Fiction: Forbidden
It was the summer of 1932 when John Sparer came to work for the Bakker's. That summer was one of the hottest on record for Brookhill, although year's later they had a draught which nearly cost everyone in that town their farm. On the radio were advertisements for the race for President, a Franklin D. Roosevelt was running against President Hoover and looked like by next year President Hoover would be out of a job. Being out of a job was not that uncommon around Tennessee, and if it wasn't for the small income from farming most families wouldn't survive the next winter. Andrew Bakker knew that. He knew that if he couldn't get another field-hand to help with his farm that he, his wife, and daughter might have to sell and move to some other location.
Three times a week John Sparer came to the farm. He worked primarily for a Mr. William Haubrich who lived five miles away, with a bigger farm and could afford to lend-off a field-hand a few days a week. Each morning John woke up to the feeling that he had to work on the farm to survive. Being the wrong color in the wrong state made a difference to him. For the mornings in which he worked for Mr. Bakker he would have to walk the five miles to Mr. Bakker's farm and after a hard days work walk back the same route to the realization that tomorrow was yet another day to work. The money he received, rarely if he ever did, was never enough to pay for some necessities. A few summers before, when the soles of his shoes worn out and he couldn't work on the field anymore without a new pair a loan had to be given to him by Mr. Haubrich himself. John barely survived that winter with limited food since the money he made during the summer had to go back to pay Mr. Haubrich, plus interest, to pay for the shoes. His shoes were being worn out again, but he would rather go barefoot then try and survive another winter with no food. He gladly accepted the job at Mr. Bakker's farm as Mr. Bakker paid a little more then Mr. Haubrich and with that difference by the end of summer he might save up to buy a new pair of shoes that could be his birthday present for himself. He would be eighteen by year's-end.
On the mornings that John arrived to the farm, Andrew Bakker would meet him outside to tell him what needed to be done for the day. Most of the time John knew ahead of time the exact words and phrases Mr. Bakker would say each morning, but one could not interrupt a white man speaking. He just calmly let the time pass with the occasional "Yes, Sir" agreement. In the kitchen of the house Esther worked preparing the morning breakfast while their daughter, Elizabeth, casually stared out her bedroom window on the second-floor wondering who the new field-hand was. It took a month alone to find out his name was John, and only then was it by accident. Mr. Haubrich came over one night and were discussing a new agreement with Mr. Bakker of John's availability. Through her bedroom door she overheard the conversation, and the most important part of it was two words: "John Sparer".
The third Saturday in June was a scorching day for a southern summer. While working on her summer school studies in her room she looked through the window and saw the black field hand working through the scorching heat plowing the fields. Without truly knowing why; she went downstairs, filled a canteen full of water, and walked outside with it.
"Here!"
The plow stopped moving, and his eyes moved from the ground to the canteen, to her. There was a little terror in his eyes as he was wondering what to do. If Mr. Bakker saw even this innocent gesture on his daughter's part the consequences would be taken out on him.
"Here! Take it!"
He took his hands off the plow slowly and with the same hesitation took the canteen from her hands being careful not to touch them. "Thank you, Miss Bakker. Thank you very much". He gulped down the water as fast as possible and gave the canteen back her. In the same swift motion he put his hands back on the plow and started moving. If Mr. Bakker saw him taking an unauthorized break his daily wage would be taken away.
"Elizabeth"
He stopped. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"
"My name is Elizabeth."
"Yes, Miss Bakker." and with a half-hidden-smile and a nod continued on his way.
Every day that he was there for the next few weeks she would bring him a canteen of water. She made sure her father was on the other side of the house, or out of eyesight. Every time she would say "Elizabeth" as she handed him the canteen, and with the same politeness and routine he would nod and say "Thank you, Miss Bakker" and continue on with his work. She waited patiently until the heat seemed to rise up from hell itself when she brought the usual canteen to him. He half-needed the water in part to just survive the afternoon, and in part just to have an excuse to see her.
"Elizabeth". She did not extend her hand to him, and held the canteen close to herself.
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"No. Elizabeth" she brought the canteen closer to herself, knowing he was watching the water with every bit of energy he possessed.
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"You know what I want you to say."
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"Then why won't you say it?"
He was silent.
Playing the game of formality she said: "Well, Mr. Sparer; it seems you won't be getting your water today, now won't it?" It was the first time in his life someone had called him mister. She turned to go, water in hand. A faint word became audible to her as she took the first step back to the house. Four syllables she wanted to hear for weeks now. Hiding her smile she turned around to see him looking at the ground. She extended her arm carrying the canteen. He looked up and took the water, this time making sure to touch her hand as he got a hold of it. He gulped the water down and giving back the canteen to her said "Thank you, Miss Bakker.." and the next word barely audible he added "… Elizabeth". She smiled and walked back to the house.
Within a week he gave Mr. Haubrich an excuse to go over to Mr. Bakker's farm everyday. The days in which he was contracted to work for Mr. Haubrich but instead worked at Mr. Bakker's he worked for free. His payment for the hard days work was receiving a canteen of water in mid-day. It was on those days he worked the most. By the end of the summer he made two trips daily to Mr. Bakker's farm. The first trip he made during the morning to reach the farm. After working a full day he had to walk back to Mr. Haubrich's farm for the night. Halfway through the night he would walk the five miles back to Elizabeth. A few hours with her was worth the ten mile round trip in the dark of the night, and worth more then being twice as exhausted when he woke up to walk back to Mr. Bakker's farm in the early morning.
By 11 o'clock at night he would sneak around the farm to the backside of the house. By working there the whole summer he had known every hiding spot there was within the barn and straw. By that time, Elizabeth would get out of bed and sneak out the back door. A few hours later she would return the same route. Only once did she get caught coming up the stairs, with the ready excuse that she couldn't sleep and went to get a glass of water.
The summer was coming to a close. Each morning he walked the five miles to Mr. Bakker's farm not for the work that was to be done, or the money he would earn doing it, but for a small canteen of water. Each night he walked the five miles back, not to Mr. Bakker's farm, but the farm that Elizabeth happened to live on. They ran out to the fields, across the straw being bundled, and into the woods. They had their own spot in the woods, a part that was neither too closed nor too open. A lone tree trunk lay across the opening and for some reason they never crossed the second half of the opening. The tree trunk was the imaginary boundary they could not cross, but they knew they were crossing it every night.
The Saturday of August 27th was his last day working for Mr. Bakker. That night he went, as usual, to see Elizabeth; this time knowing he won't be back in the morning.
"I made something for you"
"What is it?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of tin. Elizabeth knew that he bought the tin brand new and used the money he was saving to do it. The tin was small, but elegant. It was shaped like a heart, with the edges curled around to form a boundary. Etched into the tin were two groups of initials "J.S." and "E.B."
"I bought the metal from Mr. Bradford on 23rd Street. I went there on Sundays to see Tom, do you know Tom?"
"No"
"He's Mr. Bradford's assistant. He used to work with me at Mr. Haubrich's farm until an accident. He wasn't no good anymore and so Mr. Haubrich had to fire him. Mr. Bradford saw potential in him as a blacksmith and starting training him. Anyway, I went to see Tom and he said he could form the metal for me and make the edges just the way I wanted and even etch it for me. Of course I didn't say who 'EB' was. He agreed to do all of it himself, with no charge. I said 'No.'"
"No?"
"I wanted to do it myself."
She looked at the piece of tin he was still holding when he went on: "I went there last Sunday, when everyone was fast asleep, and Tom showed me how to do every step. He even had an old rusted tin I could use for practice. We had to work quietly and slowly as not to wake Mr. Bradford next door. Tom surely would have lost that job if Mr. Bradford knew he was doing side-jobs for free using his metal." He looked down at the tin, which now reflected a bit of moonlight. Still looking down he said: "I made it for you"
"I know."
Before the last syllable was heard a shout came from behind the other side of the tree trunk. The terror shrieked through her body as she turned around to see her father, shot-gun in hand, standing behind them. Both John and Elizabeth jumped to their feet in horror.
"Mr. Bakker!"
"Shut up!"
"But, Mr. Bakker!"
"Elizabeth, you better get back to the house now."
"Daddy! No! Please! He was just …" her words were cut-off by one syllable of a command: "Now!" Mr. Bakker stood, not looking at Elizabeth as he talked, but with eyes fixed at John. A brief second passed with no one moving before Mr. Bakker grabbed his own daughter's arm and forced her over the log. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Mr. Bakker was still standing staring at John. He said, a bit more quietly, but more seriously: "Now". She got up, tears rolling down her cheek, and took one more look at John. He gave the slightest nod that only she could detect, and his eyes changed to a sign of resignation. She turned around and ran back to the house.
The moment she reached the door of the house a shot rang in the air. She stood paralyzed, door half-opened, unable to move, to think, or to do anything other than feel.
It took three days for her to leave the house again, and another two more to go back to the site. As she approached she half expected to see his body lying over the trunk, left to rot like the trunk itself. There was no body. She fell down to her knees in bewilderment. Was he still alive? Through her outpour she saw a flicker of golden-red in between two blades of grass. She raced the ten feet to the spot on hands and knees knowing what it was. In her hands she held half of a piece of tin, half of the heart. Only the last initial of each name was on the tin. A little bit of blood contrasted the tin color and partially blocked out the 'B', only his last initial 'P' was untainted. It was then she realized that throughout his ordeal with her father, and possibility of death without punishment, he was thinking of her. With his own hands he had broke the piece he had worked so hard to make. The jagged section of the middle-of-the-heart was where it cut deepest into the skin. She thought about searching for the second half of the tin, but realized she would never find it. He had survived and took it with him.
Miss Elizabeth Bakker held the only thing she ever received from Mr. John Sparer and with the cry of all lost emotions wept herself to sleep, next to the tree trunk.
--
During the summer of 1987 a small obituary appeared in the Brookhill Press:
"Elizabeth Bakker, aged 72, of Brookhill, died Thursday August 27th, 1987, at Freedom Inn Nursing Home. A life-long resident of Brookhill, she was never married. She is survived by, and will be remembered by, the friends she left behind."
The day after the obituary appeared in the newspaper a man died on the fifth floor of the same Freedom Inn Nursing Home. No one could remember how long he had been there, or for what reason. The staff that worked there when he came in had already retired and the new staff either never heard the reason or forgot it. No one knew whether he owed money to the Nursing Home, and no one cared. He had been there so long, that he was a part of the building. The old black man was never able to leave his bed, and he was in the same room since the first day he arrived. The only time he was in any other floor was the day he came in the building, some 16 years earlier. No one even knew his name.
The nurse that confirmed his death noticed two things particular about his room. On the counter, in arms reach by the bed, was a newspaper. It was folded in such a way that in the middle was a small three-line obituary. The second thing she noticed was an old rusted piece of tin he held in his hand with two letters barely visible, a 'J' and 'E'. No connection was made, and they were promptly thrown away.
-Mike Sheppard
Three times a week John Sparer came to the farm. He worked primarily for a Mr. William Haubrich who lived five miles away, with a bigger farm and could afford to lend-off a field-hand a few days a week. Each morning John woke up to the feeling that he had to work on the farm to survive. Being the wrong color in the wrong state made a difference to him. For the mornings in which he worked for Mr. Bakker he would have to walk the five miles to Mr. Bakker's farm and after a hard days work walk back the same route to the realization that tomorrow was yet another day to work. The money he received, rarely if he ever did, was never enough to pay for some necessities. A few summers before, when the soles of his shoes worn out and he couldn't work on the field anymore without a new pair a loan had to be given to him by Mr. Haubrich himself. John barely survived that winter with limited food since the money he made during the summer had to go back to pay Mr. Haubrich, plus interest, to pay for the shoes. His shoes were being worn out again, but he would rather go barefoot then try and survive another winter with no food. He gladly accepted the job at Mr. Bakker's farm as Mr. Bakker paid a little more then Mr. Haubrich and with that difference by the end of summer he might save up to buy a new pair of shoes that could be his birthday present for himself. He would be eighteen by year's-end.
On the mornings that John arrived to the farm, Andrew Bakker would meet him outside to tell him what needed to be done for the day. Most of the time John knew ahead of time the exact words and phrases Mr. Bakker would say each morning, but one could not interrupt a white man speaking. He just calmly let the time pass with the occasional "Yes, Sir" agreement. In the kitchen of the house Esther worked preparing the morning breakfast while their daughter, Elizabeth, casually stared out her bedroom window on the second-floor wondering who the new field-hand was. It took a month alone to find out his name was John, and only then was it by accident. Mr. Haubrich came over one night and were discussing a new agreement with Mr. Bakker of John's availability. Through her bedroom door she overheard the conversation, and the most important part of it was two words: "John Sparer".
The third Saturday in June was a scorching day for a southern summer. While working on her summer school studies in her room she looked through the window and saw the black field hand working through the scorching heat plowing the fields. Without truly knowing why; she went downstairs, filled a canteen full of water, and walked outside with it.
"Here!"
The plow stopped moving, and his eyes moved from the ground to the canteen, to her. There was a little terror in his eyes as he was wondering what to do. If Mr. Bakker saw even this innocent gesture on his daughter's part the consequences would be taken out on him.
"Here! Take it!"
He took his hands off the plow slowly and with the same hesitation took the canteen from her hands being careful not to touch them. "Thank you, Miss Bakker. Thank you very much". He gulped down the water as fast as possible and gave the canteen back her. In the same swift motion he put his hands back on the plow and started moving. If Mr. Bakker saw him taking an unauthorized break his daily wage would be taken away.
"Elizabeth"
He stopped. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"
"My name is Elizabeth."
"Yes, Miss Bakker." and with a half-hidden-smile and a nod continued on his way.
Every day that he was there for the next few weeks she would bring him a canteen of water. She made sure her father was on the other side of the house, or out of eyesight. Every time she would say "Elizabeth" as she handed him the canteen, and with the same politeness and routine he would nod and say "Thank you, Miss Bakker" and continue on with his work. She waited patiently until the heat seemed to rise up from hell itself when she brought the usual canteen to him. He half-needed the water in part to just survive the afternoon, and in part just to have an excuse to see her.
"Elizabeth". She did not extend her hand to him, and held the canteen close to herself.
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"No. Elizabeth" she brought the canteen closer to herself, knowing he was watching the water with every bit of energy he possessed.
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"You know what I want you to say."
"Yes, Miss Bakker"
"Then why won't you say it?"
He was silent.
Playing the game of formality she said: "Well, Mr. Sparer; it seems you won't be getting your water today, now won't it?" It was the first time in his life someone had called him mister. She turned to go, water in hand. A faint word became audible to her as she took the first step back to the house. Four syllables she wanted to hear for weeks now. Hiding her smile she turned around to see him looking at the ground. She extended her arm carrying the canteen. He looked up and took the water, this time making sure to touch her hand as he got a hold of it. He gulped the water down and giving back the canteen to her said "Thank you, Miss Bakker.." and the next word barely audible he added "… Elizabeth". She smiled and walked back to the house.
Within a week he gave Mr. Haubrich an excuse to go over to Mr. Bakker's farm everyday. The days in which he was contracted to work for Mr. Haubrich but instead worked at Mr. Bakker's he worked for free. His payment for the hard days work was receiving a canteen of water in mid-day. It was on those days he worked the most. By the end of the summer he made two trips daily to Mr. Bakker's farm. The first trip he made during the morning to reach the farm. After working a full day he had to walk back to Mr. Haubrich's farm for the night. Halfway through the night he would walk the five miles back to Elizabeth. A few hours with her was worth the ten mile round trip in the dark of the night, and worth more then being twice as exhausted when he woke up to walk back to Mr. Bakker's farm in the early morning.
By 11 o'clock at night he would sneak around the farm to the backside of the house. By working there the whole summer he had known every hiding spot there was within the barn and straw. By that time, Elizabeth would get out of bed and sneak out the back door. A few hours later she would return the same route. Only once did she get caught coming up the stairs, with the ready excuse that she couldn't sleep and went to get a glass of water.
The summer was coming to a close. Each morning he walked the five miles to Mr. Bakker's farm not for the work that was to be done, or the money he would earn doing it, but for a small canteen of water. Each night he walked the five miles back, not to Mr. Bakker's farm, but the farm that Elizabeth happened to live on. They ran out to the fields, across the straw being bundled, and into the woods. They had their own spot in the woods, a part that was neither too closed nor too open. A lone tree trunk lay across the opening and for some reason they never crossed the second half of the opening. The tree trunk was the imaginary boundary they could not cross, but they knew they were crossing it every night.
The Saturday of August 27th was his last day working for Mr. Bakker. That night he went, as usual, to see Elizabeth; this time knowing he won't be back in the morning.
"I made something for you"
"What is it?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of tin. Elizabeth knew that he bought the tin brand new and used the money he was saving to do it. The tin was small, but elegant. It was shaped like a heart, with the edges curled around to form a boundary. Etched into the tin were two groups of initials "J.S." and "E.B."
"I bought the metal from Mr. Bradford on 23rd Street. I went there on Sundays to see Tom, do you know Tom?"
"No"
"He's Mr. Bradford's assistant. He used to work with me at Mr. Haubrich's farm until an accident. He wasn't no good anymore and so Mr. Haubrich had to fire him. Mr. Bradford saw potential in him as a blacksmith and starting training him. Anyway, I went to see Tom and he said he could form the metal for me and make the edges just the way I wanted and even etch it for me. Of course I didn't say who 'EB' was. He agreed to do all of it himself, with no charge. I said 'No.'"
"No?"
"I wanted to do it myself."
She looked at the piece of tin he was still holding when he went on: "I went there last Sunday, when everyone was fast asleep, and Tom showed me how to do every step. He even had an old rusted tin I could use for practice. We had to work quietly and slowly as not to wake Mr. Bradford next door. Tom surely would have lost that job if Mr. Bradford knew he was doing side-jobs for free using his metal." He looked down at the tin, which now reflected a bit of moonlight. Still looking down he said: "I made it for you"
"I know."
Before the last syllable was heard a shout came from behind the other side of the tree trunk. The terror shrieked through her body as she turned around to see her father, shot-gun in hand, standing behind them. Both John and Elizabeth jumped to their feet in horror.
"Mr. Bakker!"
"Shut up!"
"But, Mr. Bakker!"
"Elizabeth, you better get back to the house now."
"Daddy! No! Please! He was just …" her words were cut-off by one syllable of a command: "Now!" Mr. Bakker stood, not looking at Elizabeth as he talked, but with eyes fixed at John. A brief second passed with no one moving before Mr. Bakker grabbed his own daughter's arm and forced her over the log. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Mr. Bakker was still standing staring at John. He said, a bit more quietly, but more seriously: "Now". She got up, tears rolling down her cheek, and took one more look at John. He gave the slightest nod that only she could detect, and his eyes changed to a sign of resignation. She turned around and ran back to the house.
The moment she reached the door of the house a shot rang in the air. She stood paralyzed, door half-opened, unable to move, to think, or to do anything other than feel.
It took three days for her to leave the house again, and another two more to go back to the site. As she approached she half expected to see his body lying over the trunk, left to rot like the trunk itself. There was no body. She fell down to her knees in bewilderment. Was he still alive? Through her outpour she saw a flicker of golden-red in between two blades of grass. She raced the ten feet to the spot on hands and knees knowing what it was. In her hands she held half of a piece of tin, half of the heart. Only the last initial of each name was on the tin. A little bit of blood contrasted the tin color and partially blocked out the 'B', only his last initial 'P' was untainted. It was then she realized that throughout his ordeal with her father, and possibility of death without punishment, he was thinking of her. With his own hands he had broke the piece he had worked so hard to make. The jagged section of the middle-of-the-heart was where it cut deepest into the skin. She thought about searching for the second half of the tin, but realized she would never find it. He had survived and took it with him.
Miss Elizabeth Bakker held the only thing she ever received from Mr. John Sparer and with the cry of all lost emotions wept herself to sleep, next to the tree trunk.
--
During the summer of 1987 a small obituary appeared in the Brookhill Press:
"Elizabeth Bakker, aged 72, of Brookhill, died Thursday August 27th, 1987, at Freedom Inn Nursing Home. A life-long resident of Brookhill, she was never married. She is survived by, and will be remembered by, the friends she left behind."
The day after the obituary appeared in the newspaper a man died on the fifth floor of the same Freedom Inn Nursing Home. No one could remember how long he had been there, or for what reason. The staff that worked there when he came in had already retired and the new staff either never heard the reason or forgot it. No one knew whether he owed money to the Nursing Home, and no one cared. He had been there so long, that he was a part of the building. The old black man was never able to leave his bed, and he was in the same room since the first day he arrived. The only time he was in any other floor was the day he came in the building, some 16 years earlier. No one even knew his name.
The nurse that confirmed his death noticed two things particular about his room. On the counter, in arms reach by the bed, was a newspaper. It was folded in such a way that in the middle was a small three-line obituary. The second thing she noticed was an old rusted piece of tin he held in his hand with two letters barely visible, a 'J' and 'E'. No connection was made, and they were promptly thrown away.
-Mike Sheppard
posted by Mike | 7:00 PM
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