The Sower by Rob Jung

Author:Rob Jung
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hawk Hill Literary, LLC
Published: 2022-03-02T01:32:37+00:00

Albert Freeman didn’t look like a nursing home resident. Average height, brown thinning hair, wearing khakis and a plaid, corduroy shirt, he looked like any other retired octogenarian. He was sitting on the cushion of a bay window in a large, open room, gazing out the window.

‘Mr. Freeman?”

“Who are you?” His voice was a little gravelly but pleasant.

“My name is Carrie Waters, Mr. Freeman. You and I have never met, but I would like to talk to you. Ask you some questions. Would that be all right?”

“Do I know you?”

Carrie ignored the question, knowing it would be repeated time and again if she engaged in that conversation. Instead, not waiting for permission, she slid a straight-backed chair in front of Freeman, and sat on it, close enough so their knees touched. She reached for his hands, but he jerked them away.

“Are you a nurse?”

“I’m kind of a therapist,” she said, her voice soothing. “Can I hold your hands? Maybe we can remember together.”

Shyly he put his hands in his lap. Carrie leaned forward, reaching out gently, taking his hands in hers. They were strong hands that dwarfed hers. She guessed Freeman was a farmer or laborer. They sat quietly, the passing time of no importance. Ronni had followed Carrie, purposely ignoring the glares of the woman at the nurse’s station. She sat on a rose-colored couch across the large area, her legs crossed, watching and keeping watch. People passed through the room, paying no attention to the two people sitting close together next to the bay window. None of the passers-by appeared to be a threat.

“What was the best thing about your work?” Carrie asked, her voice just above a whisper.

“When I laid the perfect seam. When the horizontal seam and the vertical seam made a perfect T.” Freeman’s words were dream-like.

“Were you a bricklayer?”

He nodded.

“How did you learn to be a bricklayer? How old were you?

“Mr. Milliken taught me, but then I got drafted.”

“Who is Mr. Milliken?”

Freeman didn’t answer. After waiting a few moments, Carrie tried a different approach.

“Tell me about high school. What was your favorite subject?”

“Math,” he intoned, and then started gently swaying back and forth, “but I really like to dance.”

“Did you dance in high school?”

“Some of the boys made fun of me, but the girls liked it.”

“Did you like high school?”

Freeman smiled, still moving to the music in his head, far, far away. Carrie waited. His movements became more intentional. The music must have changed.

“What song are you listening to?” Carrie asked. No answer. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes had passed and she had made little progress. She needed to press forward.

“Where did you serve in the military?”

The smile vanished. “Korea.” They sat in silence as Carrie watched Korea play out on Freeman’s face. She was afraid she had lost him.

“Mr. Freeman?” she said softly after several minutes, stroking his hands. He looked up, a stricken look in his eyes, tears welling on the rim. “It’s all right. The war is over.”

“They died. They all died.

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