A Respite from Politix - Two Short Stories

For a change in pace, here are a couple of short stories by regular contributors Harvey Sage and Sid Bolotin.  For those of you who don't live in the community where Sid resides, he tells me their Homeowners' Association is betwixt and between over what to do about a rodent problem.  It's good to have material from someone other than myself to publish. 

If you recall my previous posting in which I offered my solution to the Real Estate Crisis, I mentioned that I also plan to solve the problems besetting Wall Street and the Federal Budget.  Material from these two contributors enables me to spend time working on those solutions.  It might seem presumptuous on my part to offer these solutions but I don't see anything better coming from the alleged experts.  But here are their stories.  Enjoy them.  (If you think you can do better, I invite you to try.)

JL

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GRANDMA’S LOVE

Harvey Sage                  

The ice cold wind caused Willie to shiver as he stood, shoulders hunched up, eyeing the upscale market’s entrance. Then he saw her, the perfect mark. He’d never done this, but the Daily News’ coverage of The Mauler read like an instruction primer for muggers. Pick out an old lady who was alone carrying bags of groceries. Approach with a smile offering to help. Tell her “You remind me of my grandma.” Cake.

“Thank God for sending you. I was in church before and I guess God has blessed me. It’s two blocks to my apartment and these old bones are weary, especially with this cold.” She paused for breath, sniffled and then revealed how she lived on the third floor. “If the elevator breaks down I have to walk up. Thanks again young man.”

“Willie.” Brrr!

“Yes. God bless you Willie. Call me Grandma Sue.” Willie warmed up to her kindness. Too bad he would have to do the deed. She reminded him of his own grandma, long deceased. How could he do this? Did he need the money that badly? He had to provide for his wife and son.

“Do you work?” she asked as they got closer to her residence, her right hand remaining in her coat pocket. Her body was slim on a sturdy frame. She had been a competitive athlete in her prime. Time takes its toll. We have new fields to plow and sow in our golden years. Florida and its warmth beckoned, but her family was here, near the city.

“No,” he coughed, his cold white breath wafting. “I lost my job through downsizing. It’s this rotten economy. I’ve got a wife, a daughter, no job, and unemployment is running out. Sorta like my running nose.” They laughed.

She looked at him with those sparkling “grandma knows all” eyes “Trust in the Lord Willie. He loves you. He has plans for you. He will provide. Grandma knows.” More than you can fathom my young friend. I’ve been around the mountain many times. I read minds.

Willie gave her a look of despair. “How do you know? You a psychic or something?” C’mon lady. Don’t snow me.

Her smile registered complete assurance. “Did you remember that you woke up this morning, alive. The sun is shining. Tell me, who’s responsible for that Willie? Do these things just happen?” Eyeball to eyeball. The challenge was palpable.

At the door to the building lobby she took out her key as Willie answered “Yeh. It just happens. I always wake up, though lately I wish I didn’t. And the sun always rises. Except on cloudy days. Then you can’t see it.” His voice was somewhat muted, revealing his uncertainty. She returned the key to her pocket where she kept her hand.

But it’s still there. Isn’t it Willie. And you have assurance of that.”

“What’s the point Grandma?” Again, eyeball to eyeball.

“Keep the faith Willie.” She smiled unflinching, a rock of assurance based on experience. Tragedy strengthens some like iron turns to steel when pounded again and again.

Going onto the elevator Grandma pushed the button for the third floor. “You think things just happen, that there’s no overriding controlling intelligence? What about the people who went to sleep last night and woke up dead this morning. And scientists reveal that the sun could easily explode all of a sudden. Poof. Good by world. Only God is in full control of everything. I never forget that which is why I go to church regularly and pray.”

As they walked to her apartment he seethed. God had let him down. No job. No money. Now he had to do something he didn’t want to do. But what choice did he have? He was warming to the task. Where are you God when I need you? The paper showed how The Mauler tricked his way into the unsuspecting old ladies apartments, hit them aside the head, and robbed them blind.

Entering her clean and neat apartment Willie put the bags on the kitchen counter, reluctantly waiting for an opportunity. Poor Grandma, he didn’t want to hit her. She stood on the other side of the counter with her hands in the jacket’s pockets, claiming that she was cold. He no longer eyeballed her. The wind had suddenly gone out of his sails and he stood becalmed, unable to do the deed which he’d been intent upon. He just felt love for this kind lady, Grandma.

She said “I know what you were thinking Willie. You are not The Mauler. You could never hurt Grandma or anyone else.” A wisp of a smile played across her face as she confronted him. Willie lowered his eyes further and quivered from shame. Grandma came around, her arms extended. He collapsed into them and cried. “You’re a good boy Willie. I can tell. You’ve been dealt a tough hand. Be of good cheer. God can and will provide in ways you never dreamed of. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a nice sandwich and pour some milk. Good for you. Has calcium. Let Grandma show you some love. “

Willie finished the glass of milk and patted his stomach, the first meal he’d had today. “I have an idea Willie. We have hundreds of old folks in this building and we’ve been looking for someone to help us. We could use a strong lad like you to go with us when we shop. Can you fix things?”

His face lit up like a turned on light bulb. “Hand dandy. That’s me.”

“There you go. You have a new occupation. I’ll be your business manager, getting you clients and collecting payment. People respect me here. It’ll be cake. You’ll make more money that working a job. I’m already into you for twenty dollars for helping and protecting me.” She took out a twenty dollar bill from her wallet and gave it to him.

“Oh Grandma, how can I ever thank you.” More tears. God is good if we just let Him do His work.

“Well, I have a leaky toilet that drives me crazy. It needs fixing. And then there are some closet shelves that my rich doctor son bought for me but never installed. That’s for openers. Ready to work? I have tools my late husband left me. That and insurance. Good man Sam. Jewish men make the best husbands.”

Willie got busy. Grandma said a prayer of thanks. Thanks for sending her a helping angel. Thanks for letting her aid a soul in need. And special thanks for allowing her to put her husband’s gun she had in her pocket away. It wasn’t needed now. Thank God!!!

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FINAL THOUGHTS   

                                                          

Sid Bolotin

Oh, oh, I’m really stuck now.  My whole right side except for my shoulder is trapped in the glue.  I’ve been scratching on the tile floor for hours trying to leverage myself off the trap, but I haven’t been able to budge at all.  When he wakes up, he’ll surely kill me.

I was doing so well too.  For two weeks I was able to avoid the old fashioned snap traps he had put out after he discovered that I had been feasting on the oat meal and pancake flour in the pantry.  The whole situation boiled over when he and his wife realized that the gouged-out gashes in the sides of the bananas on the kitchen table were from me and not his wife’s paring of over-ripe areas.

Because of her histrionics he called in a professional outfit whose technician, John, confirmed my intrusion.  John put traps in the attic and placed traps around the kitchen, den, and spare bedroom.  As good as he was, he couldn’t find my access route from the attic into the kitchen; so I continued my nightly sojourns and dining by avoiding the traps he had placed.  Generations of my species had implanted in my DNA an awareness of the dangers of both his sticky and modern snap traps baited with peanut butter. 

When the house-owners placed all foodstuffs inside the stove and fridge, I tried to leave but could not get past the wire mesh that John had placed across my one-and-only, original access opening where the A/C lines from the compressor came up the outside wall into the attic.

My cleverness at bypassing the traps, at refusing to be captured immediately, freaked out the wife into such a state that she exploded in John’s face during one of his follow-up visits.  Her hysterical eruption was so fierce that he immediately called in his senior guru, Richie, who meticulously examined my string of droppings and urine behind couches, beds, stove, fridge, and floor TV.  Driven by his anal determination to catch me he discovered the openings under the kitchen cabinets above the toe space that the builder had never closed off.  He found my entry holes.

I had heard of this legendary Richie from others in my colony and knew I had to be extra vigilant in order to survive.  I thought I was clever enough to do so…even when he placed double-wide sticky traps under the cabinets near my entrance holes.  Surely my generations of evolved craftiness would guide me.

Alas Richie was craftier than I.  He used peanut M&M’s as bait, and I fell for it.  And now I hear the man coming into the kitchen…stopping as he hears my scratching.  I know what’s coming.  I heard Richie’s instructions.  I just hope he’s quick about it.  He hesitates.  I hear him mutter softly that he’s sorry to do what he must do, but his wife is so distraught that he has no choice.  He must keep me from escaping by unrolling my fur from the glue.  He takes another glue trap and places it gently over me to make a rat sandwich with me as the meat.  The last thing I see is his foot stepping down to squeeze the life out of me.  Our battle is over.