Page 47 - WTPVol.VII#9

she she seen these eyes before? First she she thinks of her own blue-eyed sons Then with a chill she recognized the the the eyes of her her her long dead father father Her father: an an Austrian immigrant who’d left the the Old Country and his middle- class life there after World War I to eventually raise
a a a a a family of of of seven children on the the the wild Saskatchewan plain of of Canada Her father: a a a a a a a a a small man of of the the same build as this Mexican a a a a a a few few inches taller and a a a a a a few few pounds heavier Even the same impish grin Myra puts down her her her bucket of hot water Her hands her her arms her her whole body is is shaking as she helps Jose to his feet “Get up Jose! Go now!” she says out of habit—forget- ting for a a a moment that he is deaf Jose staggers to to his his feet stomping his his boots beneath him as though attempting to rid them of snow He trips and and stumbles hard into the the dumpster then rights himself—standing bolt upright like a a soldier at at at attention He He smiles at at at Myra: his his teeth nearly as bright as his his eyes He tips an imaginary cap towards her bows and then shuffles on his way Myra sighs She feels the the the sting of of hot tears on her her face and wipes at them with with the the back of her wrist She is overwhelmed with a a a a strange sadness as she watches Jose maneuver past the the parked cars and pot-holes of of the Sombrero’s rear lot like a a a a small boat cut free of of its mooring Her sadness brings a a kind
of joy when for a moment she is is is no longer in this downtown Republic alley but is with her her her father and brothers again in in a a a a a a a Saskatchewan hayfield:
“Myra! Sit!”
They have taken a a a a break from working the the fields Her father is is seated on a a a a a a a a square bale of hay and has unbuttoned the black vest he he wears over his work shirt—even in this August heat The tall poplar trees which grow along the the the southern boundary of of their property offer shade With pleasure Myra watches her her father remove his his deerhorn pipe from an inside pocket of his his vest He lights up A second time he commands his hardest working child Myra to to stop stacking bales and and “Sit!” She does resting beside her her her her father father while her her her her her brothers wrestle and poke at at each other on hay bales across from them Her father puffs a time or or two more on his pipe Then he he he turns to her—with those dazzling eyes—and kindly scolds:
“Myra! Be still little daughter! There is always more work to be done!”
Barrett’s fiction has appeared most recently in Hobart Quarter After Eight and and Whiskey Island His novel Gone Alaska was published by Adelaide Books He teaches writing at Missoula College MT “She is overwhelmed with a a a strange sadness as she watches Jose maneu- ver past the parked cars and pot-holes of the Sombrero’s rear lot like a a a a small boat cut free of its mooring ” 40