OurWord

This short story is inspired by my brief conversation with Mr. John. John preferred to be addressed as Mr. John. I met Mr. John during my employment in a respite home. Mr. John did not have a family. He was expected to live the rest of his life in that home.

The paragraph in bold is an actual conversation I had with John. Mr. John is going to be John in my story.

 John was my neighbor living in Unit 22.  My wife and I were in Unit 21.

It was a quiet collection of 31 units. Neighbors usually kept to themselves except for a chance encounter, with the weather being a trigger for a short conversation.

That evening was different. All of us were outside talking in hushed voices. The mood was somber. John had passed away. John was a loner. He had few visitors to his house. I would occasionally see a council official visiting him. I was later told that the officer was his case manager. The Body Corp manager would be seen conversing with John regarding the garden and the general upkeep of the complex. John had a green thumb, and he was an adept handyman. We would rush to him for assistance. John would grunt a yes and come over with his tools. He was quick to remind us a fee of $30.

It was a month before John passed away, I happened to peep into his backyard. John was at his loudest feeding birds. He saw me and gestured for me to come in. I was amazed to see the trust the birds had in John. They would eat off his hands. John would mock and scold the birds for consuming all his bird feed. “ You are all so greedy. Fly off now and do your business.”

John quietly said “ Raj your wife is such a good cook. I love her curries when she sends me some.”

Without being intrusive I said, “ John you should come over, spend time with us and have a meal.”

John in response muttered, “ It is good to have a family.”

“ You have a family too, John” I enquired gently.

John was suddenly a different man. His eyes lit up. He took out a soiled torn photo from his shirt pocket and proudly announced the people in it. “ That is me. I must be around ten. The girl next to me is Susan, my cousin, two years older than me. The lady is Aunt Martha. She is my mother’s older sister. And next to her is Ben, my cousin four years older than me.

This photo I remember was taken on Christmas day about 50 years ago.. The dress I am wearing was a gift from my Aunt.

There was silence before he said, “ This is my family.”

“ And your parents” I enquired.

“Elizabeth my mother, did not want me. She left me with Aunt Martha promising to come back once she had sorted her life. My mother never came back, and I do not know my father.”

John had this far-away look. Was he, I thought hiding his hurt?  Or was he searching for words?

There was a pause and then he spoke.

“ No, I have no contact with my cousins. Aunt Martha passed away several years ago. Uncle Samuel used to work in mines. He would always give me chocolates and play with me. I thought they were games, but He was actually abusing me. Aunt Martha found out about it. She did not think that I should live with them anymore. I was 13 when she handed me over to the council and moved. I remember her telling me that I could come over when they had settled in the new address. The address Aunt Martha gave me was false. So now I have memories and this photo is my family.”

John looked tired after reliving his hard past with me. He got up and lit his customary cigar. I would often see the smoke wafting over the fence. And I must admit that I liked the smell of cigar smoke.

John was found dead sitting on a chair with a cigar between his fingers. The cause of death was a heart attack. Heart attack maybe, but we all knew he died of heartbreak. He died of loneliness. Maybe he had enough of this life. Maybe he died hoping all these years he could meet his mother or his extended family.

A few days later the case manager was supervising the removal of John’s belongings. I stood there watching all his possessions being loaded into a van.  I saw the photo John showed me, was on the floor. I decided not to pick it up. John was no more. The photo now had no relevance.

Time passed by. I decided to feed the birds as John did. The birds did not respond well. It was later I realized that the feed was not so important. It was John’s personality that attracted them. He was a good friend of them.

 John is often in my thoughts. There have been moments when I felt John was next door smoking his cigar. Surely, I could see the smoke.  I would call out “ How are you, John?”

There would be no response. Mr. John was a quiet person.

Word of the day : Demean is to lower in character, status, or reputation.