16h
BELOIT CAFE
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
For Vicki Whitaker
Chapter 1
"Two eggs, over easy, double hash browns, and coffee, black," said Sally.
"Got it," said Leo.
Leo was Leo Lottman. He was also a genius, but he never cared about that. He had been the cook at Beloit Cafe for six years. He had gotten the job just after he had graduated from Beloit High School. He was 4' 9" tall, so had to see the whole cafe through the small crack in the right wall.
"Order up," yelled Leo.
Sally came over to pick up the order and took it to her customer. The other waitress was Mildred. Both had been working there for 10 and 12 years respectively.
Both Leo's parents had been killed in a car wreck when he was a junior in high school and had to spend his senior year with his uncle. He easily could have won a scholarship to KU, but having been socially shunned all his growing up, he was content to live a private life.
Leo got a job at the Beloit Cafe as a cook. He also rented the room above the kitchen. He loved classical symphonies and reading books on American history, as well as other subjects. The only person who never shunned him was himself.
Beloit is a small town in north central Kansas with a population of 3,400 citizens. In it is the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. On occasional Sunday afternoons, he had gotten permission to go there and talk to those girls interested in the history of the United States.
"Oatmeal with raisins, buttered white toast, and a large glass of whole milk," yelled Meredith.
"Got it."
Chapter 2
After the Cafe closed, Leo slowly climbed the stairs to his room.
The first thing he did was to put on Rachmaninoff's PIANO CONCERTO #2. Then he was ready to absorb himself in all things American. He had already read Howard Zinn's A PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. For example, Leo knew that eight men who became President of the United States also owned slaves themselves. George Washington had owned slaves and Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote "We the People," owned more than 600 slaves. Now he was exploring and enjoying poems written by American poets.
Take, for example, Frost's MENDING WALL, Leo might say.
"The lines I enjoy most are (1) "Something there is that doesn't love a wall" and (2) "Before I'd build a wall/I'd like to know what I was walling out or walling in."
Provocative, Leo thought.
"Or let's examine Emily Dickinson. She wrote a poem titled "I'm Nobody - Who are you?" I think the title tells everything you need to know who she was, a brilliant, but secluded, woman. Lived virtually her whole life in her bedroom. She wrote often about death, probably because she was slowly dying within. I don't think she was ever loved."
"Walt Whitman--let's take a look at him through his poetry. I think Walt Whitman was the emotional antithesis of Emily Dickinson--wide open, not shut as her bedroom door was. I see Whitman as the first American hippie. After you read I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC, read LEAVES OF GRASS.
Leo was getting sleepy. Who wouldn't be after spending hours on his feet?
Chapter 3
"French toast with maple syrup, two lightly poached eggs, bacon, and a cup of coffee with cream," said Sally.
"Got it."
There seemed to be a lot more people coming in to eat breakface this morning. At 4' 9", Leo could see whichever waitress was leaving an order, but could not see the full cafe, which was why he often looked through the small crack to the right in the wall. In a way, this was a metaphor of his life.
Leo was thinking about what he would talk this coming Sunday afternoon at the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. Probably American history, but he was also thinking about a fellow named Tod Howard Hawks and the many poems of his Leo had read and liked on the Internet.
Among a number of Hawks's poems he liked were SOLITUDE AND GRACE, I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN, and SIMONE, SIMONE,
Leo had read all of Hawks's poems, over a thousand of them, as well as his aphorisms and essays. He had also read his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH, which Hawks had posted on the Internet, which meant people could read it for free. Leo admired Hawks's magnanimity, but he wanted to pick 10 more of Hawks's poems to share with the girls.
SOLITUDE AND GRACE
I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky, I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize. My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.
I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN
I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always high
noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.
SIMONE, SIMONE
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
please come to me
and bare your breast
for me to rest
my shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone.
Chapter 4
"Ladies, it's nice to be with you again," said Leo.
"This afternoon, I'd like to talk a bit with all of you about the beginnings of our country. After that, I'd like to share with you some poems written by a very talented fellow.
"Our Constitution of 1787 ratified slavery with the 3/5th Clause, thereby making slavery legal in all 13 nascent states. My question: How can you reconcile slavery with democracy? My answer: You can't. Slavery is anathema. It is immoral. It is repugnant. The child of slavery is racism that permeates our nation today. People whose skin is black are still being discriminated against to this very day. The period from 1890 to 1920 saw more lynchings of Blacks than during any other comparable period. The grotesque fact is that eight men, eight presidents of the United States of America, were slaveholders themselves. George Washington was a slaveholder. Thomas Jefferson, our third president, who wrote the preamble WE THE PEOPLE, owned more than 600 slaves. This is how our "Democracy" got started, which I find repugnant.
"Now I wish to share with you a number of poems written by Tod Howard Hawks."
SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS
When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky big and blue.
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.
In the morning when the sun first shines,
the tired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to began another day of long labor.
On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, a Hereford cow,
is there to care,
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother's milk.
About 60 miles to the north,
and a little to the west,
the sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe;
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.
The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theatre.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.
Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth sown together by miles of barb-wired
fences spread interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless little country towns
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin and ruler-straight,
flanked on either side by telephone poles
and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.
But things, things aren't too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa's growing green
and irrigation's coming in.
Rain's been real good
and the cattle market's really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it's got all the big towns got--
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
THE WAY THAT WINTER COMES AT ME
The way that winter comes at me,
as if a stranger from a side street
cold and dark accosting me. I turn
my collar up. He hollers, "You, there!"
Faster I walk, fear chilling me,
a lamp post but a grey ghost in the fog.
This ****, winter, mugs me. He hits me
in the face with frozen fists. He grabs me,
stabs me in the side with knives
of ice, slices at my heart, the home
of hope. Supine, frost forming on
my brow, I pray to boughs of willow
trees: pines will sing my elegy. My mind
drifts like snowdrifts: a mitten lost...
fingers, nose, toes frostbitten...
a lake of isolation...a sleigh with no
horse...a blizzard of insanity.
My blood thaws the frozen ground,
then freezes.
GOTHS AND VISIGOTHS
I read of Visigoths and Dark Ages,
nomadic tribes, enormous rage
toward an empire falling,
fires and fleeing,
a desire for being
eternally at rest.
We walk through the ruins
of our empire romantic,
fires still burning,
a yearning so fierce
it's piercing our hearts.
The Franks and the Vandals
and Visigoths dismantle
the art and the ardor
we know before the fall.
The walls have all crumbled;
that is all I remember.
The Ostrogoths have dismembered
the love we once shared
a millennium or so ago.
I am leaving the ruins
of my own Middle Ages,
turning the pages
of my own darkened soul.
I am solely my sage now,
trying to engage now
the vestige of happiness
the rest of my life.
A STILL LIFE
Pardon me, sir.
May I borrow
your squalor
for a photograph?
I love
the repetition
of those wrinkles in your brow.
Hold it, please.
The contrast
of your black skin
against the white plaster chipping
is marvelous.
When I
get them developed
I'll send you a print,
They'll look great in my portfolio.
Thank you
and your wife
and your eight kids
for this pose in poverty.
A DEEPER NIGHT
In the night
there is a deeper night,
in sorrow, a deeper sorrow,
in your sorrowful eyes more
sorrowful eyes I descry,
the deep night of your eyes
as I lie beside you, your head,
then your head lying on night's
pillow, deeper than a hollow hole
filled with tender tears as you tell me
of the night, the deeper night of your life,
your hair wet with deeper tears
on night's side of your visage
when you had to leave your son
to save yourself and him, a hurt
the still hurts, a deeper night hurt
you share with me through deep night
sobs, deeper sobs, wetting your checks
and neck and night hair, the hurts
the deeper night hurts that robbed
you of yourself and him, of how you
had to go in order to return, the sinuous
path, convoluted and constrained,
to leave the night to be able to come back
in the day. All I could do was to hold you
and let you sob and shake until you finally
saw the brightest sun in your heart.
MOON OF CHERRIES BLACK
Cherries black by water
flowing, berries blue,
the hue of Father Sky.
Bluffs and buffaloes
a long time ago, the
Great Spirit permeated
land and lives. Eagles
flew in hearts of men;
honest words were spoken then.
No token treaties, no entreaties,
arrows flew like truth to hearts
on antelopes. No interlopers,
no antebellum prairie schooners,
no sooner had they come than
bison hooves were no longer
heard. They herded red men
and women and children like
chattel. Wild dogs knew better.
SILVER SPOONS
Some people love their silver moons,
China closets in velvet rooms,
hand-rubbed walnut round pearls of glass,
antique notions to preserve a past,
while others love their silver moons,
orange sunsets, October tunes of bluebirds
sighing through sunburnt skies,
green fields soft where lovers lie.
IF I COULD MOUNT A MOUNTAIN
If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your ******* and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for you a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity. I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath the tapestry
God wove on Heaven's loom,
with love and lust I'd plant my
seed in your soft and sacred womb.
THE BUTTERFLY SONG: A Lullaby for Katie
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
do you fly so high.
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
high up in blue sky.
Tell me, pretty butterfly,
with your wings of gold,
are you as kind and gentle
as I'm always told?
Tell me, golden butterfly,
will you come to me
and light upon my shoulder
to keep me company?
And when night falls, my butterfly,
please let your golden wings
illuminate the darkness
until the bluebird sings.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO SUFFER?
What does it mean to suffer?
Is it better to buffer ourselves
from turmoil, or does the oil
of hate and hurt serve some purpose?
Are we animals in some circus,
parading like elephants inelegantly,
passing through wire hoops?
We tire, we droop.
Are we poor men in soup lines,
hoping for salvation,
fed with propitiation?
Our faces show no elation:
they grow ashen.
Shall we cash in the bonds
our mothers never gave us?
Love's dearth has thus enslaved us.
Just put us in our graves and
let us live in Mother Earth.
The girls and Leo had a long, trenchant exchange for almost two hours. Leo found it exhilarating. The girls had never engaged others in their regular classes as they had that Sunday afternoon.
Chapter 5
Leo was listening to the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th Symphony while
he was reading about the "TRAIL OF TEARS" and President Andrew Jackson.
We, the white people, were the first immigrants to what became known as the United States of America, Leo thought. All the people and politicians can't see that, right?, pondered Leo. Are they simply dumb, or are they being duplicitous? Actually, Leo thought, this was a genocide of what we now call Native Americans.
The INDIAN REMOVAL ACT was signed in 1830 by President Andrew Jackson. 60,000 Indians of the "five civilized tribes": the Cherokee, the Muscogee, the Seminole, the Chickisaw, and the Choctaw nations. Over the course of this diabolical walk from the southeastern states to what is now Oklahoma, it is estimated that 16,700 perished from diseases and murderous conditions, as as well as anti-Indian racism. Those groups that "helped" the Indians keep moving along included the U.S. Army and state militias. Forced displacement, ethnic cleansing, and mass murders, among others, kept these human beings moving westward allowing the United States of America to aggrandize more land west of the Mississippi River.
Leo lay on his bed for a long time. He had finished listening to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony and was now enjoying Dvorak's NEW WORLD SYMPHONY. But the longer he lay there, Leo wondered if Dvorak was dreaming of a new, budding world, or whether he was listening to the preamble to a demonic future. Leo knew the hydrogen bomb was like the atomic bomb, only a thousand times more powerful.
Chapter 6
Leo remembered General Philip Sheridan said in the 1860s "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Every time Leo saw Hotah come into the Beloit Cafe, Leo thought of Sheridan and almost puked. Hotah, a Lakota Sioux, was a little older than Leo, and over time the two had become friends. Hotah had grown up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the poorest place in the USA. The drug addiction, alcoholism, and rampant poverty drove Hotah off the reservation, down through Nebraska, and into north-central Kansas where he made for himself a home of sorts for himself in Beloit. What the two had shared was a life of pain and intelligence.
"Leo, hello," said Hotah.
"Hotah, it's good to see you. How have you been?" said Leo. "Just a minute. I have a few more supplies to stock," said Leo.
The Cafe closed at 8 pm. It was 7:45. There would be no more customers. Leo closed the Cafe every evening.
"There, that will do it. Like a cup of coffee?" said Leo.
"Sure," said Hotah.
Leo poured two cups of coffee. "You like your coffee black, right?" asked Leo.
"That's right," said Hotah. Leo drank his coffee with milk. "Pick a table and I'll be with you in just a moment," said Leo.
Hotah picked up the two cups and put them on a table close by, then sat down. Leo joined him.
"I'm thinking I'd like to drive back to the rez and wondered if you'd like to join me," said Hotah.
"I think I could work something out," said Leo.
The Wounded Knee Massacre occurred in the winter of 1890. Hotah's great-grandfather and nearly 300 other Lakota Sioux died in that slaughter. Each year Hotah made a pilgrimage to the cemetery about ten miles east of Pine Ridge to honor his slain great-grandfather.
A ceremony called "Ghost Dance" performed by groups of Lakota Sioux had frightened nearby settlers. A detachment of the U.S. 7th Calvary Regiment confronted almost 300 Lakota Sioux men, women, and children and after a rifle was accidentally fired, the massacre began. Hotah's great-grandfather was killed.
"Do you think we could make the round-trip in a week?" Leo asked Hotah.
"I think we could do that," said Hotah. "My old Honda should get us there and back."
"I've accumulated some vacation time. When do you think you'd like to go?" asked Leo.
"How about next week, say Saturday?" said Hotah.
"Things around here are pretty flexible. I'll ask tomorrow and let you know tomorrow evening," said Leo.
"Great!" said Hotah.
Chapter 7
"Good news, Hotah. Saturday will work fine," said Leo.
Driving from Beloit to Pine Ridge is not like drawing a vertical, straight line. It's a lot of zigs and sags. Hotah had made this trip many times. He could make this trip without a map. Travel time is between 5 to 6 hours. Once they got to the rez, the two could stay with Hotah's relatives, the Brave Bulls.
Saturday morning Leo and Hotah got into Hotah's old Chevy pick-up and headed northwest. A number of small Nebraska towns Hotah and Leo passed through. After crossing I-80, they stopped at a cafe in Philipsburg. Then they traveled through Breadwater, Alliance, and a number of other small towns until they passed through White Clay, then into Pine Ridge. They had planned on meeting Hotah's older brother, Akecheta, and his two younger sisters, Macha an Whicahpi at Pine Ridge's gas station and convenience store.
Hotah got out of his pick-up, went over and hugged his brother and two sisters, then introduced them to Leo.
"Pleasure to meet you all," said Leo. Akecheta had suggested that everyone come over to his house, relax, chat, then have dinner.
"Well, this is my home," said Akecheta. "Welcome." It was mid-afternoon by now and Hotah and Leo were a bit worn out. They all went inside and found a seat.
"Coke or Seven-Up?" said Akecheta. He took all the orders, went into the kitchen, prepared the drinks, served them, then took a seat. "Here's some chips if you're hungry."
"Glad to have Leo with us. You and Hotah will be staying with me. The girls will be staying with their mom. Our parents are divorced," said Akecheta.
Leo was beginning to unwind. He was used to standing for hours, but not so used to sitting for 5 1/2.
The group was starting to feel quite comfortable with each other. Leo asked the girls which grades they were in and which subjects they were studying. He mentioned that every few weeks or so he met on Sunday afternoons with a group of high-school girls and spoke about different topics. Akecheta, it seemed, was a very good athlete. The Yankees were scouting him.
Turns out, Akecheta also was talented in the kitchen. He excused himself and finished making dinner.
"Anybody hungry?" said Akecheta. "Dinner's ready."
So what was for dinner?
Wasna: A traditional dish made from dried meat, fat, and berries.
Vegetables and corn: Wild vegetables such as turnips (timpsila) and corn.
Thahca: Bison meat served as roasted, stewed, or dried.
Frybread.
More than enough for everyone around the table, and delicious.
After dinner, the six sat around and chatted. Hotah and Leo were tired from their day's trip. The next day, the two were going to the Wounded Knee Cemetery. It was time to call it a day. Akecheta took his sisters home. When he returned, he found Hotah and Leo asleep.
Chapter 8
Hotah and Leo got up early. After eating breakfast, they quietly went outside and got into the pick-up. The morning air was cool.
It would take the two a bit under a half hour to reach the cemetery. There would be no conversation as they headed toward the cemetery. Leo understood this trip was a prayer.
They reached the cemetery. Detritus, not rose petals, greeted Hotha and Leo. It met all who came to this sacred place to remember those who were slaughtered that frigid day--men, women, child--in December, 1890.
Hotha and Leo sat in silence. The spirit of thousands of buffaloes of the past could be felt. No sound but the wind could be heard. Hotha could hear cries, screams from the massacre of a century ago. His tears wet the dry earth.
The sun rose slowly in the blue sky. First Hotha, then Leo, slowly rose to make their way back to the pick-up. Cries and screams slowly abated as they headed home. Neither spoke a word.
Chapter 9
The Badlands were first inhabited 11,000 ago. The Oglala Lakota Sioux originally occupied all of the Badlands; today they control a small section called the "Stronghold District," still a part of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.
Hotah and Leo took a number of drives through what is now Badlands National Park. As they drove, they chatted.
"The indigenous peoples have really had it tough," said Leo.
"When we speak English, we call it "genocide," said Hotah.
"All these atrocities...." murmured Leo. "You would think by now that peoples who have superficial differences between them would see them by now as, well, "superficial." Instead, for millennia, peoples who are fundamentally the same find a reason to **** each other. That's crazy, isn't it?"
"I think "crazy" is a sane word to describe the situation you're talking about," said Hotah.
"You know I like to read history. Let's see if I can name a few," said Leo:
"ANCIENT TIMES: Assyrian Empire (900-600 BCE) known for their brutality against those they conquered; Roman Empire (27 BCE-476 CE) various atrocities including mass crucifixions and the sacking of cities like Carthage.
"MEDIEVAL TIMES: Mongol Conquests (1206-1368). The Mongol invasions led by Genghis Khan. Widespread destruction and mass killings; Crusades (1206-1368). Religious wars. Much loss of lives on both sides.
"EARLY MODERN PERIOD: Spanish Inquisition: (1478-1834). Torture and execution of thousands accused of heresy. Transatlantic Slave Trade: (16th-19th centuries): Enslavement and transportation of millions of Africans to the America.
19TH CENTURY: Congo Free State (1885-1908): Exploitation and atrocities committed by the Belgians under King Leopold II.
20 CENTURY: Armenian Genocide (1915-1923): Mass killings of Armenians by the Otttoman Empire; Holocaust (1941-1945): Genocide of six million Jews by **** Germany; Rwandan Genocide (1994): Mass slaughter of Tutsi by the Hutu majority; Bosnian Genocide (1992-1995): Ethnic cleansing and mass killings of Bosniak Muslims by Bosnian Serbs.
21ST CENTURY: Darfur Genocide (2003-present): Atrocities committed in the Darfur region of Sudan; Syrian Civil War (2011-present): Numerous war crimes and atrocities committed by various factions.
"How do you remember all of this, Leo?," said Hotah.
"Photographic memory," said Leo.
For the next few days Hotah, Leo, and Akecheta hung out in the latter's home. It had been a great time, but it was time to head back to Beloit. Hotah and Leo thanked Akecheta for his kindness and generosity, but the old pick-up was waiting patiently.
Chapter 10
Hotah and Leo got home on Saturday.
Leo was scheduled to meet with the girls at the Kansas Industrial School on Sunday. "I need to pick out ten more poems," he thought. Also, he needed to decide on which era of American history he would discuss with the girls.
Leo chose these ten poems by Tod Howard Hawks to read.
WHO WILL BE THE FIRST?
Who will be the first
to volunteer
to be poor, homeless, and hopeless?
Who will be the first
to live
with no love, hope, and will?
Who will be the first
to be
illiterate, ostracized, and forgotten?
Who will be the first
to suffer
enslavement, lynching, and death?
Let me be the first
to say
"This is not right!"
Let me be the first
to believe
"This is not honest!"
Let me be the first
to embrace
what's kind, generous, and caring?
Let me be the first
to love
you. you, and you.
WHAT IF WIND AND WHITE CLOUDS
What if wind and
white clouds blow by
without a sound to be heard.?
What if all hearts and souls
be one without red, yellow,
brown, black and white skins
What if one kiss is a kiss of all?
What if we miss these truths
throughout our hours? What if
love is all that matters as we scatter
through our myriad lives?
WHAT IF A POEM WELLS UP?
What if I sit
in a silent room?
What if I speak
only to myself?
What if I utter
no words? What if
a poem wells up inside
me unconsciously,
no trying need there be.
I think I should type it.
BUT I SHALL HOLD LOVE
For what is the most precious gem?
It is the blue diamond,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest wealth?
It is to own more than any other,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest honor?
It is to have all others bow at your feet,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest glory?
It is for one to be remembered by all forever,
but I shall hold love.
WE HAVE MINED OUR MOUNTAINS
We have mined our mountains,
we have fished our seas,
we have felled our forests,
we have gathered our grains,
but we have not embraced
the infinite energy of our souls,
which is love.
A NATION, A NOTION
A nation, a notion,
Hegemony or honey,
A cruel ruler or a kind mind,
All for one or some for all,
Aggrandize, or wiser still,
Enough for billions,
Gentle hands for a broken heart,
Lavender love to assuage the pain,
Head on your pillow,
Alone in the dark,
No fear as sun rises,
A nation, a notion,
Take some lotion
And spread it
To dissolve
All borders.
TO SHED MY TEARS
I am sitting on the curb in late July between Al's
Barbershop and Harry's Hardware watching ants
making their way to the gutter where they disappear.
Busby, Nebraska is not a big town--in fact, it's not
even a small town--in fact, it's not even a town. It's
three blocks long, but Ethel's Cafe is open for break-
fast and lunch. And most importantly, it's on the
way to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation located
in the remote southwestern corner of South Dakota
where I'm headed on foot. I've been to Pine Ridge a
number of times. Something calls me there from time
to time. Not sure what it is--kind of like a spiritual
whisper. Only got 23 more miles to get there. I walk
wherever I go--reminds me of Wordsworth's THE
WORLD'S TOO MUCH WITH US. I say I'm going
to Pine Ridge, but actually I'm headed to Wounded
Knee Cemetery, about ten miles east of Pine Ridge,
where so many of the Lakota Sioux men and women
and children were slaughtered, then buried, the
last massacre of indigenous people by the U.S.
Army in 1890. I sit on the ground and cry and cry.
The dry grasses soak up my tears as fast as they
hit the ground.
I WALK MORE SLOWLY NOW
I walk more slowly now.
The miles are longer than they used to be.
I know where I want to go,
but now I forget to turn left and turn right.
Here comes a pretty woman.
I say hello as she passes,
but I hear nothing.
I saw her, but I guess she didn't see me.
I walk by trees and flowers
that used to be green and red
and yellow, but now are grey.
I need to get my glasses fixed,
but I cannot find them.
I miss Shep, my dearest friend ever.
I hear him barking,
but he died a year ago.
I walk more slowly now.
I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU NOW
I used to hate,
but now I love, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who loathe
and discriminate, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who wish
that hell be black, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who'd torture
and even ****. I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You are humankind,
but still unkind, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
I AM REALIZED
Life begins at conception.
For a human being to be able to love, she/he must first be loved, usually by
her/his biological parents, other times by her/his surrogate parents. If the newborn is not loved, she/he will suffer great pain, possibly even dying.
Most human beings do not receive the love they need; thus, they will
unconsciously compensate usually in one or more than three ways: accrual
of power, not to empower others, but to oppress them; aggrandizement of
great wealth; or achievement of fleeting fame.
If, on the other hand, they are loved, they will love all others throughout their lives, realizing their own personhood, which is their innate sacredness. If they are not loved, they will realize one or more of deleterious behaviors.
When all die, those who have realized their real selves will not have to return to Earth to live another life, because their souls have become pure love that bonds with the pure love of infinity, which is reality that has no form, no beginning, no end. They have become enlightened and will be so forever.
Those who did not realize their real selves will need to return to Earth in new lives unconsciously to make another attempt to attain enlightenment.
Human life is an illusion, but because of love and self-realization, it remains nonetheless paradoxically the path to the reality of eternal love, which is God.
Know truth by untruth.
Chapter 11
Leo had just selected 10 more of Hawks's other poems to share with the girls this coming Sunday afternoon, but he also had to decide which era of American history he would discuss with them. Finally, he decided on the genocidal period from 1860 to 1890 during which General Philip Sheridan is alleged to have said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."
Sunday afternoon came quickly. Leo enjoyed reading the poems to the girls and discussing with them the period from 1860 to 1890. But he was worn out and immediately returned to the Beloit Cafe, walked up the stairs to his room and lay on his bed and fell asleep instantly.
Monday morning, it seemed, also came instantly. By 7 am, Leo was ready to cook, and he did. And it was a long day. Most interestingly, that evening was the first time he saw that lady who came into the Cafe right before it was to close. Even more interesting was that the lady kept coming in every evening around the same time.
"Have you noticed our new customer," asked Sally.
"Well, I've seen glimpses of her," said Leo.
"The interesting thing about her is that every evening she comes in, she's crying," said Sally.
"Crying?" said Leo.
"Yes," said Sally.
"Has she ever spoken to you, Sally?" asked Leo.
"Not personally, but she always orders the same thing. I think it's Swiss Steak," said Sally.
"That's right. Someone orders Swiss Steak every evening of late. It has to be her," said Leo.
After talking with Sally, Leo walked over to the crack in the right wall to see this mysterious lady. There she was, putting her handkerchief constantly to her eyes. I wonder what's bothering her, thought Leo.
The lady kept coming in every evening at the same time for more than three weeks. Leo kept checking her out every evening. Nothing had changed.
On Thursday evening of the fourth week, Leo did something that he had never done before. After Sally had placed the lady's order--yes, still Swiss Steak--Leo left the kitchen during working hours for the first time and slowly walked over to the table where the lady was sitting.
"I'm Leo Lottman, the cook. I'm concerned about you. Are you OK?" said Leo politely.
The lady was surprised the cook came over to her and asked if she were OK, but internally she appreciated his kindness.
"Your first name is Leo, am I right," the lady asked.
"Yes, you're right," Leo responded.
"It was very kind of you to come over and ask me if I were OK," said the lady. "By the way, my name is Julia."
"I didn't intend to interrupt your dinner, Julia. I haven't even cooked it yet--the Swiss Steak, right?" said Leo.
"My husband was killed in a car wreck," Julia *******.
Leo was stunned. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry. My parents died in a car wreck when I was in high school," said Leo, his voice quivering. "I had to go live with my uncle. I suppose I need to go cook your Swiss Steak. And, by the way, don't feel you have to rush. I'm the only person working at this time of evening, so when everyone has eaten, I close the Cafe. I enjoyed talking with you, Julia. I hope to see and talk with you again."
"Leo, you're so kind. Your voice warms my heart," said Julia.
Chapter 12
Leo lay on his bed and thought about Julia. Tears and fears, a poem, Leo thought. Leo could relate to those two things. He thought some more. If Julia comes in tomorrow, I want to go over to her table again and just check in, Leo thought. And she is beautiful and nice, thought Leo as he continued to lie on his bed.
Leo had never interacted with a female until this evening. His heart was warmer, too.
He had been listening to Mozart's Symphony #40, which he loved. But as he listened to it this night, this Mozart's symphony sounded even sweeter. He was dreaming, thought Leo, even though he was still awake. And though he had cooked so many Swiss Steaks, Leo was thinking he'd love to cook them every night. Finally, he dozed off.
Morning did not come soon enough. Leo had never felt this way before, but this new morning Leo felt like he had never felt before. There was a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Leo was happy. He had never felt happiness before. There was something in the air that before was never there. This was great stuff, Leo thought...and felt.
Leo was almost running down the steps. He couldn't wait to start cooking. Eggs, hash browns, grits--whatever you want, thought Leo. Sally, one of the two waitresses, saw a different cook, a different Leo, than she had ever seen before.
Service at the Beloit Cafe had always been good, but as this day unfolded, Sally and Mildred had never sensed this level of happiness permeating the Cafe. Nobody spoke out about it, but it was palpable to every customer and staff. What was going on?, everyone thought.
Leo was extraordinary in flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Eggs--anyway you like them. Cereal--any kind you like. Coffee--we have the best. The Beloit Cafe was humming.
This workday was going by fast. The afternoon went by so fast, the staff barely noticed it going by. Leo felt he could run a marathon. Sally and Mildred were talking about seeing a movie together. If there were a dog in the Cafe, it would be running around tables and chairs. It might even have puppies.
Leo had been checking the time all day--about fourteen times. This time when he looked again at the clock, it was the magic moment. It was quarter to 8! And sure enough, Julia walked in and went to her table. As Leo and everyone else knew, there were no other customers coming in this evening and all the staff except Leo were gone. Eureka!
Leo couldn't wait. After a few moments, Leo walked over to say hello to Julia.
"Good evening, Julia. How are you feeling tonight? I hope better." said Leo.
"Good evening to you. It's nice to see you again. I am feeling better tonight. Thanks for asking," said Julia.
"I'd like to chat with you a bit, but I know you want your Swiss Steak," said Leo.
"Don't worry about the Swiss Steak. It's not going to walk out of the Beloit Cafe," said Julia. "I'd enjoy chatting a bit with you, but tell me if you feel we're going on too long."
"Won't hesitate, but I am now a free man, if you will," said Leo. "My time is NOW my time. Where did you grow up, Julia?"
"I grew up in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I'm not a great skier, but I do love the mountains," said Julia. "Where did you grow up?"
"I'm a hometown boy. I've lived my entire life in Beloit," said Leo, "But I feel I've been many places and done many things, because I love to read and listen to classical music."
"Oh, that's interesting, because I love classical music, too. Probably because, as a child, I took lessons and learned how to play the violin," said Julia. "Who are your favorite composers?"
"Well, I've listened to a lot of classic music by different composers, but if I wer
e stranded on an island far out to sea, I'd love to be able to listen to the works of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart," said Leo.
These beautiful chats continued for several weeks.
Chapter 13
After this many chats, both Julia and Leo felt comfortable in each other's company.
Leo had decided to make a proposal of sorts to Julia.
That Monday evening, Julia came into the Cafe and sat down at her table. Leo came over to welcome her.
"Good evening tonight," said Leo. "How has your day been?"
"Just fine, Leo," said Julia. "And how about yours?"
"Well, the first thing I do every day now is to see if we still have enough Swiss Steaks. I have good news for you, Julia. We do!," said Leo.
Julia laughed.
Then Leo laughed, too.
"I have a question for you, Julia. Are you familiar with Beethoven's third symphony, Eroica?", asked Leo.
"Oh, yes, Leo, but I haven't listened to it for quite some time," said Julia.
"In that case, I have an invitation for you. Would you like to come to my room after eating another Swiss Steak and listening to Eroica? I have it," said Leo.
"Oh, that would be great!," said Julia. Julia never found out that Leo's invitation to Julia was the first invitation to a woman in his life.
"Well, I better start cooking your Swiss Steak now," said Leo.
Leo's heart was beating like crazy.
Chapter 14
Leo gave Julia a lot of time for her to eat her Swiss Steak. When he saw that she was finished, Leo walked over to her table.
"Well, Julia, how was your Swiss Steak tonight?" Leo asked.
"It was as good as all my other steaks have been," said Julia.
"That's good to hear," said Leo. "Are you ready to hear some beautiful music?" said Leo.
"I am now ready," said Julia.
"Just follow me," said Leo.
Leo walked across the room, then walked up the stairs to his door.
Before he opened the door and turned around. Are you OK after your hike?" asked Leo.
"I'm eager to listen to beautiful music," said Julia.
"Beautiful music coming right up," said Leo as he opened his door.
"This is my humble abode, Julia. I only have one chair and it's for you," said Leo. "Beethoven's Eroica, one of the masterpieces! Relax and enjoy."
Leo put Eroica on the turn table and turned the record player on. Leo sat on his bed. His heart was not pounding now. It was exuding serenity.
Beautiful music supplants all other feelings. Listening to Eroica was like relaxing in a warm pool. You didn't just listen to it. The music flowed through you. Finally, the music ended.
"That was so beautiful," said Julia. "Thank you, Leo, for sharing that with me."
"My pleasure, Julia," said Leo, then led her downstairs to the exit of the Cafe.
"Thank you, Leo, for brightening my life," said Julia.
"You're more than welcome," said Leo, his heart pounding again.
Julia walked home and Leo went back to his room, then lay on his bed, and before he fell asleep, thought this had been the best evening of his life.
Chapter 15
Leo and Julia continued their relationship. A number of times, Leo asked Julia if she would like to listen to other classical masterpieces. She said she would. After several months, Leo asked Julia if she would like to go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. She said she would. After that, they began on the weekends to go see movies. Julia invited Leo over to her home for dinner.
Then Leo and Julia decided to take a week's trip into the Rocky Mountains.
A year later, the two announced to the Cafe's staff they were engaged. A year after that, Julia and Leo got married. And a year after that, Julia gave birth to a baby boy
In life, you never quite know what's coming next. For Julia and Leo, it was love.
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
For Vicki Whitaker
Chapter 1
"Two eggs, over easy, double hash browns, and coffee, black," said Sally.
"Got it," said Leo.
Leo was Leo Lottman. He was also a genius, but he never cared about that. He had been the cook at Beloit Cafe for six years. He had gotten the job just after he had graduated from Beloit High School. He was 4' 9" tall, so had to see the whole cafe through the small crack in the right wall.
"Order up," yelled Leo.
Sally came over to pick up the order and took it to her customer. The other waitress was Mildred. Both had been working there for 10 and 12 years respectively.
Both Leo's parents had been killed in a car wreck when he was a junior in high school and had to spend his senior year with his uncle. He easily could have won a scholarship to KU, but having been socially shunned all his growing up, he was content to live a private life.
Leo got a job at the Beloit Cafe as a cook. He also rented the room above the kitchen. He loved classical symphonies and reading books on American history, as well as other subjects. The only person who never shunned him was himself.
Beloit is a small town in north central Kansas with a population of 3,400 citizens. In it is the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. On occasional Sunday afternoons, he had gotten permission to go there and talk to those girls interested in the history of the United States.
"Oatmeal with raisins, buttered white toast, and a large glass of whole milk," yelled Meredith.
"Got it."
Chapter 2
After the Cafe closed, Leo slowly climbed the stairs to his room.
The first thing he did was to put on Rachmaninoff's PIANO CONCERTO #2. Then he was ready to absorb himself in all things American. He had already read Howard Zinn's A PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. For example, Leo knew that eight men who became President of the United States also owned slaves themselves. George Washington had owned slaves and Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote "We the People," owned more than 600 slaves. Now he was exploring and enjoying poems written by American poets.
Take, for example, Frost's MENDING WALL, Leo might say.
"The lines I enjoy most are (1) "Something there is that doesn't love a wall" and (2) "Before I'd build a wall/I'd like to know what I was walling out or walling in."
Provocative, Leo thought.
"Or let's examine Emily Dickinson. She wrote a poem titled "I'm Nobody - Who are you?" I think the title tells everything you need to know who she was, a brilliant, but secluded, woman. Lived virtually her whole life in her bedroom. She wrote often about death, probably because she was slowly dying within. I don't think she was ever loved."
"Walt Whitman--let's take a look at him through his poetry. I think Walt Whitman was the emotional antithesis of Emily Dickinson--wide open, not shut as her bedroom door was. I see Whitman as the first American hippie. After you read I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC, read LEAVES OF GRASS.
Leo was getting sleepy. Who wouldn't be after spending hours on his feet?
Chapter 3
"French toast with maple syrup, two lightly poached eggs, bacon, and a cup of coffee with cream," said Sally.
"Got it."
There seemed to be a lot more people coming in to eat breakface this morning. At 4' 9", Leo could see whichever waitress was leaving an order, but could not see the full cafe, which was why he often looked through the small crack to the right in the wall. In a way, this was a metaphor of his life.
Leo was thinking about what he would talk this coming Sunday afternoon at the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. Probably American history, but he was also thinking about a fellow named Tod Howard Hawks and the many poems of his Leo had read and liked on the Internet.
Among a number of Hawks's poems he liked were SOLITUDE AND GRACE, I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN, and SIMONE, SIMONE,
Leo had read all of Hawks's poems, over a thousand of them, as well as his aphorisms and essays. He had also read his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH, which Hawks had posted on the Internet, which meant people could read it for free. Leo admired Hawks's magnanimity, but he wanted to pick 10 more of Hawks's poems to share with the girls.
SOLITUDE AND GRACE
I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky, I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize. My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.
I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN
I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always high
noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.
SIMONE, SIMONE
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
please come to me
and bare your breast
for me to rest
my shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone.
Chapter 4
"Ladies, it's nice to be with you again," said Leo.
"This afternoon, I'd like to talk a bit with all of you about the beginnings of our country. After that, I'd like to share with you some poems written by a very talented fellow.
"Our Constitution of 1787 ratified slavery with the 3/5th Clause, thereby making slavery legal in all 13 nascent states. My question: How can you reconcile slavery with democracy? My answer: You can't. Slavery is anathema. It is immoral. It is repugnant. The child of slavery is racism that permeates our nation today. People whose skin is black are still being discriminated against to this very day. The period from 1890 to 1920 saw more lynchings of Blacks than during any other comparable period. The grotesque fact is that eight men, eight presidents of the United States of America, were slaveholders themselves. George Washington was a slaveholder. Thomas Jefferson, our third president, who wrote the preamble WE THE PEOPLE, owned more than 600 slaves. This is how our "Democracy" got started, which I find repugnant.
"Now I wish to share with you a number of poems written by Tod Howard Hawks."
SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS
When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky big and blue.
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.
In the morning when the sun first shines,
the tired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to began another day of long labor.
On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, a Hereford cow,
is there to care,
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother's milk.
About 60 miles to the north,
and a little to the west,
the sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe;
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.
The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theatre.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.
Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth sown together by miles of barb-wired
fences spread interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless little country towns
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin and ruler-straight,
flanked on either side by telephone poles
and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.
But things, things aren't too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa's growing green
and irrigation's coming in.
Rain's been real good
and the cattle market's really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it's got all the big towns got--
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
THE WAY THAT WINTER COMES AT ME
The way that winter comes at me,
as if a stranger from a side street
cold and dark accosting me. I turn
my collar up. He hollers, "You, there!"
Faster I walk, fear chilling me,
a lamp post but a grey ghost in the fog.
This ****, winter, mugs me. He hits me
in the face with frozen fists. He grabs me,
stabs me in the side with knives
of ice, slices at my heart, the home
of hope. Supine, frost forming on
my brow, I pray to boughs of willow
trees: pines will sing my elegy. My mind
drifts like snowdrifts: a mitten lost...
fingers, nose, toes frostbitten...
a lake of isolation...a sleigh with no
horse...a blizzard of insanity.
My blood thaws the frozen ground,
then freezes.
GOTHS AND VISIGOTHS
I read of Visigoths and Dark Ages,
nomadic tribes, enormous rage
toward an empire falling,
fires and fleeing,
a desire for being
eternally at rest.
We walk through the ruins
of our empire romantic,
fires still burning,
a yearning so fierce
it's piercing our hearts.
The Franks and the Vandals
and Visigoths dismantle
the art and the ardor
we know before the fall.
The walls have all crumbled;
that is all I remember.
The Ostrogoths have dismembered
the love we once shared
a millennium or so ago.
I am leaving the ruins
of my own Middle Ages,
turning the pages
of my own darkened soul.
I am solely my sage now,
trying to engage now
the vestige of happiness
the rest of my life.
A STILL LIFE
Pardon me, sir.
May I borrow
your squalor
for a photograph?
I love
the repetition
of those wrinkles in your brow.
Hold it, please.
The contrast
of your black skin
against the white plaster chipping
is marvelous.
When I
get them developed
I'll send you a print,
They'll look great in my portfolio.
Thank you
and your wife
and your eight kids
for this pose in poverty.
A DEEPER NIGHT
In the night
there is a deeper night,
in sorrow, a deeper sorrow,
in your sorrowful eyes more
sorrowful eyes I descry,
the deep night of your eyes
as I lie beside you, your head,
then your head lying on night's
pillow, deeper than a hollow hole
filled with tender tears as you tell me
of the night, the deeper night of your life,
your hair wet with deeper tears
on night's side of your visage
when you had to leave your son
to save yourself and him, a hurt
the still hurts, a deeper night hurt
you share with me through deep night
sobs, deeper sobs, wetting your checks
and neck and night hair, the hurts
the deeper night hurts that robbed
you of yourself and him, of how you
had to go in order to return, the sinuous
path, convoluted and constrained,
to leave the night to be able to come back
in the day. All I could do was to hold you
and let you sob and shake until you finally
saw the brightest sun in your heart.
MOON OF CHERRIES BLACK
Cherries black by water
flowing, berries blue,
the hue of Father Sky.
Bluffs and buffaloes
a long time ago, the
Great Spirit permeated
land and lives. Eagles
flew in hearts of men;
honest words were spoken then.
No token treaties, no entreaties,
arrows flew like truth to hearts
on antelopes. No interlopers,
no antebellum prairie schooners,
no sooner had they come than
bison hooves were no longer
heard. They herded red men
and women and children like
chattel. Wild dogs knew better.
SILVER SPOONS
Some people love their silver moons,
China closets in velvet rooms,
hand-rubbed walnut round pearls of glass,
antique notions to preserve a past,
while others love their silver moons,
orange sunsets, October tunes of bluebirds
sighing through sunburnt skies,
green fields soft where lovers lie.
IF I COULD MOUNT A MOUNTAIN
If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your ******* and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for you a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity. I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath the tapestry
God wove on Heaven's loom,
with love and lust I'd plant my
seed in your soft and sacred womb.
THE BUTTERFLY SONG: A Lullaby for Katie
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
do you fly so high.
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
high up in blue sky.
Tell me, pretty butterfly,
with your wings of gold,
are you as kind and gentle
as I'm always told?
Tell me, golden butterfly,
will you come to me
and light upon my shoulder
to keep me company?
And when night falls, my butterfly,
please let your golden wings
illuminate the darkness
until the bluebird sings.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO SUFFER?
What does it mean to suffer?
Is it better to buffer ourselves
from turmoil, or does the oil
of hate and hurt serve some purpose?
Are we animals in some circus,
parading like elephants inelegantly,
passing through wire hoops?
We tire, we droop.
Are we poor men in soup lines,
hoping for salvation,
fed with propitiation?
Our faces show no elation:
they grow ashen.
Shall we cash in the bonds
our mothers never gave us?
Love's dearth has thus enslaved us.
Just put us in our graves and
let us live in Mother Earth.
The girls and Leo had a long, trenchant exchange for almost two hours. Leo found it exhilarating. The girls had never engaged others in their regular classes as they had that Sunday afternoon.
Chapter 5
Leo was listening to the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th Symphony while
he was reading about the "TRAIL OF TEARS" and President Andrew Jackson.
We, the white people, were the first immigrants to what became known as the United States of America, Leo thought. All the people and politicians can't see that, right?, pondered Leo. Are they simply dumb, or are they being duplicitous? Actually, Leo thought, this was a genocide of what we now call Native Americans.
The INDIAN REMOVAL ACT was signed in 1830 by President Andrew Jackson. 60,000 Indians of the "five civilized tribes": the Cherokee, the Muscogee, the Seminole, the Chickisaw, and the Choctaw nations. Over the course of this diabolical walk from the southeastern states to what is now Oklahoma, it is estimated that 16,700 perished from diseases and murderous conditions, as as well as anti-Indian racism. Those groups that "helped" the Indians keep moving along included the U.S. Army and state militias. Forced displacement, ethnic cleansing, and mass murders, among others, kept these human beings moving westward allowing the United States of America to aggrandize more land west of the Mississippi River.
Leo lay on his bed for a long time. He had finished listening to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony and was now enjoying Dvorak's NEW WORLD SYMPHONY. But the longer he lay there, Leo wondered if Dvorak was dreaming of a new, budding world, or whether he was listening to the preamble to a demonic future. Leo knew the hydrogen bomb was like the atomic bomb, only a thousand times more powerful.
Chapter 6
Leo remembered General Philip Sheridan said in the 1860s "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Every time Leo saw Hotah come into the Beloit Cafe, Leo thought of Sheridan and almost puked. Hotah, a Lakota Sioux, was a little older than Leo, and over time the two had become friends. Hotah had grown up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the poorest place in the USA. The drug addiction, alcoholism, and rampant poverty drove Hotah off the reservation, down through Nebraska, and into north-central Kansas where he made for himself a home of sorts for himself in Beloit. What the two had shared was a life of pain and intelligence.
"Leo, hello," said Hotah.
"Hotah, it's good to see you. How have you been?" said Leo. "Just a minute. I have a few more supplies to stock," said Leo.
The Cafe closed at 8 pm. It was 7:45. There would be no more customers. Leo closed the Cafe every evening.
"There, that will do it. Like a cup of coffee?" said Leo.
"Sure," said Hotah.
Leo poured two cups of coffee. "You like your coffee black, right?" asked Leo.
"That's right," said Hotah. Leo drank his coffee with milk. "Pick a table and I'll be with you in just a moment," said Leo.
Hotah picked up the two cups and put them on a table close by, then sat down. Leo joined him.
"I'm thinking I'd like to drive back to the rez and wondered if you'd like to join me," said Hotah.
"I think I could work something out," said Leo.
The Wounded Knee Massacre occurred in the winter of 1890. Hotah's great-grandfather and nearly 300 other Lakota Sioux died in that slaughter. Each year Hotah made a pilgrimage to the cemetery about ten miles east of Pine Ridge to honor his slain great-grandfather.
A ceremony called "Ghost Dance" performed by groups of Lakota Sioux had frightened nearby settlers. A detachment of the U.S. 7th Calvary Regiment confronted almost 300 Lakota Sioux men, women, and children and after a rifle was accidentally fired, the massacre began. Hotah's great-grandfather was killed.
"Do you think we could make the round-trip in a week?" Leo asked Hotah.
"I think we could do that," said Hotah. "My old Honda should get us there and back."
"I've accumulated some vacation time. When do you think you'd like to go?" asked Leo.
"How about next week, say Saturday?" said Hotah.
"Things around here are pretty flexible. I'll ask tomorrow and let you know tomorrow evening," said Leo.
"Great!" said Hotah.
Chapter 7
"Good news, Hotah. Saturday will work fine," said Leo.
Driving from Beloit to Pine Ridge is not like drawing a vertical, straight line. It's a lot of zigs and sags. Hotah had made this trip many times. He could make this trip without a map. Travel time is between 5 to 6 hours. Once they got to the rez, the two could stay with Hotah's relatives, the Brave Bulls.
Saturday morning Leo and Hotah got into Hotah's old Chevy pick-up and headed northwest. A number of small Nebraska towns Hotah and Leo passed through. After crossing I-80, they stopped at a cafe in Philipsburg. Then they traveled through Breadwater, Alliance, and a number of other small towns until they passed through White Clay, then into Pine Ridge. They had planned on meeting Hotah's older brother, Akecheta, and his two younger sisters, Macha an Whicahpi at Pine Ridge's gas station and convenience store.
Hotah got out of his pick-up, went over and hugged his brother and two sisters, then introduced them to Leo.
"Pleasure to meet you all," said Leo. Akecheta had suggested that everyone come over to his house, relax, chat, then have dinner.
"Well, this is my home," said Akecheta. "Welcome." It was mid-afternoon by now and Hotah and Leo were a bit worn out. They all went inside and found a seat.
"Coke or Seven-Up?" said Akecheta. He took all the orders, went into the kitchen, prepared the drinks, served them, then took a seat. "Here's some chips if you're hungry."
"Glad to have Leo with us. You and Hotah will be staying with me. The girls will be staying with their mom. Our parents are divorced," said Akecheta.
Leo was beginning to unwind. He was used to standing for hours, but not so used to sitting for 5 1/2.
The group was starting to feel quite comfortable with each other. Leo asked the girls which grades they were in and which subjects they were studying. He mentioned that every few weeks or so he met on Sunday afternoons with a group of high-school girls and spoke about different topics. Akecheta, it seemed, was a very good athlete. The Yankees were scouting him.
Turns out, Akecheta also was talented in the kitchen. He excused himself and finished making dinner.
"Anybody hungry?" said Akecheta. "Dinner's ready."
So what was for dinner?
Wasna: A traditional dish made from dried meat, fat, and berries.
Vegetables and corn: Wild vegetables such as turnips (timpsila) and corn.
Thahca: Bison meat served as roasted, stewed, or dried.
Frybread.
More than enough for everyone around the table, and delicious.
After dinner, the six sat around and chatted. Hotah and Leo were tired from their day's trip. The next day, the two were going to the Wounded Knee Cemetery. It was time to call it a day. Akecheta took his sisters home. When he returned, he found Hotah and Leo asleep.
Chapter 8
Hotah and Leo got up early. After eating breakfast, they quietly went outside and got into the pick-up. The morning air was cool.
It would take the two a bit under a half hour to reach the cemetery. There would be no conversation as they headed toward the cemetery. Leo understood this trip was a prayer.
They reached the cemetery. Detritus, not rose petals, greeted Hotha and Leo. It met all who came to this sacred place to remember those who were slaughtered that frigid day--men, women, child--in December, 1890.
Hotha and Leo sat in silence. The spirit of thousands of buffaloes of the past could be felt. No sound but the wind could be heard. Hotha could hear cries, screams from the massacre of a century ago. His tears wet the dry earth.
The sun rose slowly in the blue sky. First Hotha, then Leo, slowly rose to make their way back to the pick-up. Cries and screams slowly abated as they headed home. Neither spoke a word.
Chapter 9
The Badlands were first inhabited 11,000 ago. The Oglala Lakota Sioux originally occupied all of the Badlands; today they control a small section called the "Stronghold District," still a part of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.
Hotah and Leo took a number of drives through what is now Badlands National Park. As they drove, they chatted.
"The indigenous peoples have really had it tough," said Leo.
"When we speak English, we call it "genocide," said Hotah.
"All these atrocities...." murmured Leo. "You would think by now that peoples who have superficial differences between them would see them by now as, well, "superficial." Instead, for millennia, peoples who are fundamentally the same find a reason to **** each other. That's crazy, isn't it?"
"I think "crazy" is a sane word to describe the situation you're talking about," said Hotah.
"You know I like to read history. Let's see if I can name a few," said Leo:
"ANCIENT TIMES: Assyrian Empire (900-600 BCE) known for their brutality against those they conquered; Roman Empire (27 BCE-476 CE) various atrocities including mass crucifixions and the sacking of cities like Carthage.
"MEDIEVAL TIMES: Mongol Conquests (1206-1368). The Mongol invasions led by Genghis Khan. Widespread destruction and mass killings; Crusades (1206-1368). Religious wars. Much loss of lives on both sides.
"EARLY MODERN PERIOD: Spanish Inquisition: (1478-1834). Torture and execution of thousands accused of heresy. Transatlantic Slave Trade: (16th-19th centuries): Enslavement and transportation of millions of Africans to the America.
19TH CENTURY: Congo Free State (1885-1908): Exploitation and atrocities committed by the Belgians under King Leopold II.
20 CENTURY: Armenian Genocide (1915-1923): Mass killings of Armenians by the Otttoman Empire; Holocaust (1941-1945): Genocide of six million Jews by **** Germany; Rwandan Genocide (1994): Mass slaughter of Tutsi by the Hutu majority; Bosnian Genocide (1992-1995): Ethnic cleansing and mass killings of Bosniak Muslims by Bosnian Serbs.
21ST CENTURY: Darfur Genocide (2003-present): Atrocities committed in the Darfur region of Sudan; Syrian Civil War (2011-present): Numerous war crimes and atrocities committed by various factions.
"How do you remember all of this, Leo?," said Hotah.
"Photographic memory," said Leo.
For the next few days Hotah, Leo, and Akecheta hung out in the latter's home. It had been a great time, but it was time to head back to Beloit. Hotah and Leo thanked Akecheta for his kindness and generosity, but the old pick-up was waiting patiently.
Chapter 10
Hotah and Leo got home on Saturday.
Leo was scheduled to meet with the girls at the Kansas Industrial School on Sunday. "I need to pick out ten more poems," he thought. Also, he needed to decide on which era of American history he would discuss with the girls.
Leo chose these ten poems by Tod Howard Hawks to read.
WHO WILL BE THE FIRST?
Who will be the first
to volunteer
to be poor, homeless, and hopeless?
Who will be the first
to live
with no love, hope, and will?
Who will be the first
to be
illiterate, ostracized, and forgotten?
Who will be the first
to suffer
enslavement, lynching, and death?
Let me be the first
to say
"This is not right!"
Let me be the first
to believe
"This is not honest!"
Let me be the first
to embrace
what's kind, generous, and caring?
Let me be the first
to love
you. you, and you.
WHAT IF WIND AND WHITE CLOUDS
What if wind and
white clouds blow by
without a sound to be heard.?
What if all hearts and souls
be one without red, yellow,
brown, black and white skins
What if one kiss is a kiss of all?
What if we miss these truths
throughout our hours? What if
love is all that matters as we scatter
through our myriad lives?
WHAT IF A POEM WELLS UP?
What if I sit
in a silent room?
What if I speak
only to myself?
What if I utter
no words? What if
a poem wells up inside
me unconsciously,
no trying need there be.
I think I should type it.
BUT I SHALL HOLD LOVE
For what is the most precious gem?
It is the blue diamond,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest wealth?
It is to own more than any other,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest honor?
It is to have all others bow at your feet,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest glory?
It is for one to be remembered by all forever,
but I shall hold love.
WE HAVE MINED OUR MOUNTAINS
We have mined our mountains,
we have fished our seas,
we have felled our forests,
we have gathered our grains,
but we have not embraced
the infinite energy of our souls,
which is love.
A NATION, A NOTION
A nation, a notion,
Hegemony or honey,
A cruel ruler or a kind mind,
All for one or some for all,
Aggrandize, or wiser still,
Enough for billions,
Gentle hands for a broken heart,
Lavender love to assuage the pain,
Head on your pillow,
Alone in the dark,
No fear as sun rises,
A nation, a notion,
Take some lotion
And spread it
To dissolve
All borders.
TO SHED MY TEARS
I am sitting on the curb in late July between Al's
Barbershop and Harry's Hardware watching ants
making their way to the gutter where they disappear.
Busby, Nebraska is not a big town--in fact, it's not
even a small town--in fact, it's not even a town. It's
three blocks long, but Ethel's Cafe is open for break-
fast and lunch. And most importantly, it's on the
way to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation located
in the remote southwestern corner of South Dakota
where I'm headed on foot. I've been to Pine Ridge a
number of times. Something calls me there from time
to time. Not sure what it is--kind of like a spiritual
whisper. Only got 23 more miles to get there. I walk
wherever I go--reminds me of Wordsworth's THE
WORLD'S TOO MUCH WITH US. I say I'm going
to Pine Ridge, but actually I'm headed to Wounded
Knee Cemetery, about ten miles east of Pine Ridge,
where so many of the Lakota Sioux men and women
and children were slaughtered, then buried, the
last massacre of indigenous people by the U.S.
Army in 1890. I sit on the ground and cry and cry.
The dry grasses soak up my tears as fast as they
hit the ground.
I WALK MORE SLOWLY NOW
I walk more slowly now.
The miles are longer than they used to be.
I know where I want to go,
but now I forget to turn left and turn right.
Here comes a pretty woman.
I say hello as she passes,
but I hear nothing.
I saw her, but I guess she didn't see me.
I walk by trees and flowers
that used to be green and red
and yellow, but now are grey.
I need to get my glasses fixed,
but I cannot find them.
I miss Shep, my dearest friend ever.
I hear him barking,
but he died a year ago.
I walk more slowly now.
I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU NOW
I used to hate,
but now I love, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who loathe
and discriminate, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who wish
that hell be black, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You who'd torture
and even ****. I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
You are humankind,
but still unkind, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.
I AM REALIZED
Life begins at conception.
For a human being to be able to love, she/he must first be loved, usually by
her/his biological parents, other times by her/his surrogate parents. If the newborn is not loved, she/he will suffer great pain, possibly even dying.
Most human beings do not receive the love they need; thus, they will
unconsciously compensate usually in one or more than three ways: accrual
of power, not to empower others, but to oppress them; aggrandizement of
great wealth; or achievement of fleeting fame.
If, on the other hand, they are loved, they will love all others throughout their lives, realizing their own personhood, which is their innate sacredness. If they are not loved, they will realize one or more of deleterious behaviors.
When all die, those who have realized their real selves will not have to return to Earth to live another life, because their souls have become pure love that bonds with the pure love of infinity, which is reality that has no form, no beginning, no end. They have become enlightened and will be so forever.
Those who did not realize their real selves will need to return to Earth in new lives unconsciously to make another attempt to attain enlightenment.
Human life is an illusion, but because of love and self-realization, it remains nonetheless paradoxically the path to the reality of eternal love, which is God.
Know truth by untruth.
Chapter 11
Leo had just selected 10 more of Hawks's other poems to share with the girls this coming Sunday afternoon, but he also had to decide which era of American history he would discuss with them. Finally, he decided on the genocidal period from 1860 to 1890 during which General Philip Sheridan is alleged to have said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."
Sunday afternoon came quickly. Leo enjoyed reading the poems to the girls and discussing with them the period from 1860 to 1890. But he was worn out and immediately returned to the Beloit Cafe, walked up the stairs to his room and lay on his bed and fell asleep instantly.
Monday morning, it seemed, also came instantly. By 7 am, Leo was ready to cook, and he did. And it was a long day. Most interestingly, that evening was the first time he saw that lady who came into the Cafe right before it was to close. Even more interesting was that the lady kept coming in every evening around the same time.
"Have you noticed our new customer," asked Sally.
"Well, I've seen glimpses of her," said Leo.
"The interesting thing about her is that every evening she comes in, she's crying," said Sally.
"Crying?" said Leo.
"Yes," said Sally.
"Has she ever spoken to you, Sally?" asked Leo.
"Not personally, but she always orders the same thing. I think it's Swiss Steak," said Sally.
"That's right. Someone orders Swiss Steak every evening of late. It has to be her," said Leo.
After talking with Sally, Leo walked over to the crack in the right wall to see this mysterious lady. There she was, putting her handkerchief constantly to her eyes. I wonder what's bothering her, thought Leo.
The lady kept coming in every evening at the same time for more than three weeks. Leo kept checking her out every evening. Nothing had changed.
On Thursday evening of the fourth week, Leo did something that he had never done before. After Sally had placed the lady's order--yes, still Swiss Steak--Leo left the kitchen during working hours for the first time and slowly walked over to the table where the lady was sitting.
"I'm Leo Lottman, the cook. I'm concerned about you. Are you OK?" said Leo politely.
The lady was surprised the cook came over to her and asked if she were OK, but internally she appreciated his kindness.
"Your first name is Leo, am I right," the lady asked.
"Yes, you're right," Leo responded.
"It was very kind of you to come over and ask me if I were OK," said the lady. "By the way, my name is Julia."
"I didn't intend to interrupt your dinner, Julia. I haven't even cooked it yet--the Swiss Steak, right?" said Leo.
"My husband was killed in a car wreck," Julia *******.
Leo was stunned. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry. My parents died in a car wreck when I was in high school," said Leo, his voice quivering. "I had to go live with my uncle. I suppose I need to go cook your Swiss Steak. And, by the way, don't feel you have to rush. I'm the only person working at this time of evening, so when everyone has eaten, I close the Cafe. I enjoyed talking with you, Julia. I hope to see and talk with you again."
"Leo, you're so kind. Your voice warms my heart," said Julia.
Chapter 12
Leo lay on his bed and thought about Julia. Tears and fears, a poem, Leo thought. Leo could relate to those two things. He thought some more. If Julia comes in tomorrow, I want to go over to her table again and just check in, Leo thought. And she is beautiful and nice, thought Leo as he continued to lie on his bed.
Leo had never interacted with a female until this evening. His heart was warmer, too.
He had been listening to Mozart's Symphony #40, which he loved. But as he listened to it this night, this Mozart's symphony sounded even sweeter. He was dreaming, thought Leo, even though he was still awake. And though he had cooked so many Swiss Steaks, Leo was thinking he'd love to cook them every night. Finally, he dozed off.
Morning did not come soon enough. Leo had never felt this way before, but this new morning Leo felt like he had never felt before. There was a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Leo was happy. He had never felt happiness before. There was something in the air that before was never there. This was great stuff, Leo thought...and felt.
Leo was almost running down the steps. He couldn't wait to start cooking. Eggs, hash browns, grits--whatever you want, thought Leo. Sally, one of the two waitresses, saw a different cook, a different Leo, than she had ever seen before.
Service at the Beloit Cafe had always been good, but as this day unfolded, Sally and Mildred had never sensed this level of happiness permeating the Cafe. Nobody spoke out about it, but it was palpable to every customer and staff. What was going on?, everyone thought.
Leo was extraordinary in flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Eggs--anyway you like them. Cereal--any kind you like. Coffee--we have the best. The Beloit Cafe was humming.
This workday was going by fast. The afternoon went by so fast, the staff barely noticed it going by. Leo felt he could run a marathon. Sally and Mildred were talking about seeing a movie together. If there were a dog in the Cafe, it would be running around tables and chairs. It might even have puppies.
Leo had been checking the time all day--about fourteen times. This time when he looked again at the clock, it was the magic moment. It was quarter to 8! And sure enough, Julia walked in and went to her table. As Leo and everyone else knew, there were no other customers coming in this evening and all the staff except Leo were gone. Eureka!
Leo couldn't wait. After a few moments, Leo walked over to say hello to Julia.
"Good evening, Julia. How are you feeling tonight? I hope better." said Leo.
"Good evening to you. It's nice to see you again. I am feeling better tonight. Thanks for asking," said Julia.
"I'd like to chat with you a bit, but I know you want your Swiss Steak," said Leo.
"Don't worry about the Swiss Steak. It's not going to walk out of the Beloit Cafe," said Julia. "I'd enjoy chatting a bit with you, but tell me if you feel we're going on too long."
"Won't hesitate, but I am now a free man, if you will," said Leo. "My time is NOW my time. Where did you grow up, Julia?"
"I grew up in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I'm not a great skier, but I do love the mountains," said Julia. "Where did you grow up?"
"I'm a hometown boy. I've lived my entire life in Beloit," said Leo, "But I feel I've been many places and done many things, because I love to read and listen to classical music."
"Oh, that's interesting, because I love classical music, too. Probably because, as a child, I took lessons and learned how to play the violin," said Julia. "Who are your favorite composers?"
"Well, I've listened to a lot of classic music by different composers, but if I wer
e stranded on an island far out to sea, I'd love to be able to listen to the works of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart," said Leo.
These beautiful chats continued for several weeks.
Chapter 13
After this many chats, both Julia and Leo felt comfortable in each other's company.
Leo had decided to make a proposal of sorts to Julia.
That Monday evening, Julia came into the Cafe and sat down at her table. Leo came over to welcome her.
"Good evening tonight," said Leo. "How has your day been?"
"Just fine, Leo," said Julia. "And how about yours?"
"Well, the first thing I do every day now is to see if we still have enough Swiss Steaks. I have good news for you, Julia. We do!," said Leo.
Julia laughed.
Then Leo laughed, too.
"I have a question for you, Julia. Are you familiar with Beethoven's third symphony, Eroica?", asked Leo.
"Oh, yes, Leo, but I haven't listened to it for quite some time," said Julia.
"In that case, I have an invitation for you. Would you like to come to my room after eating another Swiss Steak and listening to Eroica? I have it," said Leo.
"Oh, that would be great!," said Julia. Julia never found out that Leo's invitation to Julia was the first invitation to a woman in his life.
"Well, I better start cooking your Swiss Steak now," said Leo.
Leo's heart was beating like crazy.
Chapter 14
Leo gave Julia a lot of time for her to eat her Swiss Steak. When he saw that she was finished, Leo walked over to her table.
"Well, Julia, how was your Swiss Steak tonight?" Leo asked.
"It was as good as all my other steaks have been," said Julia.
"That's good to hear," said Leo. "Are you ready to hear some beautiful music?" said Leo.
"I am now ready," said Julia.
"Just follow me," said Leo.
Leo walked across the room, then walked up the stairs to his door.
Before he opened the door and turned around. Are you OK after your hike?" asked Leo.
"I'm eager to listen to beautiful music," said Julia.
"Beautiful music coming right up," said Leo as he opened his door.
"This is my humble abode, Julia. I only have one chair and it's for you," said Leo. "Beethoven's Eroica, one of the masterpieces! Relax and enjoy."
Leo put Eroica on the turn table and turned the record player on. Leo sat on his bed. His heart was not pounding now. It was exuding serenity.
Beautiful music supplants all other feelings. Listening to Eroica was like relaxing in a warm pool. You didn't just listen to it. The music flowed through you. Finally, the music ended.
"That was so beautiful," said Julia. "Thank you, Leo, for sharing that with me."
"My pleasure, Julia," said Leo, then led her downstairs to the exit of the Cafe.
"Thank you, Leo, for brightening my life," said Julia.
"You're more than welcome," said Leo, his heart pounding again.
Julia walked home and Leo went back to his room, then lay on his bed, and before he fell asleep, thought this had been the best evening of his life.
Chapter 15
Leo and Julia continued their relationship. A number of times, Leo asked Julia if she would like to listen to other classical masterpieces. She said she would. After several months, Leo asked Julia if she would like to go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. She said she would. After that, they began on the weekends to go see movies. Julia invited Leo over to her home for dinner.
Then Leo and Julia decided to take a week's trip into the Rocky Mountains.
A year later, the two announced to the Cafe's staff they were engaged. A year after that, Julia and Leo got married. And a year after that, Julia gave birth to a baby boy
In life, you never quite know what's coming next. For Julia and Leo, it was love.
