Once there was a mousy little woman who lived in Garland. She came to believe Garland to be a suburb of a particularly cheerless hell. So she got a better job, saved her money, and found a little house in the magic land of Lakewood. Lakewood is part of that broad urban belt that girds the tiny downtown of Dallas, Texas from the subhuman suburbs. The house she found was a cozy little dwelling with pale brick walls, witchy meadows instead of lawns, a red Spanish tile roof, and a round green door like the door of Bag End.
There was a large shady backyard that was just perfect for the mousy little woman’s frisky little dog. The house’s central heat and air had floor grates that were perfect for her two fat old cats. There was a window just the right size to frame the tank where lived her mammoth prize-winning plecostomus. The window cast a sunbeam. She imagined that sunbeam growing nice yummy algae for the giant sucker-mouthed fish to slurp from the sides of her tank. She decided that she and her little family would be happy there. It was the round green door that really sold the place. The mousy little woman had always thought herself more hobbit than human.
The mousy little woman’s older brother Biff was not impressed with her intended purchase. He argued that the red tile roof would be too expensive to maintain, that the floor grates were inefficient, that the big back yard would be impossible for her to mow, and that the big front window was an open invitation to enterprising African American Venture Capitalists whom he opined that we all know stick to urban areas, because they’re afraid of the safety of the suburbs. Not that Biff was racist or anything.
But most of all, Biff didn’t like the door. He said that the goofy door would sink the house’s resale value because only flakes like her would be so bold as to buy it.The little woman was indeed mousy, but she was over twenty-one and had had plenty of time to discover that her older brother Biff... ...had different priorities, so she bought the cozy little house anyhow.
She moved her frisky little dog, her two fat old cats, and her mammoth prize-winning plecostomus. For a little while, they were all very happy.Deciding she wasn’t going to move out anytime soon, she bought a giant antique mirror from an auction barn in Forney. But before it could arrive, the woman’s mother in Memphis became very ill. The mousy little woman saw it her duty to go and care for her. So she took medical leave from work, packed her suitcase, and prepared to leave the magic land of Lakewood for a time.
The little woman was in fact mousy, so she had no friends close enough that she thought she could presume upon to care for her loved ones. Her older brother Biff lived in Irving and said it would be too much trouble for him to come over every day even though he worked downtown, so the mousy little woman called The Agency and asked them to send a Housesitter.
The mousy woman was in fact little, so she had to crane her neck to meet the sad eyes of the man who appeared on her doorstep. He was at the tail end of middle age, gray bearded and spotted, but straight and slender. He was wearing his pajamas. The seamless ochre top was loose over the checked bottoms and girded with a dirty old white karate belt. He wore hippy dippy Apache boots with the fringe cut off and carried a US Army duffel bag.
“My lady, my name is Alonso Quixano. The Agency has sent me for to be your Housesitter,” he said. His English was excellent, marred only by a slight lisp that may or may not have been Castillian in origin.
The mousy little woman looked at the sad-faced man and knew that there was something about him that was not quite right. But she was not quite right herself; so she told him that he would need to check the pH-balance in the mammoth prize-winning plecostomus’ tank, feed the fat old cats, throw sticks for the frisky little dog, and await the Mirror Man when he came. That accomplished, she said, he should make himself at home.
“I will throw the sticks, feed the cats, test the tank, and make myself at home, my lady, while I await the Mirror Man,” said the Housesitter.
The mousy little woman gave him a key and drove to Memphis.
The Housesitter threw himself into his duties. He tirelessly threw sticks for the frisky little dog. He prepared gourmet meals for the fat old cats. He regularly tested the pH-balance in the tank, and he made himself at home.
The mousy little woman had never been more than a mediocre housekeeper. So the Housesitter had a great deal of work to do to make himself at home. He sanitized the refrigerator, cleaned the cobwebs, wiped the blades of the ceiling fans, moved the furniture and swept under it. The cozy little old house had not been so clean since the seventies.
On the weekends, the Housesitter’s friends would come over. They were mostly boisterous young men, much given to cries of “Have At You!” and “For Honor and Glory!” They also wore their pajamas, tops loose over baggy bottoms and girded with karate belts. But unlike the Housesitter, their belts were red, not white. The boisterous young men had the same homemade taste in footwear and also came equipped with US Army surplus duffel bags. From the duffel bags, they would take skateboard and hockey pads which had been strengthened with bits of scrap metal; broad weightlifters’ belts; and silly looking metal hats. They would don these and take out long rattan sticks taped with silver duct tape. Then they would pair off, square up, and beat each other soundly about the heads and shoulders.
Mostly, the Housesitter would stand back, watch, referee, and give pointers in his soft lisping voice. Sometimes, however, he would open his own bag, put on his own silly metal hat, and show those boys a thing or two.
All the crashing and banging and cries of “Lay on!” and “Have at you!” disturbed the neighbors. They always stopped pounding on each other by sunset, but still, Dallas, Texas is not a city that is tolerant of eccentricity. An anonymous call was placed to the Policeman.
The Policeman came and told the Housesitter that the boisterous young men would have to cease with their crashing and their banging and their cries of “Have at you!” and “Okay, we’ll call it a draw.” Criminal trespass was mentioned. Disturbing the Peace was mentioned. The boisterous young men were incensed, but the Housesitter just shook his head, and with his sad face only slightly sadder than usual, acquiesced to the Policeman and sent his friends away.
Today they do their crashing and banging on public property atop Flag Pole Hill just off Northwest Highway. If you go there sometime, you just might see them. The Housesitter kept to himself from then on. He continued to throw sticks for the frisky little dog, fed the fat old cats, and saw to the modest needs of the mammoth prize-winning plecostomus. He would weed the gardens and mow the grass and continue to keep the house clean. Sometimes he would wander a few blocks south to Whole Foods and purchase bread and olives. Sometimes he would sing in a soft sad voice songs about slaughtered Saxons, molested moose, or misunderstood minstrels. Other times, he would sing from the 1972 Dale Wasserman musical, Man of La Mancha.
Dallas, Texas is a small town of 1,108,108 souls, and in small towns, people talk. People talked about the Housesitter. Eventually, a mutated version of the Policeman’s visit reached the vast gravity well that is Irving. And thus the tale reached the ears of the mousy little woman’s older brother Biff.
Biff wasted no time driving to Lakewood and pounded upon the round green door of the mousy little woman’s cozy little house. The Housesitter came to the door in his T-shirt and boxers, black silk boxers with white whales on them.
Although Biff would never admit it, it was the boxers that provoked him. Long ago, in Biff’s ill-remembered college days, a professor who had failed him in American Novel had made much of Biff’s essay about the main character’s similar boxers, humiliating him before the class. Subconsciously, Biff thought of that experience and began to yell. Criminal Trespass was mentioned. Breach of Contract was mentioned. An interview with the Immigration and Naturalization Service was mentioned. Biff demanded that the Housesitter leave.
Very calmly, the Housesitter said, “Sir. It is not for you to ask me to leave. I am your lady sister’s Housesitter.”
That did not have a calming effect on Biff. The Housesitter realized he’d made a mistake. He now had a choice. He could pack his things and leave, or he could show Biff a thing or two. Biff was indeed a man of different priorities, but he was still the lady’s brother. So the Housesitter donned his pajamas, his goofy boots, and his dirty white karate belt. He packed his US Army surplus duffel bag with Biff hovering over him and threatening all the while.
Then the Housesitter handed Biff the key, bade him throw sticks for the dog, feed the cats, test the plecostomus’ tank, and await the Mirror Man.
Then the Housesitter went on down the road.
He went on down the road, around the block, between the abutting houses, over the fence and into the witchy back yard. There he waited to see if Biff would take up the duties of which he had permitted himself to have been relieved. When Biff failed to do so—as the Housesitter had suspected—he stole into the house with a duplicate key he’d had made.
The Housesitter stimulated the little dog, fed the two fat cats, and balanced the plecostomus’ tank under the cover of darkness.
Eventually the Mirror Man came. The Mirror Man dropped off the mirror, left the receipt,
got out his cell phone, called his minions, and gave them the address. The Housesitter waited, hidden in the bushes, and observed him very closely.
That night, the Mirror Man’s minions came. They broke down the round green door and prepared to relieve the house of its valuable belongings. When the van pulled up, however, the Housesitter took the rattan stick out of his bag and stole into the house through the back door. He confronted the three young men in the foyer.
“Excuse me,” the Housesitter said calmly. “But this house is under my protection. If you do not leave now, I will be forced to show you a thing or two.”
The Housesitter was forced to show them a thing or two.
It was quite a fight. One old man against three young men and the old man armed only with a stick. Yes. It was a fight right out of legend. Poor suckers never had a chance. At the climax of the fight, a shot rang out.
One of the neighbors called the Policeman. The housebreakers were unable to flee to the scream of the sirens. The round green door had been broken down, but the frisky little dog, the two fat old cats, and the mammoth prize-winning plecostomus were all just fine.
The minions of the Mirror Man were taken to prison.
The Housesitter was taken to the hospital.
Upon hearing this, the mousy little woman cut short her sojourn to Memphis. She promptly visited the Housesitter in the hospital. She found the old man resting comfortably.He woke immediately when she sat beside him. His eyes were bright and his smile was “My lady,” he said. “I have thrown sticks for your dog, fed your cats, and tested the pH balance on your plecostomus tank. Please forgive me for not having been there for the Mirror."
The mousy little woman took his hand. His hand was cold. “Thank you,” she said. “You have behaved quite above and beyond the call of duty.”
“I was your Housesitter,” said the old man. “Such a charge demanded I do nothing less.”
Then concern deepened the lines in his furrowed brow. “Why do you weep, my lady?” he asked. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I was just born in the wrong century, is all. I’d have been right at home on some mainly rainy plain riding from village to village with my faithful esquire at my side, righting wrongs, getting into trouble, fighting those things that might be giants. Perhaps I’d have won the heart of a lady such as you then.
“Please,” he said. “Weep no more, my lady.”
“It’s just- it’s just- you seem like some sort of knight in shining armor, or something,” she He gave her a heavenly smile. “My lady. That is the truest, oldest and purest meaning of the word knight: Housesitter,” he said.
And then he died.
No comments:
Post a Comment