January 4: Belly Meat of a Big Fish, Feeling More Human, Love and Concern

The boy takes care of old Santiago . . . 

When the boy came back the old man was asleep in the chair and the sun was down. The boy took the old army blanket off the bed and spread it over the back of the chair and over the old man's shoulders. They were strange shoulders, still powerful although very old, and the neck was still strong too and the creases did not show so much when the old man was asleep and his head fallen forward. His shirt had been patched so many times that it was like the sail and the patches were faded to many different shades by the sun. The old man's head was very old though and with his eyes closed there was no life in his face. The newspaper lay across his knees and the weight of his arm held it there in the evening breeze. He was barefooted.

The boy left him there and when he came back the old man was still asleep.

"Wake up old man," the boy said and put his hand on one of the old man's knees.

The old man opened his eyes and for a moment he was coming back from a long way away. Then he smiled.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Supper," said the boy. "We're going to have supper."

"I'm not very hungry."

"Come on and eat. You can't fish and not eat."

"I have," the old man said getting up and taking the newspaper and folding it. Then he started to fold the blanket.

"Keep the blanket around you," the boy said. "You'll not fish without eating while I'm alive."

"Then live a long time and take care of yourself," the old man said. "What are we eating?"

"Black beans and rice, fried bananas, and some stew."

The boy had brought them in a two-decker metal container from the Terrace. The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket with a paper napkin wrapped around each set.

"Who gave this to you?"

"Martin. The owner."

"I must thank him."

"I thanked him already," the boy said. "You don't need to thank him."

"I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish," the old man said. "Has he done this for us more than once?"

"I think so."

"I must give him something more than the belly meat then. He is very thoughtful for us."

"He sent two beers."

"I like the beer in cans best."

"I know. But this is in bottles, Hatuey beer, and I take back the bottles."

"That's very kind of you," the old man said. "Should we eat?"

"I've been asking you to," the boy told him gently. "I have not wished to open the container until you were ready."

"I'm ready now," the old man said. "I only needed time to wash."

Where did you wash? the boy thought. The village water supply was two streets down the road. I must have water here for him, the boy thought, and soap and a good towel. Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another blanket.

The boy knows that Santiago is an old man.  A proud man.  Santiago doesn't like to be beholden to anyone.  If a person gives him dinner and a beer, Santiago will repay him with the belly meat of a big fish.  Kindnesses must be acknowledged and returned in some way.  It seems that's the way Santiago has lived his life.

I'm pretty stubborn when it comes to taking care of myself, just like Old Santiago.  Even when I need help, it's difficult for me to ask for it.  More often than not, people simply recognize my struggles and offer a helping hand.  And I believe those acts of kindness could and should be repaid in some way.  My way, because I'm a poet, is often through words.  I acknowledge the love that family and friends show me through poems and essays and blog posts.

I am feeling more human today after five days of couch time.  I slept fairly well last night, with a minimum of coughing.  Woke up this morning with my throat only slightly sore.  I'm still freezing cold, and ibuprofen has been my constant companion since I contracted COVID.  My energy levels are still pretty low, as well.  However, I just took a shower, shaved, and ate a little bit of food.  My appetite is finally returning.

Since COVID struck my household last Thursday, I've been the recipient of so much love and concern.  Each of these quarantine days have started with at least five or six text messages from different friends and family checking to see how I'm feeling.  I'd like to think that it's because I'm such a wonderful, loving person.  In all truth, it's more likely that I simply surround myself with wonderful, loving people who do things like pick up groceries for my family, give us licorice to eat at Christmas, and recommend good movies to watch on Netflix.  (By the way, Love Hard on Netflix--one of the best new holiday movies I've seen this year.)

For everyone who has helped my family and me out these last five or six days, I owe you some homemade cookies or a poem or a dirty joke.  Take your pick.  IM me.  You all mean the world to me, and my life is incalculably richer because you're in it.

Saint Marty thinks that's a pretty good way to start out 2022--with gratitude.