The Enigmatic Mr. Dawsley

by Michael Bergquist

  When the spring finally did come, a number of changes did as well. The leaves had begun to return and flowers began to bud. Birds sang once more and the animals reemerged into the world. It was the warmer climate of the spring that somewhat healed Mr. Dawsley as I had hoped. He shaved his awful beard and his energy returned. It would not return in full until a short time later, though.

  Gainsburg had worked very hard to create a new holiday that he thought would gain him the love and support of the people he had hurt for so long. The day was to be called “Bacon Day” and was scheduled for the following week. Dawsley and I were asked to attend the celebrations with him and to help fund it. Mr. Dawsley, that ever hopeful man, agreed to pay for a part of the event that was to take place in Atlantia Park.

  Chapter 15

  The morning of the event, Mr. Dawsley and I were eating breakfast when the phone rang. Sandra brought it into the dining room and handed it to Mr. Dawsley.

  “Hello?” he said. He listened for a few moments before frowning and hanging up.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Finlow.”

  “Finlow? What does he want?”

  “He told me that he was greatly looking forward to the event today.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Indeed it does, dear Truman, indeed it does.”

  We finished eating silently, both of us contemplating what Finlow’s call could possibly mean. We left the house a short while later and entered the limousine that was waiting for us, as it was every day. We were brought to the park and found the festivities to already be under way. The entire park smelled of grease and poor decisions. Entire families were stuffing bacon into their mouths and playing bacon-themed games. It was a bizarre sight to say the least.

  “Boys!” called a voice from the crowd. Gainsburg emerged with a large smile on his face. “Boys! We did it! We’ve won the people back!”

  “Good for you, Mr. Gainsburg.” I said with a forced smile.

  “It’s all thanks to you, Dawsley.” he said.

  “Please, you flatter me, but I had very little to do with any of this.” replied Mr. Dawsley.

  “And he’s modest!”

  He gave Dawsley a pat on the shoulder and hurried back into the crowd to mingle with the people. My companion and I watched the event continue onward successfully. The people were ecstatic to be consuming what would soon be declared a record amount of bacon. This joy, however, was not to last.

  The first heart attack came about three o’clock in the afternoon. It was followed by several more and soon every paramedic in Atlantia was at the event, reviving people and taking them to the hospital. Gainsburg looked nervous amidst the growing chaos of the crowd. People began to shout and hiss and Gainsburg quickly hid his face so as not to be seen and potentially attacked by the unruly citizens.

  We watched as Gainsburg slipped away from the park, hurrying into a parked car on the street that quickly sped away. He had not only attempted to restore health to the people, he also took it away quite efficiently. It was the last time I ever saw Gainsburg.

  The people began to chant anti-Gainsburg sentiments, as well as calls for the repeal of the cake law. Even some people being taken away on stretchers, through their oxygen masks, chanted for the repeal of the law. I was astonished at how willingly the people threw their health away and how quickly they took to blaming others for their lack of self-control. I turned to face Mr. Dawsley, but he was no longer standing next to me.

  I spun toward the stage to see if Dawsley had moved in that direction, but instead I saw Mr. Finlow standing at the podium, raising his hands to silence the crowd.

  “Citizens!” he began. “Your governor has fled! He has taken and taken and taken from you and fled!”

  His comments were followed by more boos and hisses. He continued onward.

  “I am not here to take his place, no, I am here to guide you in the right direction. The man who we must now turn to is Mr. DuChamp, the rightful governor!”

  The people cheered and DuChamp walked out onto the stage with Bell by his side as well. They waved and smiled and seemed more greasy than the people wolfing down bacon. That was also very surprising. Despite the hospitalization of several people, the others continued to scarf down bacon as they booed the cake laws and the now former governor. DuChamp did not give a speech, he did not have to. The people seemed to unanimously favor him over Gainsburg and he took office unofficially, then later officially, after the event.

  I could not find Dawsley in the crowd, so I turned away to search the remainder of the park. The spring had returned a sort of mystical feeling to the world and the park in particular. The air smelled of lilacs and the cool breeze blanketed everyone in calm. It was a time for new hopes and goals and I was hoping that Mr. Dawsley felt the same way.

  I found him sitting on the bench I had found him on that one day long ago. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be letting the breeze wash away his immense sorrows. He opened his eyes and stared at me.

  “Well, Truman, I suppose this is the end of our political careers.” he said.

  “I suppose so.” I replied.

  “Perhaps that is not such a terrible thing.”

  “You seem fairly affected by it, though.”

  “A passing feeling, to be sure.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I had been pondering that very question before you approached me.”

  “Have you arrived at any answers?”

  “I’m afraid I have not thought of anything specific. I do, however, think it wise to retire completely from matters of government. It is a losing game for everyone involved.”

  “I’m sorry your opinion has changed.”

  “It is quite all right, I would prefer my opinion to change than to continue being enslaved by an outdated one.”

  I nodded and sat down on the bench next to him.

  “It’s a wonderful day.” I remarked.

  “It seems quite miserable.” he replied.

  “Surely you are not referring to the loveliness of this season?”

  “Oh! No, of course not. I had been speaking of the events of the day. The weather is quite nice. It is always the perfect antidote to any feelings of wretchedness.”

  “I must agree with you.”

  We sat quietly taking in the delightful sensations provided by the spring. Birds chirped noisily and children laughed in the distance. The lilac smell continued to fill the air and dissipate any feelings of unpleasantness. The air was warm, not humid or dry, but just perfect.

  “I think it is time we begin focusing on enjoyment again.” said Mr. Dawsley. “We had such wonderful times before all of this election business.”

  “What shall we do?” I asked.

  “I am not quite sure.”

  “So long as we do not end up in jail or scuffles.”

  “I can not promise that, dear Truman.”

  “Let us at least make an effort to avoid them if possible.”

  “But of course. Tell me, Truman, have you ever been in love?”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  “Really?”

  “There have been times where I have felt as if I were in love, but in retrospect I doubt very much that I actually was.”

  “That is a shame.”

  “How about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Truman, you must know by now that I am already in love with the sweet Ellie Bell.”

  “You are still taken by her?”

  “How can I not be? It is clear that you can not understand, seeing as you have never been in love before. When it happens, Truman, when you fall in love at first sight, your world will slow down to a complete halt and she will be the only other person in the world with you. And when your eyes meet for the first time and smiles creep up suddenly, you will feel your soul as if it were a physical entity, dancing around inside of you.”

&
nbsp; “Wow.” I replied. “That must be quite a sensation.”

  “There is none like it in the entire world.”

  “And you felt this with Ellie?”

  “The very moment I saw her.”

  “And it has lasted this long?”

  “Indeed it has. She grew more lovely as our correspondence continued on, but my love for her was doomed from the start. I am fearful that she sees me more as a companion than a love, an escape from the rigid upper society that she has been forced to inhabit, and yet sees me as a wealthy man nonetheless.”

  I did not know what to say in reply. What he was speaking of was beyond my comprehension. I did, however, understand that if Mr. Dawsley was ever to feel whole, he either had to attain Ellie, or emotionally move on from her. I was inclined to choose the second option, seeing as Ellie was already romantically involved with another, although he was an awful man. Congressman Bell, her father, had also taken precautions against Mr. Dawsley ever becoming involved with her. To incite the wrath of those two men by aiding Mr. Dawsley in courting his love would be very foolish indeed. However, she was clearly the love of his life and he would, perhaps, never love another. It was a possibility and it left me conflicted over which course of action to support.

  I decided to sleep on the decision. If only one of the two men were to become an aggressive enemy, it would perhaps be manageable enough to oppose him and help Dawsley win Ellie’s heart. But the two of them? The effects of angering them would very likely prove catastrophic. Their combined means would be enough to overpower Mr. Dawsley and would absolutely decimate me. Still, I could not help but feel conflicted despite the obvious appeal of finding Mr. Dawsley a different woman to love.

  Chapter 16

  I had not been able to come to a decision by the next morning. I admit that I hoped I would not have to, that Dawsley would decide to find a new woman to love on his own. This was not a man to give up easily, however, and I did not believe that he would start when it came to Ellie, for better or for worse. I fantasized again about leaving and never turning back in order to save myself from the devastation on the horizon which seemed so terribly near. But, in the end I stayed where I was. I had made a commitment to Mr. Dawsley and his words regarding honoring such promises rang true inside me. I may have wanted to leave, but I could not. I would not.

  I found Dawsley at the dining room table reading a newspaper. The front page showed Gainsburg covering his face with one hand, presumably as he was heading to his car. The headline read: “Gainsburg Goes Wee-Wee-Wee All the Way Home”. I knew what the article said without even having to read it. It would discuss his numerous failed laws, his drinking problem, the health concerns related to Bacon Day, and probably several quotes from former advisors on the poor leadership of the man. The article would also praise DuChamp and Finlow for stepping in to save the people and Bell would give a ringing endorsement to counteract his previous one.

  I left the room and went to watch the news on the television. As expected, the various news networks were covering the Bacon Day fiasco. They tore into the shortcomings of Gainsburg and even created their own myths about the man. It was hard to pity him, but he did not deserve the careless news coverage that was outright lying about him.

  The story following that one showed Finlow and Bell shaking hands over a new deal to further fund the mining industry in Atlantia. Ellie stood slightly off to the side with that bright red hair of hers that caused her to stand out nonetheless. She was clapping dutifully and smiling the way only the rich and bored are capable of. Congressman Bell began to make a speech about the economy and jobs and industry and other key words that politicians like to throw out during events such as this. I turned the television off and walked to the piano room where Dawsley had just taken a seat at the piano.

  He played an upbeat rag-time tune which seemed to cheer up the entire house. Even the ever-surly Sandra began smiling and sweeping to the rhythm of the song. I poured myself a coffee from a small glass tray on a small glass table in the corner. I decided against taking one of the shortbread cookies that also sat upon the tray and walked over to the couch where I sat down. I listened to Mr. Dawsley play a few more songs before he abruptly stopped in the middle of one. He spun around quickly.

  “Dear Truman,” he began as he often did, “where do women gather?”

  “What do you mean?” I replied.

  “I mean as I have said.”

  “Where do they meet?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are not a gang or a club with meetings.”

  “That is not what I mean and you know it.”

  “I find the question peculiar.”

  “There is nothing peculiar about it! I just wish to know where I might find a woman to bring out on dates and the like.”

  “What happened with Ellie?” I asked. I immediately regretted asking the question. I had known it was a touchy subject, but the words decided to force their way out anyhow. Dawsley smiled sadly.

  “I have told you already.” he replied. He turned back around and played another rag-time song, though he played it much slower than it was meant to be played. It created a melancholy sensation which was so opposite to what rag-time music usually produced. Sandra looked at me and shook her head disapprovingly. I looked apologetically at her, but she took her broom and moved into the dining room, leaving the two of us in the large room full of sad rag-time and quiet, internal suffering. When the song was over, Dawsley sat facing the piano with his hands at his sides.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Dawsley.” I said. He turned to face me.

  “It is quite all right, Truman.” he replied. “Your question was a reasonable one. I had just the day before told you of my inexplicable, irrational love for her. It makes perfect sense that you would wonder about my change of heart, so to speak.”

  “It was none of my business and I apologize again.”

  “There is no need, I assure you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, Truman,” he said grinning, “where do women meet?”

  “Clubs tend to be popular.”

  “I thought you said they were not a part of a club?”

  “I am speaking of a different kind of club. A dance club.”

  “Ah, yes! I have heard of such places, but I admit I have never attended one. What are they like?”

  “From my experience, they tend to be loud, crowded, and dark.”

  “That sounds just perfect.”

  “I am not exactly in agreement with you.”

  “Surely you must be excited by them to some extent.”

  “If only.”

  Mr. Dawsley thought over what I had just told him.

  “And you say that women gather at these dance clubs?” he asked.

  “Yes, all women seem to be in the dance clubs in the evenings.”

  “Then perhaps that is where I will find love!”

  “I highly doubt that, Mr. Dawsley.”

  “Why?”

  “You will not meet a classy woman in a dance club.”

  “Did you not say that all women attend the dance clubs?”

  “Yes, but --”

  “And if all women attend the dance clubs and none of the women in the dance clubs are classy, then perhaps it is time we reevaluate our definition of the term ‘classy’.”

  I had no reply. Mr. Dawsley could be exceptionally bright when arguing a point when it suited him to be so. There was very little use in debating him on such trivial issues in which he felt passionate for one reason or another.

  Chapter 17

  We spent the day drinking bourbon, playing music, and eating. Sandra was kept busy cleaning up after us, but the music kept her in high spirits which led her to be more tolerant of our buffoonery.

  The later hours of the evening found us sitting in chairs by the fire. Sandra had finished cleaning for the day and decided to play a few songs on the piano that she had learned as a young girl in her home country. The songs were beautiful and exotic
, sounding like nothing I had ever heard from a piano. I was quite impressed. Mr. Dawsley, however, sat quietly, staring blankly into the flames of the fireplace. Sandra was playing a slow, haunting melody when Mr. Dawsley rose up and left the room. Sandra stopped playing and we could hear him ascending the stairs, which was followed by the soft closing of his bedroom door. I poured myself another bourbon and offered one to Sandra. To my surprise, she accepted.

  “Thank you, Mr. Truman.” she said.

  “You are very welcome, Sandra.” I replied with a warm smile.

  “This is strong drink, no?”

  “It is, indeed. My apologies. Would you like something else?”

  “No, it is fine.”

  “Sandra,” I began, “how long have you been working for Mr. Dawsley.”

  She thought quietly for a moment.

  “Since he was little boy.” she said.

  “Has he always had these moods?”

  “Moods?”

  “Yes, moods. Becoming sad for no reason?”

  “Oh, yes. He has had moods for many years. Since Mr. Dawsley father left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When Mr. Dawsley was boy, his father left him alone. I raise him with others, too. We take care of Mr. Dawsley. I am only one left now.”

  “Why did his father leave?”

  “Shame. Mr. Dawsley leave school as boy and come to live at home.”

  “He left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “I do not know. He blame Mr. Finwol.”

  “Mr. Finlow?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Finlow.”

  I contemplated these new revelations quietly and sipped my drink. Sandra finished hers and stood up.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Truman. Thank you.” she said.

  “It was my pleasure, Sandra. Goodnight.” I replied.

  She shuffled out of the room and I continued to sit in front of the fire, watching the flames crackle and hiss. After several minutes, I stood up and went to my bedroom. I sat on the bed for a short while thinking about Mr. Dawsley as a child, wondering what could have happened. His father abandoned him, he left school, he developed a rivalry of sorts with Finlow. He never had any real family other than Sandra and whomever else was helping to take care of him. What could have happened? I made a mental note to inquire about the events of his childhood over breakfast the following morning, but then swiftly erased it, thinking it too personal to bring up so casually. I would have to wait and hope for him to bring it up, not the other way around.