s number as he pulled out of the driveway.
“Ohh-klaw-homa, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain,” Kelly sang into the phone before even saying hello.
“Cute.”
“Thanks!” she said brightly. “So, tell me everything!”
“Well, I took a bath in a horse trough, ate fried okra, and set fire to a million tumbleweeds.”
“Come on Cole I really want to know,” Kelly responded in a disappointed tone.
“Kell, you can’t believe this place. The people are really friendly, but the farm is a mess. Turns out it hasn’t been lived in for about seven or eight years. The carpets are rat eaten, the paint has all fallen off, the weeds are three feet high, and everything was covered in an inch of dust. I just love it.”
“You’re serious!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“I wish you could have seen me yesterday. We, my neighbor and I, must have burned ten thousand tumbleweeds. Ernie, the neighbor, dug a swimming pool sized pit and we lit a fire and started shoving them in. There was a giant pitchfork like attachment on the front of the tractor. It looked like it was combing burrs off a sweater.” Cole laughed with total pleasure.
“I want to see it!”
“I’m telling you it is really a nice place though. Needs a lot, I mean a lot, of work. Mostly cosmetic: paint, wallpaper, stuff like that. Structurally it is solid, and quite handsome.”
“Sounds like you are having the time of your life!”
“I am. I really am. I have no electricity and no plumbing until tomorrow, I hope. I really did take a bath in a horse trough too. I have a pond ...”
“Cole, Cole slow down you’ll crash into something. So where exactly are you?”
“Orvin, Oklahoma. One hundred eighty miles from Lawton. I got here the night of the annual Rodeo and Founders Day Festival, party, celebration whatever you want to call it. They actually gave me a hamburger! Free! With a big dill pickle and potato salad and a Coke! Can you believe it? It’s like going back to the fifties or something. These are the real Americans, the ones I remember, you know? It is just wonderful here. And my neighbor Ernie, he’s Greek and a lifelong bachelor. Great guy. I wish you could meet him.”
“I’m going to.”
“What?”
“I’m coming back there. To help. Can I? Please?”
“I guess so.” Cole was dumbfounded at the offer.
“Unless you don’t want me to,” Kelly said coyly.
“Well of course I want you to, but...”
“I’ll tell the kids. Is that what you’re worried about? Or am I going too fast? Tell me it’s really OK.”
“I would love to have you here,” Cole said softly.
“Yippee!” Kelly squealed into the phone. “Do I sound like a cowgirl?”
“Yes,” Cole laughed.
“OK I’ll get the quickest flight I can.”
After giving her directions and putting in a request for a loaf of San Francisco sourdough bread, Co
le said goodbye. The first night in town Cole spotted a used furniture store. After a couple of wrong turns he finally found Burkett & Myers Housewares and Furniture at the corner of 4th and Larimore. The sidewalk in front of the store was a store in itself. Lamps, chairs, sofas, dressers and mattresses all lined the front of the store. Cole pulled up in front and immediately spotted a large leather sofa.
A small brass bell above the door tinkled as he entered the store. The lighting was bad and the place smelled of other people’s lives. Along one wall ran shelves the length of the store. From floor to ceiling were displayed a variety of items in no particular order or design. Vases and lamps sat next to magazines and old record albums, glasses with Warner Brothers cartoon characters were shelved next to fold out display boxes of clear plastic rain hats, “perfect for purse or pocket,” and along the top row were hundreds of stuffed animals in dusty plastic bags.
On the opposite wall was a gigantic American flag, twelve or fourteen feet high and at least twenty-five feet long. The white stripes were an almost tobacco color and the red’s were a deep burgundy. Cole quickly counted and there were only forty-eight stars in the blue-black box. The ceiling of the building was open to the rafters. Bare light bulbs came from boxes on the ceiling and dangled at the end of brown fabric cords with white stripes. Everywhere there was a square foot of floor space, it was filled with furniture.
“Afternoon,” came a thin, harsh voice from behind Cole.
“Good afternoon,” Cole said, as he turned.
Standing behind a counter made of an old wood framed glass showcase stood a large fleshy man of about sixty. Cole was a bit taken back by the man’s posture. As he approached the counter Cole could see that the misshapen effects of an accident were the cause of the man’s strange stance. The man stood at least six feet and was preceded by a large protruding belly. His shoulders were hunched together like someone bonded them together with rope. Cole found it difficult to look the man in the face. The tall man’s very large head was at an odd angle, causing his left ear to rest on his shoulder.
Cole Dust Cole Page 5
