And that, for the next six weeks, was the extent of their meetings. Even when the mail made its rare appearance there was no sign of Josef’s package and no indication that the mail carrier had bothered to look at Josef’s note.
But the longer this went on, the more interested Earl became in this small, stubborn immigrant, and he wanted to know what that man was doing across the lake, and why he was so interested in a pair of loafers, shoes that would certainly be of no use to him here in Florida, where there were no dance halls, no broad avenues full of glitzy, high-priced shops and their wealthy, fashion-conscious customers, no theaters or restaurants.
“But there is a restaurant,” Mely reminded him. “Right on the other side of that wall there. ’Stead of asking me questions about him which I ain’t got no grounds to answer, why don’t you invite him—and his wife, if he’s got one—over to dinner. That’s what I’d do, if I wanted to get to know ’em, which I ain’t sure I do.”
“Yes,” said Earl, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, that’s a fine idea, hon.” And then he dozed off, forgetting this plan entirely until Josef showed up again at the post office.
“I am the man with the missing loafers,” said Josef.
“Wellsir,” said Earl, “I guess he shows when he shows.” He laughed and shrugged, and then put his hands in front of his belly when he suddenly remembered.
Josef had already begun his exit, as if on cue.
“Wait, er, Mr. Steinmetz,” said Earl. Josef stopped at the door. “Now I tell you what. I feel real bad about yer shoes and all. . . .” He was ad-libbing, now, but this scene had repeated itself for too long, just like the recurring scene of his personal failures, and he’d finally decided to take action, to take control of this drama, as if he’d just bought the rights to the script. “Well, as a representative of the U-nited States Postal Service, sir, I feel obliged to, ah, make amends for our error. So how ’bout you come to my restaurant for a specially prepared gourmet meal. And bring the missus, if there is one. Say, Tuesdy night?”
“Yes,” said Josef, shocked and pleased at this unexpected display of friendship. “Thank you.”
Just like that, Earl knew he had wrangled in the horns of fortune. His destiny had made itself known to him, having circled him for weeks, knowing it would take him that long to recognize what it was. He knew now that this young man was the bearer of his fortune, and Earl had only to sign for the package and then have the courage to open it.
He smiled at these thoughts as he watched Josef exit offstage into the bright morning.
Chapter 5
AS HE PADDLED BACK across Lake Worth, Josef now found himself in a quandary. That mail carrier had never responded to his note, and things did not look hopeful in that area. Now, in accepting the postmaster’s offer of consolation, he might also be accepting defeat. Perhaps he’d been too quick to accept the offer; he’d been thrown off balance by the postmaster’s big smile and his own need to fit in. He’d let the postmaster off the hook, and the man would no longer be inclined to make inquiries for him or conduct searches along the postal route. The search for the package would not be taken to its next logical step.
Although Josef didn’t have his uncle’s gift, until this time he at least had had hope that he’d one day receive it. He considered that the next best thing. But now he’d retreated; he’d traded in his hope for a free meal and would probably never feel that fine Old-World leather snuggled against his pioneer’s feet. All he had left was the painful knowledge of the shoes’ senseless disappearance, tied forever like a string reminder around the memory of his uncle. His horror was that one day he’d have only the string reminder, that without the object of the gift, his memory of his uncle would fade, and with it everything that that memory had stood for—courage and conviction, strength and perseverance, love and duty, the values of the Old World, carried across the ocean from his father to his uncle, and with his uncle’s death, left in the safekeeping of Josef himself. Though he tried to suppress them, he had doubts about his ability to keep the torch lit.
But one good thing might come of this. Here was a way to coax his wife out of the house. When he told her there was a restaurant in town and that they’d been invited to dine on the house, she’d be carried back to her days in Brooklyn. Then she’d see that things were not so different here, after all, that slowly the wilderness would be tamed just as Brooklyn had been.
He found Lena sewing at the kitchen table. She smiled weakly, pleased to see Josef but knowing that his return home meant another afternoon of horticulture lessons. It was difficult for Josef to detect her smile, since it was veiled by mosquito netting, which she’d taken to wearing most of the day now. Josef had gradually stopped laughing about it, and then stopped commenting about it at all. He’d made up his mind to let her ease herself in to their new life at her own pace. But she seemed to have stopped making progress, and the mosquito netting that separated them seemed to grow thicker all the time. The only time it didn’t separate them was in their bed. Yet even there things weren’t as they should be. Lena was still too uncomfortable and frightened of all the tropical night sounds to desire his attentions. Josef worried more and more about this at night, so much so that it clouded his mind and he couldn’t think of a way to speak to her about it. So they lay there each night in darkness and silence, and when Josef finally drifted off to sleep it was into a dream-image of his wife wrapping herself, mummy-like, in thicker and thicker layers of mosquito netting. She seemed to have traded in her wedding veil for another one, and it felt like a sign of his own inadequacy that he could not lift it off. Did he not have the strength? Would he be reduced to the weakness of lies as his father had?
“I have good news,” said Josef, hoping this would reverse that regrettable trend in their relationship.
“What is it?” said Lena. “Have they found the shoes?”
“No, dearest, but I have other news, news that I hope will cheer you up. In consolation for the postal error, the postmaster has invited us to dine at his restaurant Tuesday night.”
Lena’s eyes lit up at the word restaurant. Josef saw this and knelt down beside her. He held her hand as though he were renewing his marriage proposal.
“Listen, Lena. We’ll dress in our finest clothes, as if we were going out on the town in Brooklyn. I will paddle you across and lift you out of the boat. I will help you into your chair and order the wine for you. And we’ll dine by candlelight to the music of the tropics. At evening’s end, we’ll paddle back in the moonlight and, who knows, Lena, perhaps our romance will not stop there.”
Josef gave her an embarrassed smile and Lena jumped out of her seat and hugged Josef tightly through her netting.
“Oh, yes, Josef! It’s all so romantic! I can’t wait! Please tell me more! Is it a fancy restaurant, like the ones your uncle used to take us to in Brooklyn? Do I have appropriate clothing? Because perhaps I can make something between now and Tuesday if you can find me some fine material. Will there really be music? And dancing?”
Before Josef could answer, she pulled herself away and began to rummage through her small chest of clothes. Josef smiled, though he felt the first pangs of apprehension as he realized how much depended on this dinner. In the following days, Lena was full of questions, most of which Josef could not answer to her satisfaction. He’d never seen the restaurant, and feared it might not meet her big-city standards for elegance. Still, he hoped the quaint atmosphere and the interesting local delicacies would help make pioneer life more agreeable to her. And if it did, he thought that perhaps they’d make a weekly habit of it. Something for Lena to look forward to as she worked in the grove.
Still, all of his hopes were tarnished by the loss of the shoes. He’d tell Lena, and wanted to believe himself, that perhaps it was Uncle Mordy himself who had intercepted the shoes, retrieving them for his long journey into heaven. “I like to imagine, Lena,” he’d say, “that he has kept the shoes himself, and that at this very moment he walks in them as he walks
with God.” But even the beauty of this image could not erase the nagging feeling that he’d sold his uncle’s memory for one short evening of comfort, that his plan had failed miserably.
AS TUESDAY APPROACHED, Earl worked hard to fix up the restaurant. It had deteriorated through its recent neglect, and now he suddenly felt the urge to patch up the roof, to steady some of the rickety tables and chairs, and to give the place a thorough cleaning, which made homeless a number of large insects and small, nappy rodents.
Mely was amazed at his dedication to the task and wondered aloud why he wasn’t so energetic about the household chores. But Earl didn’t hear her; he was too busy. To him, this wasn’t work. At least it didn’t feel like work. Because now his mind, so long idle from the ravages of failure, had once again lit up in wild speculation. Earl was merely setting up the stage for his grand performance. He was his own stagehand, which suited him just fine, since that was the only way he could be sure things were done right. There was a lot riding on this performance, he thought, and he was a little worried about it. He knew that Josef and his wife were city folks, and Earl himself had never been to a big-city restaurant. Yet he wanted them to feel completely at home. If he could make a good impression on them, word about the restaurant might finally get out. Steinmetz would write home about Earl and his restaurant, and pretty soon people from up and down the East Coast would make a special stop—on their way to Biscayne or Key West or the islands—to sample the local delicacies at World Famous Earl Shank’s. Of course, in no time at all he’d have to expand. He could borrow money for that, maybe hire a few of the locals. He could even sell shares and incorporate the restaurant. Probably shouldn’t get too fancy, though; it’s a good idea to keep some of that down-home country flavor. He’d become the paragon of Southern Hospitality. He’d be spoken of highly in places like New York, Boston, Washington. Admired for his shrewd business sense and his casual, almost effortless way of achieving success, as if he were one of those men walking in the golden footsteps of fortune, a man who couldn’t fail. Then, at last, his previous failures would be erased; even if they ever came to light, no one would believe them, and he could feel safe in omitting them from his autobiography. Eventually, important people would come to see what all the hubbub was about. Candidates would come to court his influence on the state’s electorate, and they’d bring all kinds of reporters with them, and one day one of them would turn to another and ask, “Well, why don’t Earl Shank run for governor,” and Earl could only smile—
“Earl, are you daydreaming again?” said Mely. “I thought you’d broke that habit.” His wife, having finished her chores, had wandered next door to the restaurant, wondering at the silence. There she found Earl, standing in the midst of the small, dark dining room, grinning foolishly, his eyes glazed in thought.
“Well hon,” he said. “I just got to thinking. If everything goes good with these Yankee folks Tuesdy night—”
“Stop what you’re saying, Earl. I do not want to hear it. Understand me? Now I’ll cook for ’em, best I can, but I know the kind of daydreams can float around in that big head a yours, and I do not want the future of the known world restin’ on my shoulders.”
“Yes, Mely.”
Despite her chidings, Mely was strangely affected by what she called Earl’s “daydreams.” It had been a long time since she’d seen Earl so full of fanciful energy. He seemed younger than he had in years, and she remembered how Earl’s big plans used to secretly excite her when they first got married. When he spoke of them he’d always seemed to her like a boyish adventurer, a swashbuckling romantic. Of course, this feeling faded when her husband’s big plans fizzled under the constraints of reality. If he told her now the details of his plans, she’d only shake her head at his sad foolishness. But without the concrete details, there was nothing to scoff at; there was only the dreamy youthfulness of reverie, which rekindled the excitement of years past. And with it, her desire.
She put her thick fingers on Earl’s shoulders and kneaded them gently.
“There’ll be plenty of time for fussin tomorrow, Earl. It’s nearly dusk.”
“Yes, Mely, I reckon you’re right.”
“Now why don’t we hit the hay? We both need to rest up for our visitors.”
Earl smiled and slipped his oversized arms around Mely’s thick waist.
“I feel sort of girlish tonight, Earl. Like anything could happen.”
“Might could,” said Earl. “Might could.”
They went to bed, and Earl figured that things were really looking up.
Chapter 6
ON TUESDAY, JOSEF and Lena dressed for dinner. Lena had begun early in THE day, ignoring the mosquitoes for once to braid her long black hair and apply makeup to her smooth white skin. She picked out a silk dress of deep grays and blues, with gossamer ruffles at the neck and sleeves. She had last worn it in Brooklyn, on a night when Mordy and Lois took them out to see the variety shows.
Josef slicked his hair back, as he used to do in Brooklyn. He slipped into his only suit, the same one he’d worn to his wedding. When he put on his shoes, he hesitated a moment and thought of his uncle. How he wished Mordy and Lois were taking them out to dinner like old times! Only now, he thought, he and his bride might be moved into their own house back in Brooklyn, and his aunt and uncle would come calling to treat them to an evening on the town.
If only things had worked out like that! They could already have settled into a small, comfortable life. Josef would have ended his apprenticeship with Mordy and become a full partner in the printing business. Lena would be happily learning the skills of housekeeping instead of falling asleep during her horticulture lessons. She’d make some mistakes as she learned—burning the roast now and then or damaging some of Josef’s clothes when she washed them. But Josef would only smile and his heart would fill at the earnestness of her efforts to please him. “Don’t fret, Lena,” he’d tell her. “Soon the printing business will grow and you’ll have a cook and a housekeeper, and my beautiful young wife will join all the most fashionable ladies who stroll on the boulevard in their wide dresses and white gloves.” In the meantime, Lois would come over and teach Lena the finer points of housekeeping, Old-World style, and while Josef worked all day in the print shop, the two women would talk about the best ways to keep him happy. “Our Josef likes his house clean and his bacon crisp.” And soon enough, the house would be running smoothly and then they could make room for children. His heart would swell with the bliss of a household full of young ones. Josef imagined himself in a permanent state of joy and rapture. And all within the protecting arms of his dear Uncle Mordy, who’d one day pat him on the back and squeeze his shoulder, “Young Josef, I believe the time has come for me to retire,” and the key to the print shop would fall neatly into Josef’s breast pocket.
Oh, the warmth and sweetness of that life! He’d fought against his desire for it for so long and had tried to replace it with a life of his own making: Josef Steinmetz, Pioneer. He’d shunned comfort for something nobler—to create a new way of life from the ground up, a life from which others could benefit for generations to come. As a pioneer, he’d tame the malevolence of nature, while at the same time nurturing her good, until she was finally recreated in the image of man, and thus in the image of God. What could be nobler and more selfless than that? Yet more and more, he doubted whether he was up to the task, and these warm, sweet images of comfort began to torment him with their cruel and powerful temptations.
Far worse was when he let himself be carried away by such imaginings so that he’d try to make them concrete. He’d construct a detailed plan by which he and Lena could abandon Florida and return to Brooklyn to assume the sweet, simple life he believed was still there waiting for him. “We’ve had our youthful adventure, dear Lena, and now it’s time to live up to our obligations. It’s time to go home.” But always there was something missing that prevented him from speaking those words: Mordy. When he walked himself through his plan, it would al
ways end in some empty nightmare, alone in a room and with a hollow sound crying in his ear—the wind pressing at the door, or the creak of a floorboard in an empty room, or the echo of a leaky pipe—a horrible sound he was powerless to stop, a crushing, empty melancholy. He knew that with the death of Mordy, the bonds between him and his aunt and his young wife and all their children yet to come had slackened and fallen to the ground, and no one had yet come forward who was strong enough to pick them up again.
Because of that, Josef understood that he’d condemned himself to remain in Florida, for it really was the only way to test his strength, to determine whether he was worthy of pulling everything together again, the way it was in Brooklyn, and before. Mordy’s death had locked Josef into an unspoken promise. He had to make a success of the life he’d chosen. To return now would be a failure and a disgrace to the memory of his uncle, one that would taint any comfort he might find back in Brooklyn.
Just as soon as Josef realized this, that sweet image of conjugal comfort redoubled the strength of its attraction and tore at Josef’s heart with the rage of a shunned lover.
Tonight he put on his old shoes and hoped with all his heart that Mordy was looking down on him and Lena approvingly and would give Lena the strength to adapt to her new situation, and Josef the strength to fight off the horrifying image of a life he could never have.
EARL WAS WAITING outside the door when Josef and Lena walked up from the dock. He saw them coming down the path and straightened his best white shirt and the black trousers that he hadn’t worn since his wedding to Mely, and which were too tight for him now. If he didn’t keep them pulled up, an unsightly roll of belly fat would hang over his belt. He’d have to watch for that.
He’d spent all day tidying up the restaurant, though it had been as clean and neat as it was going to get two days before. As a special touch, he’d planted torches on either side of the entrance. He stood beside one of them, ready to show in his guests.
The Legend of the Barefoot Mailman Page 6
