Chapter 12

 

 

Chapter 12

THE ARAB CONNECTION

Michele and Maria, her daughter, were standing on Michele's porch. Maria was almost as short as her mother. Her blonde hair, on the other hand, was long and straight, where her mother's was short and salt and pepper. She had a light complexion and cheeks that colored easily.

Maria held her eleven month old baby, Lily. Lily was Michele's youngest granddaughter. The other two little girls, Micky, six, and Corrie, four, were struggling out of the house, through the screened door. They had towels and plastic buckets and sun hats and other material for an outing to the little beach at the access. They each had fine, light brown hair, high cheek bones and a very slight, intriguing slant to their eyes.

Michele was holding the door, helping Micky and Corrie maneuver their gear through the opening, when she heard Maria observe, "I didn't know your neighborhood was this multi-cultural."

Michele looked up to see a man in arabian attire walking down her street. He wore a full length white dress/shirt, a white head scarf with a black band to hold it in place, and sunglasses. Michele looked surprised for a few seconds. Then she saw Mossie catch up to the man and walk perkily next to him.

"Oh, that's just Don."

"Your next-door neighbor?"

"Yeah, he hates the heat. The first time I saw him he was wearing...."

"A loincloth," Maria interrupted. "You've told me that."

"Well, I found it very interesting."

"Obviously," Maria dryly agreed.

Mossie ran up for a brief hello and the girls immediately loved her. Don waved and continued on his stroll without stopping. He would catch them on the way back.

Mossie trotted back to accompany Don, and Michele's little clan toodled down to the lake like a gaggle of geese and goslings.

Micky and Corrie stopped at the shore and dropped their gear. Micky put her hands on her little hips and slowly twisted back and forth, surveying the possibilities. Corrie watched her older sister and did the same.

"This dock is fantastic!" Maria remarked. "What would you do without it?"

Michele nodded towards the little girls in reply as she stepped onto the dock, laden with child related baggage.

Maria smiled as she watched her mother and pictured her playing in the moist sand like the little girls. It wasn't hard to imagine.

The dock was fantastic compared to other docks. They had reinstalled the railings and gates on the last section, as well as adding some deck furniture and a bimini top for shade. It was ideal for sitting and enjoying the day while keeping an eye on children.

"How are you doing?" Michele asked once they had settled in.

They both knew the question wasn't as simple as it sounded.

Maria rocked Lily and kept an eye on the other girls playing on the tiny beach. She didn't look at Michele. Her eyes teared.

Michele changed the subject, saying, "I'm so glad you can spend a few weeks with me. It'll be good for all of us to spend some time together. You know I bought this place with you and the girls in mind. Thank goodness we're both teachers and have the summers off to enjoy it with the kids!"

Maria sniffled and looked for something to dab her nose with. Michele pulled a tissue out of the diaper bag and handed it to her. Maria nodded thanks, but still didn't look at Michele.

They were both quiet, then. Micky and Corrie laughed and shrieked and splashed in ankle-deep water. Lily dozed in the midday warmth. Jet skis buzzed far out on the lake.

Michele's eyes also began tearing, and she walked to the end of the dock to hide her state. She was considering Maria's unbearable burdens since her husband had been killed in Iraq. Now Maria must bear the debilitating weight of grief and the staggering responsibility of raising three small girls by herself. And her husband hadn't even been a soldier! He had supervised a diesel truck repair business, and agreed to go into a war zone as a contractor. It was for the money. It was for a better life for his family. She closed her eyes to suppress the recurring medley of morbid emotions.

Bright laughter came from the shore. Maria chuckled and sniffled and chuckled again. Michele turned to see Mossie already in the lake, drinking happily as she walked parallel to the shore. The dog jumped from the shallow water up onto the dock and loped out to the end. Michele's sadness evaporated as Mossie showered them all with fresh-shaken lake water. The spray felt good and cooling, if a teensy bit off-putting. Lily's unfocused eyes opened, but she immediately returned to sleepy land.

Don strode down the access in his white outfit. Both women took notice of him. He suddenly hesitated, looking confused, and began to turn around. Maria looked puzzled, then turned to see her mother behind her, frantically waving Don away.

"What the hell are you doing?" Maria asked.

"Oh...I'm sorry. I just realized that his outfit must be upsetting to you...you know, the arab connection and Jimmie (Maria's husband) and..."

"Huh," Maria grunted. "I hadn't made that connection. Isn't that odd?"

Maria chewed on that oddity for a moment, then hollered, "Don! Come on down and sit on the dock with us!"

Lily awoke again, looked grumpily at her mother, then groggily closed her eyes.

Don turned back toward the lake and tentatively looked for confirmation from Michele. Michele now beckoned him with a wave. He resumed his approach, but with less confidence. Michele had told him about Maria's widowhood, but hadn't explained the circumstances. He would have been paralyzed with guilt if he'd known Michele's concerns about the ethnic attire.

Don removed his sunglasses as he met the girls at the shore. He introduced himself by gently saying, "Hi. I'm your Gramma's neighbor. My name is Don."

"Is that your doggie?" Corrie asked.

"Yup."

"What's its name?"

"Her name is Mossie. She's a girl dog."

"Why are you wearing a dress?" Micky asked.

"I guess it does looks like a dress, doesn't it? I'm wearing it because I don't like to be hot, and in some parts of the world, where there is lots of sand and sun, and it's really hot, they wear clothes like this. I was trying it out to see if I could keep cool."

"You don't put clothes on to be cool," Micky stated. "You take clothes off, like us."

"Well, you make a good point..." Don began to retort, but he was interrupted by Corrie.

"We saw a frog!"

Don jumped back half a step, jerked his robe halfway up his skinny calves, knocked his knees together and began to scamper in a nervous little circle, looking fearfully, wildly about.

"Frogs!" he shrieked. "Where! Where are the frogs!"

Micky walked toward him, holding one arm out and motioning with her hand that he should calm down. She said, "Frogs can't hurt you. Don't be afraid."

"What about leopard frogs?" Don asked. "Leopards can hurt you!"

"But not frogs," Micky told him.

"What about bullfrogs. Was it a bullfrog? Bulls can hurt you!"

"Frogs can't hurt you. Frogs. FROGS!" Micky insisted.

"Was it a tree frog? Trees can hurt you!"

Corrie was sitting sideways on her hip, observing the craziness. She said, in a small, confident voice, "Trees can't hurt you. You're silly." Then she turned away and found something interesting in the sand.

"Really?" Don asked Corrie. "Frogs can't hurt me?"

There was a moment of silence before Corrie, still turned away, confirmed, "No."

The women watched. Their eyes were intent. A little smile touched their lips. They saw that Corrie was smiling, too, though she wouldn't let Don see it.

"Well," Don announced confidently, "then that is that. Frogs is ok!"

He was quite sure he heard a little voice say, "You're silly," as he stepped on the dock and walked out to the women.

"Hello, Maria," Don said as he reached the third section of dock. "I saw you earlier this summer when you and the girls played on my beach, but I haven't been introduced." He turned to Michele, and added, "Do you remember from the Sisters of St. Mary's, how to introduce people?"

Michele went momentarily blank. She knew this. Come on! How did introductions go? Women first and men second. That was it.

"Maria," Michele said formally, "this is Mr. Don Breeley. He is known as Bree to his interesting friends.

"Mr. Breeley, this is Ms. Maria Parker, my daughter."

Maria stayed seated. She held Lily with her left arm and extended her right hand in a ladylike manner. Don took Maria's hand and smiled, then bowed and kissed the back of her hand lightly.

"Won't you have a seat, Don?" Michele asked.

"Thank you. I would be delighted to do so," he answered, and sat down.

He quickly stood up again, lifted his shirt/dress a few inches at the hips and sat down once more. He saw the women watching, and stated, "Yeah, well, maybe you know about skirts, but you don't have to deal with luggage in the baggage department when you sit down. Takes some arranging."

There was a short, awkward silence, which Don ended by saying, "My apologies, Maria. I've gone a bit native, and have let my dignity slip. I should have kept that thought to myself."

Maria shifted Lily's weight, and said, "It's good to hear a man's view again. How is the robe-thingy working out?"

Don looked impressed. He liked Maria's familiarity.

"It sorta makes sense in the direct sunlight" he reported, "especially the head scarf. You'd be amazed at how much more comfortable you are if you can get the sun off your neck. The Japanese and French Foreign Legion and bonefishermen have the right idea."

"Where did you get the outfit?" Maria asked.

Michele watched Maria, trying to understand why she was interacting so comfortably with a near-stranger.

"I got it online. I typed in, 'arabian robe', and got a boatload of hits. It is a very complicated subject. The robes differ depending on the country and the region and the..."

"What area does your robe represent?" Maria asked.

"I think it's probably Egyptian or Saudi. I wasn't really interested in ethnicity. I was going for practicality."

"Did you look at Iraqi robes?"

Michele's eyes widened.

"Not specifically. I was looking for simple and white. Why?"

"My husband was killed in Iraq. He was a contractor. He managed truck mechanics."

Don's face went dead. He grabbed at the throat of his robe and ripped the buttons off with a vicious pull, then pulled again and split the robe to his waist, showing the white undershirt he wore beneath. Next he tore the scarf off of his head.

"Ohhhh," he moaned, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He choked-up and had difficulty continuing but forced himself to do so. "This goddamned war!"

He sobbed and wiped at his eyes and nose with his scarf. Michele drew more tissues from the diaper bag and gave him a handful, realizing she had never seen him angry, and marveling at the swiftness of the change.

Maria, dry-eyed, said, "Your robe doesn't bother me, Bree. It was actually helpful." She looked at her mother and raised her eyebrows with the surprise of a recent epiphany. "It finally helped me to talk about Jimmie's death."

Don stood. He patted Maria gently on her shoulder and stepped through the little gate on the third dock section. He saw the girls playing on the skinny strip of sand, and sniff/snorted to pull himself together.

Turning back to the women he said, "Alan is uh, Alan, my son, is uh, coming up to spend the weekend with me. He's bringing Jake and Elsbeth. I'd ah, I'd..." He shook his head and snifted mightily. "I'd like it if you all joined us for a cookout tonight."

Michele carefully, quietly asked, "Do you need some help getting ready?"

"We all need some help, Shelly," he answered honestly, with none of his usual cynicism or innuendo, "but tonight I just need you to bring yourselves and the kids." He tried to smile and said, "Don't worry. Be happy! Seriously. I've been doing this since 9/11. I bet a lot of us have been. Someday they'll come up with, 'Post 9/11 Syndrome'. I'll give them an interview. In the meantime, the episodes pass, and life goes no. See you tonight."

He turned and walked toward shore. Mossie left the women and walked next to him, looking up at his face.

Scarf in hand, Don put on his sunglasses to hide his swollen eyes, and sat down on the shoreside end of the dock. Micky and Corrie looked at him from where they were digging in the sand. They were discovering that beach holes filled quickly with water...very useful for moats and irrigation canals.

"Would you ladies like to come to my place for a cookout tonight?" Don asked.

"Where is your place?" Micky asked.

Don pointed to the house next door.

"Why is your shirt broken?" Corrie asked.

"It got too hot," Don lied. "I needed some ventilation."

"What are you cooking?" Micky asked.

"Steaks and some vegetables, like potatoes and corn and green beans."

"No hot dogs?" Micky asked.

"We can do some hot dogs," Don assured, "and," he said to Corrie, "maybe I'll pull some frog legs out of the freezer. They are great grilled."

Corrie's large eyes opened even larger than usual.

Micky spoke for both of them, stating "You can't eat frogs!"

"Yes, you can," Don replied. "I am not kidding. I have lots of frog legs in my freezer. Tom Honey and I caught them this very summer. You'll like them. They taste quite good."

The two young sisters looked at each other.

"Frogs are too small to eat!"

"Not bullfrogs," Don said.

"How do you catch them?"

"We wade in the lake at night and shine flashlights in their eyes, then grab them."

"Can we catch frogs with you?"

"Sure, sometime, if we do it in a boat. You can watch while one of us rows and the other one snatches frogs. We won't have time to do that tonight, though."

Both girls jumped up and onto the dock, running past Don. He watched them race to their mother.

"Mommie, Mommie!" Corrie called. "We're going to eat frogs tonight!"

The two women shared an apprehensive glance, then looked toward Don and saw him walking away with Mossie.

Michele motioned the excited girls into her grandmotherly arms.

Micky asked, "Why was he crying?"

Maria continued to look after Don and slowly, quietly answered, "Because he's a good guy."