EMMETSBURG: Twelve

“Wish they’d take that mess down the road a piece,” Bert grumbled before his eyes met John’s. He paused like he’d been caught at something, and half smiled a bit sheepishly for it. “Put up a sign that says social center and new village hall!”

Burt was a shade taller than his boy and a good deal huskier now that the years were creeping up on him steadily. He had icy white hair that had receded a tad. The sweaty ends were matted to his forehead and temples. Smelled of cigars, sweat and engine grease. His powerful arms were stained with grease and oil clear to the elbows, where it stained the rolled up sleeves of a blue denim shirt. Bert scooted around the counter and stood next to Myron. Was like a looking glass that showed the future. Burt was fighting to catch his breath. He was leaning on the counter, his chest heaving a little too hard. His chubby dirt-streaked face was red as a beet. Bert smiled weakly and grabbed his boy’s arm. The gesture had the quality of a plea.

“Fetch me a cup of water,” he said. Myron was away in an instant. He looked to John, who trying his best not to appear overly concerned at Bert's rough condition. “Hell getting old.”

“Do my best to avoid it.”

“Wasn’t but about a block I run. Damned if I can’t catch my breath.” He chuckled, and coughed. “Was a time I could outrun any lug in the county.”

Myron returned with a tin cup of water from the pump out back. John had taken a drink from that well many a hot day. he could smell the soft mineral scent of the water and could almost feel its coldness as Bert Himmel chugged it down. Ample amounts dripped onto the fat man's blue shirt. Bert let the cup bang against the counter. He finally seemed to catch his breath.

“Where are my manners,” he said. “What can I do for you, John?”

“Mister Perkins was inquiring about another roll of tar paper, Pop,” said Myron.

“Run on it this morning, with the storm and all. Heard it might have been a twister.”

“That right?” said John

“How much do you need?”

“Seven Dollars worth?’

“Cover the whole neighborhood?” Bert coughed mid laugh.

“Hoping to pick up a job or two.”

“Real blessing, strong back and shoulders.”

“Bout all I got these days,” John nodded. “That and my wits, for whatever they’re worth.”

“How soon do you need it?”

“Figure two days up on the roof. Before it rains again, I suppose.”

“See what I can do,” Bert came around and laid a hand heavily on John's shoulder, as much for support as neighborliness.

John started for the door. He turned back to Bert and Myron. Bert was already behind the counter, collapsed in a chair and fanning himself.

“Could use a hand, if you can spare your boy a day or two,” said John. Myron looked eagerly to his father.

Bert sort of leaned back over the chair, looking a bit like a rag doll someone had tossed there. Both men could see the excitement in the boy's face.“Interested?”

“Gee, could I, Pop?”

“Couldn't pay but about two bits,” said John. “Promise a couple good home-cooked meals.”

“I'd do it just for Mrs. Perkin's cooking!”

“You'll take the two bits as well,” said John.