1. Demons! & Angels!
“As
the mean-ole dragon lunged its fiery head toward the knight…” droned the man in
a hushed-whisper to emphasize the terror of the tale, all the while suppressing
a clandestine smile at his young ward’s furrowed brow showing a concern-of-fear.
He continued the narrative.
“…Sir
Galahad loosed his long sword from its sheath at his side, the honed blade
shining brightly-red from the fire of the beast. In a freighting roar from the
dragon as it increased the length and ferocity of the flame, the brave knight stepped
toward the threatening beast. Dodging to his left to avoid the fiery-flame, the
knight feinted a retreat, then struck swiftly with his trusty sword, slaying
the evil dragon.” Gramps smiled. “And, the people lived happily…ever after!”
The
conclusion delighted the child; she clapped her hands and cheered.
Now
six, the girl would begin her formal schooling in the fall, only seven months
away.
“Oh!
Gramps! You tell the very best stories.” Gramps beamed. Chelsea had heard the
tale, in one version or another, myriad times previously. It didn’t matter;
each delighted in the telling.
Waiting
for her enthusiasm to abate, even if only a little, Gramps paused. In the play
of their “little-game”, Chelsea knew the man had some “serious” thought about
the tale to impart.
As
Chelsea’s blue eyes widened and she focused attention on her Gramps in
anticipation of the “moral” of the story, he said, “Revelation foretells: In
the end---the ‘good’-guys…Win!”
She
nodded to affirm “understanding” of his wisdom, as much as a 6-year old might.
As
the old man had spun the tale to his granddaughter, little-Chelsea, his
attentive eyes had witnessed a young man approach a lady on a bench across the
narrow walkway from his own seat. To the observer, it was obvious that the man
verbally intimidated the elderly lady to give him some money; too far to be
definitely determined, it appeared to be a five dollar bill.
The
frail woman seemed terrified of the hoodlum; he had not touched her person; he
did not have to do so. Gramps noticed a “glint” of metal as the thug pulled his
hand part way out of the right hand pocket of the heavy black leather jacket.
The old man surmised what the object was.
Gramps
watched as the thief stuffed the cash the elderly woman had given him with a
shaky hand into his left black leather jacket pocket. Then, the “bum” eyed the
old man on the far bench with a little girl; he smiled showing rotted teeth; he
turned abruptly from the woman.
Gramps
stood up, pulled Chelsea off the bench to her feet, smiled at the child and
told her to go to the swings where Miss Kathy and Miss Mary Ellen were standing
near-by with Nanny-Jodi as the three conversed while attending their own wards.
Gramps had befriended the ladies in the months prior when his daughter had
moved in with him after her divorce. Gramps had become little Chelsea’s “Nanny” and fit right in with the other
custodians at the park. While his daughter worked at a stock brokerage, he
became “Mr. Mom” running the household and babysitting.
Mary
Ellen saw Chelsea coming to the swings; catching Gramps’ eye, she nodded and
smiled letting her friend know that she would tend the young girl and see to it
that she was safe.
Realizing
that his ward was now in good hands, he now turned to face his coming
tormentor.
Gramps
gauged the man to be around twenty, or so. He wore the “necessary” black
leather jacket, greasy and filthy, as was the man’s once-white tee shirt. The
denim jeans were old, ragged, torn and greasy as the stringy black hair
escaping the wool cap, Gramps stared, alert.
“Old
man,” came a guttural growl, “I need five bucks. Comply---we all go home
…safe.”
As
the hoodlum spoke, he eased his right hand from the jacket pocket just enough
to show brass-knuckles on his fist; he smiled showing the blackened , rotted
teeth. Gramps took notice of the weapon he had identified when the creep had
accosted the elderly lady on the bench.
“Black-teeth
started to say something as he took a deliberate step meant as a threat toward
his newest victim; whatever he intended never reached his thin lips for
pronouncement.
In
a three-second blur, rotten-teeth found himself lying on his backside with
Gramps towering over him. His hand had slipped from the pocket and a brass object
lay harmlessly beside it; the brass weapon had made an audible “hollow” thunk as it had hit the pavement. The
would-be thief’s head buzzed and the suddenly incapacitated “wanna-be”thug
blinked his dark eyes rapidly, trying to discern what had just happened to ruin
his “perfect shake-down”.
His
smashed nose bled profusely; his absent teeth left a black hole; his right foot
lay askew; his leg hurt like nothing he had ever felt before.
He
shook his head in disbelief at the rapid turn of events.. “Who are you? Mister!?”
“Veteran!
U.S.M.C.! Viet Nam! 1967! Son!” He smiled. “And---you can call me…’Sir!’”
A
mounted policeman approached. “Everything all right here? Sir?” He inquired.
“The
old man assaulted me! I want him arrested!” No-teeth
grumbled in a slur, not yet accustomed to the sound of his words now that he
lacked teeth.. “He broke my leg! I need help!”
Ignoring
the complainant, the officer smiled, looking at Gramps. “Are you alright? Sir.”
“Yes!”
Thank you! Officer.”
Then,
with a hint of a smirk while pointing at the pile of useless refuse
unceremoniously sprawled on the walkway, Gramps said, “But, I’m pretty sure he
ain’t so good!”
“I’ll
call an ambulance---” The mounted policeman advised. “After…I get your
information.
“I
heard part of your---uh…conversation.” The patrolman smiled.
Then,
he sat straight and saluted the old man. “Thank you! For your service. Sir!”
Gramps
returned the “honored” salute with respectful military precision.
The
policeman nodded. “Afghanistan.” He allowed. “2012!”
Each
veteran smiled a common “understanding”-of-comradery of fellow-warriors.
Gramps
gave the officer his contact information and a brief synopsis of the short
altercation; the policeman took down the information for his report. Once the
perpetrator had been removed by ambulance, the officer said he would interview
the lady on the far bench, a local known to him; he added that the unsuccessful
thug had a record and this time, he hoped, a judge would send him where he
belonged. “All I can do is bring them in, Sir. The rest is up to the courts.”
Being
dismissed, Gramps shook the officer’s hand.
“You
might be called to testify.” The policeman apologized.
“Be
more than happy to accommodate, Officer.” Gramps offered.
Gathering
Chelsea, they headed home stopping at the ice cream shop just down the block
from their apartment for a sweet, cooling delight. Mom would be home soon; time
to get supper.
In all the world
are: Heroes!---myriad Saints!...a plethora-of-Angels!
God-bless
them!
Each and every one!
Amen!
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