On The Other Side

Chapter Twenty: Look For The Good

The winter snow falls heavily from the sky, quickly building up on the sidewalk. The people unlucky enough to be out in the storm leave footprints behind, their steps slow, dragging.

It’s New Year’s Day night, the store is closed, shrouded in darkness. Dec is over visiting the Three girls, the children. I chose to stay behind; I’m not feeling well. My chest has been feeling tight, my breath short.

I swipe a handkerchief across my damp forehead, feeling slightly lightheaded. I shuffle slowly to the mantle, pull my pipe out, light it up. The tobacco, the ritualism of smoking calms me.

The radio Dec gave to me for Christmas quietly plays Christmas carols in the corner, the strains of ‘Oh Holy Night’ soothing to my soul.

I take another pull on my pipe, reminding me of mine and Dec’s conversation the other day. Dec’s always telling me to ‘please stop smoking.’ But I can’t quit this; my pipe is a part of me. I’ve been smoking since I was a lad.

He’s listened to my lungs many times, telling me that I’m in the first stages of lung disease.

“What shite are you talking about?” I demanded.

In a quiet voice he said, “Crag, in the studies of medicine, we’re discovering there might be a link to smoking and lung disease. It causes pneumonia, tuberculosis, influenza, and a host many other problems.”

I turned away from his sad, helpless gaze. “I’ve lived a long life, Dec, a full life. I can’t complain. I’ll be 85 this year, that’s plenty of time to live.”

Dec sighed, taking my shoulders in his hands, “But if you quit the pipe, you’ll live longer.”

“Ah, boyo, I’m too old to change, to set in my ways.” I scrub a hand over my grizzly beard, “I’ll go out my own way.”

I can still see Dec’s worried eyes as he pressed his stethoscope to my chest, listening to my lungs intently, the crease between his brows deepening.

I clear my throat, my memories wafting away with the pipe smoke, a cough racking my chest.

I eye the Christmas tree in the corner, the lights setting the tree aglow. Tears come to my eyes unbidden, the realization that this Christmas may be my last has my heart catching.

To never see Aggie, Corky, or little Alex again is painful. I haven’t cried since Ireland, since losing my Gran. But I can’t stop the tears that fall, embedding themselves into the weary, tired folds of my skin.

I put my pipe out, switch the radio off and make my way up the stairs to bed. It’s 1932, just two short years into the Depression. I wish I’d known how bad it was going to get, how destitute this country would get before it started it’s slow progress upward. But nobody knew just how bad it was going to get. 

A couple of weeks into the new year, with ice covering the walkway in front of the store, I don my coat and grab up the shovel.

I hear voices coming from the ally, voices raised in anger. I recognize Dec’s voice, fury lacing his words, “Don’t screw with me, ya’ promised me premium canned milk, not this shite, and look at this meat, it’s gone foul already, I could smell it a mile off. I didn’t pay you for this garbage.”

I lean around the corner of the store, careful not to be seen. Dec is towering over a skinny, slinking Italian. The Italian looks scared, but his eyes are full of hatred, anger.

In accented English, he says, “Watch your mouth, and take what we give you.”
  
He shoves Dec’s shoulder, which is a big mistake. Declan yanks the Italian into a head lock, “Send Matteo over, I don’t trust you. Get me Matteo.” He shoves the sniveling man away, “And take this shite with you.”

The Italian gathers up the spoiled meat and cans of milk, scurrying away into the morning fog.

I’m back to shoveling when Dec comes around the corner, tugging at his hair, swiping a hand down his face. “You need to watch yerself boyo, you’re getting in way over your head with the mob.”

Dec takes the shovel, hacking away at the ice. “I have families counting on the food I can get, their survival rests on me, Crag.” He leans heavily on the handle, the weight of the world seeming to bog him down. “I can’t let these people down.”

I shake my head, “What you need to do is look after yerself, you need to look after, and keep safe, the people that you love, that love you.” I start coughing, the icy, damp fingers of winter seeming to clutch my lungs, making it hard to catch my breath.

“Come inside, let me warm up some water and honey for you. Let’s get you taken care of.”

I don’t bring up the confrontation again, it’s Dec’s business and I’ve said my piece.

I drink the concoction he hands me, Aggie coming over to read me a story. “This story is the best one I ever read, it will help you feel all better, Crag.” She kisses my shoulder, and begins to read.

Her tiny lilting voice does, indeed, make me feel better. I’ve come to learn this past year to look for the good anywhere I can. And this life is certainly good.