Texas Tales

if you love someone you will let them go

Everyone has fears, only mine, mine are in my heart.

It was dusk, and the small boy crouched behind the azalea bush which hummed from the bees pollenating the pink blooms covering it. Footsteps shuffled in the grass; the sound came closer, then it stopped. The boy curled tighter; pearls of sweat rolled down his cheeks.

"Bobka," the stern voice made him jump, "Come out from there before you get stung."

The boy peered from behind the leaves. He saw those familiar thick legs with hose rolled just below the hem of a flowered skirt. It was his grandmother, Sashu. She stood with her hands on her hips, solid reminding him of the skyscrapers he had seen when his parents had taken him downtown, to a parade.

"No, there are tigers," the boy’s voice quivered.

"Tigers? Where are these tigers?" Sashu questioned, spreading her arms and turning from her waist reminding him of a windmill. "There are no tigers here."

"No, Shasu, in my closet, there are three," the boy answered.

"But Bobka, what do tigers want with that closet? Do they wear small boys’ clothing?" Sashu tried to make him laugh then she extended her hand. "Come, we will go and find these tigers."

The boy grasped her hand, it was worn and soft, but always strong.

As they walked up the stairs, Bobby looked at his grandmother. Her hair was black with two streaks of gray; one on each side. It was always pulled back in a tight bun. Her steps were short and stiff, a sign of age, but Bobby thought it was due to the round brown shoes she always wore.

"Don’t you have tigers in your closet?" the boy questioned his grandmother as they made their way through the old farmhouse his grandfather had built.

"Everyone has tigers; just, they live in different places."

"Where are yours?"

"Here," she patted her chest with her free hand, "Mine are in my heart."

Bobby’s eyes grew big, "Aren’t you afraid of them?""No not of the tigers, just of facing them alone."

Her voice dropped and her face became serious.

"I’ll fight them with you."

"Oh, my big Bobka," she reached around him, engulfing him with her chubby arms, "I know I can count on you."

When they reached the room, his room, Bobby broke away from his Grandmother and ran to his bed. He clasped his pillow and closed his eyes so tightly he saw spots.

"Don’t go into the closet, Sashu." The boy pleaded. "They will eat you."

Sashu walked over to him and sat on the side of the bed and held the small boy’s hand. "You get under the covers, and I will tell you a secret, Bobya."

The boy followed his grandmother’s orders, and she continued. "I have a special song; it puts tigers to sleep for a whole week. I will sing it now, then I will open the door. Ah, ah, ah, Codt kee dva. Sorra booray obidva. Pulcelli du lah soo." Her voice was soft and comforting. "Nahroom bi wah howaksoo. Yden wahpi messhi. Droogi, Bobya, Kowissa."

His eyelids became heavy, he fought them. He shouldn’t go to sleep. What if the tigers come out? What if the song didn’t work? No, Sashu was never wrong. And his eyes closed.

Sashu finished the song, then gently released the small hand, placing it on the sheet. Pushing herself from the mattress, she jostled the bed, but it did not disturb the boy. His sleep was sound.

As she walked around the bed, she wiggled the boy’s big toe which was sticking out from the covers. "No more tigers for you," she whispered as she walked out of the room.

That was long ago when the boy was still Bobby, not Robert.

Robert came to Sashu’s home only at the insistence of his mother. Once when he was helping install a washing machine at Sashu’s, he brushed against the azalea bush full of blooms and bees and was stung.

"Oh, Bobya," Sashu hurried to his side.

"Robert," he snapped "Why don’t you cut the old thing down."

"You always hid behind that bush when you were little. Come, we will go inside. A little baking soda will help that."

"I can take care of myself; I’m not a kid."

"Yes you are a big, strong man, now." Sashu was pulling on his arm, leading him to the bathroom.

"Look, Grandmother, I don’t have much time; I’m supposed to meet some friends, later. Where do you want the washer?""Bobya, you are always in a rush. Why don’t you come, spend a weekend with me, like you used to? Your room is still there, even the tigers."

"Grandmother," his voice was somewhere between embarrassment and frustration.

Sighing, she instructed, "The washer goes in the kitchen. Follow me, I will show you where."

Pushing the dolly, Robert followed his grandmother. He noticed how short and heavy she had become over the years. And, she still wore those ridiculous rolled hose, it was embarrassing. He placed the machine next to the stove and hooked it up.

"I’ve got to go, now." He wiped his hands on his jeans and headed for the door.

"Then you come back soon. Bring your friends. I’ll fry some chicken, your favorite."

"Sure," his voice was disconnected as he left, "See you."

"Stay," Sashu pleaded.

Bobya knelt beside her bed and offered his hand. Sashu grabbed it and squeezed it so tightly that his knuckles ached.

"Ah, Ah, Ah," he started "Codt kee dva, sorra boray obidva," he looked up her lips had spread, curling up at the ends. Her eyes closed. "Pulcelli di lahsoo. Nay roo bi wah. Howwaksoo. Yeden wahpi messhi. Droogi Sashu kowisshka." He finished.

Sashu moved his hand to her lips and gently kissed it, and Bobya softly stroked her forehead with his free hand.

"Light," the frail figure garbled.

And he turned out the light, then returned to his post by the bed. There he stayed in the shadows that had overtaken the small room There, he stayed holding Sashu’s hand until it grew cold and stiff. Then slowly rising, he placed the icy hand across the covers.

As he walked past the end of the bed, he wiggled the big toe which pushed through the blanket.

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Tigers in the Closet

The Cardinal

The old man sat in the shade of a pecan tree. His hands leisurely cracked some of the pecans scattered near him. As he sat, he spoke to the cardinal in the tree above him. The cardinal moved closer, and by the end of the day, the man coaxed the bird to sit on his shoulder.

"You are such a pretty bird," the man spoke softly so he would not scare the animal. "Would you like a pecan?" His hands extended the meat of a nut.

The bird accepted the offering and carried it into the limbs of the tree.

"Come back when you are ready for more."

Soon, the bird returned, expecting another treat.

"You are lucky you came when you did, it is late, and I must leave."

He gave the bird a sliver of the last nut he had cracked, and again, the bird took it to the tree. "Come visit me, tomorrow, and I will give you more."

And the man pushed himself from the ground, using the trunk of the tree to stabilize himself. "Sometime, I should rise without the pain and effort of age."

And the man started home.

He walked on the dirt shoulder of the road leading to his son's house. Occasionally, his shuffling feet dislodged a loose rock and skipped into the road.

"Lift up," he man's attention focused on his leges. "Before you ruin my shoes."

By the time he reached home, the moon had replaced the sun.

"Jadek, where have you been?" Maria, his daughter-in-law pulled him into the house. "Hurry and wash, your dinner is getting cold."

"Always rushing, you need to take your time."

"You are old and can talk of time, but there is a shortage of it for me."

"Humph," Jadek pushed his arms toward the floor. "I was delayed by a friend."

Maria only shook her head.

"What are we having for dinner?" Jadek eased himself into a dining chair.

"You are having sauerkraut, but there are no more potatoes."

"How can I eat it without potatoes?"

"You can eat it with bread."

"The crust is too tough and the caraway seeds hurt my gums."

"The bread is seedless, and I will trim the crust." Maria dodged into the kitchen.

"My throat is dry, I need a beer." Jadek's voice followed her.

Maria smiled and returned with a bottle of beer and a shaker of salt. "Your cabbage is heating." She placed the glass in front of him and began pouring his drink.

"Not that way," he tugged on her arm. "Leave it here. It tastes better in a bottle."

Maria relinquished the bottle and allowed him to serve himself.

Soon, she served his dinner. Jadek ate slowly, neatly wiping the last pot. He walked past her and began refilling the sink with water and soap.

"Do not bother yourself about it, I can wash it, later." Maria tried to intervene before the sink was full.

Jadek shook his head, "I am able to wash a little bowl," and he sank the bowl and spoon into the basin.

After he had put away his dishes, Jadek turned the radio to a local station that played polkas early in the morning and late in the evenings, and played country-western music during the rest of the day. Satisfied with the polka chosen, he settled into his favorite stuffed chair, stretching his legs and propping them on an embroidered stool. This was his favorite time, Maria was upstairs, reading to her daughter, and Walter, his son, was enjoying a few beers in the back room of the local store.

Jadek's eyelids drew together, and his mind drifted back to the time when his wife was alive. They would sit on the porch swing, music wrapping around them, and he would ask her to dance. She would blush, even as her hair turned gray, he could make her blush. And they would dance, crickets and tree frogs sounding their approval. It was a wonderful memory, but one that was slowly escaping him. Even now, he could not remember his wife as the young woman he married, and his heart mourned the loss.

"Nadia," he called. "Why do you leave me? My dearest Nadia, am I so old?"

And he waited for the answers he had buried in his heart until he fell into a deep sleep.

In his sleep, he dreamed. He dreamed of his wife, not as a person, but as the cardinal he befriended. She spoke to him of the day they were married, of the dress she wore, the ribbons that flowed from the wreath haloing her hair, and the white lilies she carried as a bouquet. She told him about his hair, the curls, unruly; one long one falling on his forehead, about the nick on his cheek where he had been nervous shaving. In his sleep, he saw her face. She was young. Her eyes clear and blue. Her skin soft and creamy. Her dark hair braided and wrapped around the back of her head. He remembered his Nadia.

Walter returned home long past midnight. His belly filled with beer, his mind drowsied by alcohol.

"Papa, wake up." Walter's study hand shook his father. "Wake up, go to bed."

"Why do you bother me to go to bed?" Jadek mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Time for bed," Walter persisted. When there was no response, Walter slid one hand behind and one beneath his father and lifted him.

Jadek's mind snapped awake. "Let me down, let me go. I am no feeble woman."

The words took time to penetrate Walter's hazy mind, and he stood for several moments, Jadek squirming in his arms, fussing profusely.

"You are a stubborn old mule," Jadek spoke as his feet met the ground. "Now, go to bed."

Walter's head bowed as a scolded child's. "I love you, Papa."

"Then go to bed. Your head is full of beer."

Walter minded his father.

Jadek also went to bed. There, he forced his eyes closed and directed his mind to take him back to his wife. But, all he saw was the darkness. He demanded to speak to the cardinal. Again, there was nothing but the darkness.

When the first blends of morning color arrived, Jadek stood at his window. Today, he would return to the bird. He jammed his legs into his pants and slipped a wrinkled shirt over his had and arms. He rushed through the house, passing Maria as she prepared breakfast.

"Where do you go so early?" Maria stood stuffing the breakfast cakes with their cheese fillings.

"I need to see my friend."

"You need to eat."

Jadek shook his head. "There is no time."

"Then take something with you."

Jadek nodded, and Maria sprinkled powdered sugar on two cakes she had filled and wrapped them in a napkin. She filled a jar with milk and placed him in a sack.

"Where can I bring your lunch?"

Jadek shrugged. "I will not be hungry."

"How do you know? Tell me where you will be, and I will bring you something. If you are not hungry, you can leave it for the animals."

"No, this will do," and he gathered the sack and left, confident that his cardinal would remain his secret.

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