The Man on the Park Bench

Homer Clopton balanced the partially eaten cookie on his left knee and held his saucered teacup out for a refill.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said, watching Beulah Schuck pour. He was stretched ramrod straight on her worn overstuffed couch’s front edge. A hole in his white right sock peeked over a scuffed heel, then hid again as he tucked both feet closer to his sample case.

  "It is very nice of you to offer me tea, I am sure." He paused a moment, then added, "The cookie is good, too."

  "Oh, my goodness, don't think nothing of it, Mr. Clopton! Or can I call you Homer? That's such a purty name."

  Beulah refilled her own cup and set the teapot on the coffee table between them. She, too, sat on the edge of her seat, a white wicker rocker inherited from her mother with the rest of the house fifteen years before. But she did so out of necessity. The last time she'd tried to force her ample body back between its arms she'd almost become stuck.

  "Yes, ma'am, please do call me Homer." He sipped the hot liquid. "And what was yore name again?"

  "Schuck. Beulah Schuck. It was quite a well known name around here when Father was alive, and we owned all that land. But that's been so long ago. Where did you say you was from?"

  "Born and raised over near Pebble Springs," he said. "But I spent the last six months up in Bowling Green. At the Everlasting Love Seminary."

  "I see." She sipped her tea and set the cup on the coffee table. She was short, about fifty years old, with salt and pepper hair, rimless bifocals, and three chins. She clasped her fat hands in front of her and looked up again at her visitor.

  "You're on your own now, are you?"

  "Yes ma'am." His huge Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Ever since I joined the Redeeming Faith Bible and Plastic Wares Company back in March. I’ve been traveling for them for more'n a month, now."

  "Ah, I knowed you was an educated man!" she said, beaming. "I could just tell it in the way you talked. You use such—such proper English and big words an' all. And now you're a career man, too!"

  "Yes ma'am. And I thank you for the compliment."

  He appeared to Beulah to be about nineteen years old, barely out of high school, if indeed he had graduated. Unruly red hair bounced across his eyes each time he moved his head. A receding chin and jug handle ears helped the hair frame his shallow face and thin nose. His toothpick like body was dressed in shiny kneed work trousers and a brown plaid sports jacket.

  He gulped some tea, set his cup and saucer down, and rummaged through his sample case.

  "If I may, ma'am, I'd like to show you our new line. May I first compliment you on your lovely home?"

  "Why, thank you, Homer. It's only two bedrooms, but it's certainly big enough for me. More than enough, I might add."

  "This here is the newest bible we have." He pulled the heavy tome out and laid it on the table next to their teacups, opened to its center. "All of Jesus' words are printed in red. And look here at the illustrations. It's pro—profusely illustrated."

  "Well, so it is. Isn't that the purtiest thing you ever seen!" She reached over and touched it.

  "But that's not all! Lookit here, at how strong it is."

  He held two pages together and used them as a handle to lift the heavy book.

  "Lordy me! Ain't that somethin', now?"

  "It's strong, sure enough." He jiggled the book to prove his point. "Them pages won't come out. I mean, they're in there for good."

  Beulah sat back in amazement. "Ain't that something! I can just see me readin' that when the rapture comes."

  "Oh, do you believe in the rapture? I don't know if I do or not. I figure that when Christ comes he'll prob'ly take everybody and not just a chosen few. If you've been saved, that is."

  "Oh, no. He'll get a handful of us true believers first," Beulah said, frowning. "And—and what else do you have?"

  "Well, let's see…" He rummaged through his sample case again. "Now here's a nice little item. I would think it would be perfect for your home."

  She clasped her hands together again in anticipation, and he brought out a twelve inch long white plastic replica of Christ on the cross.

  "It's our glow in the dark Jesus. You can use it for a night light, if you wanted to."

  "Now that is truly amazing! You know, sometimes I get turned around when I get up at night? If I hung that by my bedroom door, why—why, Jesus could be leading me on the correct path to the bathroom!"

  "That's right," he said, caught up in her excitement. "That's a good way a doin' it. He'd be the light of your life, day and night. But if you think that's something, wait'll you see this."

  He reached back into his box of miracles and pulled out a flat cardboard package, slightly larger than a piece of typing paper and perhaps an inch thick. He removed the lid and turned the open box up for her to see.

  "It's our very latest product. It's a 3 D Christ at the Last Supper. It's been—" he stopped a moment, then read from the lid. "It’s been 'vac—vaccu formed for lasting three dimensional beauty and inspiration.'"

  She gasped at the sheer technology that promised to bring her closer to God.

  "Let me see that." She heaved herself up out of the rocker and took the object reverently from him, waddled over to the front wall, and held it against the tattered wallpaper with both hands. The skin of her arms hung down like furled sails on a ship's mast.

  "How does this look?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "Why, that looks—delightful."

  As he approached her so he could admire it with her, he stepped on a rubber ball and his foot flew out from under him. He caught himself on the couch’s arm.

  "Are you all right? That was one of Beauregard's toys. Here, let me get that up."

  She handed him the Last Supper and reached down to retrieve the ball from under the coffee table. "I thought I'd already picked up all his little things. Every day I find somethin' else to put away. You know, you'd better start believing in the rapture real fast. You don't know when an accident like that will bring you face to face with Jesus. Or when the end is a goin' to come anyhow."

  "I certainly will think about it. Is—is Beauregard a child, or a—"

  "He was my little dog." She sat down again. "Poor thing. I had him ever since Mama passed away. Got him just the week after."

  Homer looked around the cluttered room.

  "Oh, he's not here now. The poor thing died of old age just last week. He was such a dear thing to me, and—now, where was we?"

  "We was looking at the lovely three dimensional Last Supper," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Can I put you down for one of them?"

  "Oh, heavens yes. I'm sure it will be such an inspiration. And let me have one of those— those—"

  "Our glow in the dark Jesus. That has been a very nice item for us, and I'm sure you will be blessed by it for many years."

  Beulah disappeared into her bedroom and moments later came out with her purse in hand. She sat on the rocker's edge and carefully counted out her money, most of it in nickels, dimes and quarters.

  "And where will you be staying tonight?" she asked. "Nearby?"

  "Wherever the Lord leads me. Last night I stayed in the parking lot behind the IGA in Cooper's Ledge. I had a lovely view of the woods across the creek."

  She nodded and frowned in deep thought. She looked toward the second bedroom, which had not been used for those fifteen years since her mother passed away, except by Beauregard. It was still furnished with a made up bed, the dresser, and even blankets in the closet. Beauregard's small bed was still in one corner, filled with the toys she had accumulated for him over the years, and which she had gathered with loving care after his recent demise.

  Homer closed his case and started to rise.

  "Uh—just a minute, Mr. Clopton. I wonder if you would do me a great favor? If you wouldn't mind."

  He sat back down again. "I would be very happy to do anything that you ask," he said. "Anything at all. Just name it."

  "Well… I've been thinking a long time about starting
a—a Bed and Breakfast thing. You know, that's where people stay at night, and you feed them and all the next day?"

  "Yes ma'am?"

  "I don't know if I'd really like it. I think it's something you've just got to try out once and see. Don't you agree?"

  "Well, I—I guess so. I never give it much thought, one way or 'nother."

  She rushed on. "Well, I wonder if you'd do me the favor of helping me to find out. Would you stay here tonight? Then in the morning I could fix you a breakfast and maybe a lunch, too. That way I'd get me some practice and see if I liked it."

  He thought a moment. "Well, Ma'am, I wouldn't want to put you out none."

  "Oh, you wouldn't be putting me out atall. You'd actually be doing me a big favor."

  "Really? Well, in that case, I don't see why not. If it'd help you out."

  She pushed herself up from her chair. "Oh, I'm so pleased. Come in and see the room. Bring your sample case if you want. There's a closet you can put it in."

  He stood. "Well, I'd better get in a couple more calls before the day is over. But I surely will come back. Is that the room over there? That looks like a nice room, all right."

  He stepped over and peered into it, and smiled. "It looks somethin' like the room I lived in over to home. But there was three of us sharing that one. Just think—all that room to myself!"

  He said his goodbyes and went out to his dilapidated car and drove off down the dirt road, and Beulah stood watching him until the car disappeared in its trail of dust. She walked around to the back of her little cottage, past the broken well pump and a stack of decaying fence posts, and stopped at a bare earthen mound next to her small vegetable garden. She looked at it for several moments, arms crossed, and wiped away a tear.

  "He won't be a replacing you, Beauregard, honey," she said. "Nobody can do that. But it do get lonely out here."

  She knelt and smoothed the mound with a chubby hand. A tear landed on the dirt and seeped in. Maybe next year she would plant some gladiolus here. She always did like gladiolus. Especially the yellow kind.

  She stood and walked slowly to the house. She'd go in and put Beauregard's things up in the attic and clean out the dresser drawers. Then she'd fix Homer her rhubarb surprise for dessert tonight. Surely, he would agree to stay on. Maybe for a long, long time. There wasn't much money left from her daddy's land, but there should be enough to support them for a good while. Especially if Homer could sell a 3 D Last Supper every now and then.

  She reached the back door and turned to look back toward the grave. She closed her eyes in a brief prayer, then went inside, a smile on her face. She'd get him to believe in the rapture soon enough. It looked like her new glow in the dark Jesus was already starting to work.

  Brotherly Love

  Jack’s big brother had just gotten out of prison

  and the police were already hounding him.

  If someone didn’t help him, he’d go right back.