Sometimes, sitting and thinking is just sitting and thinking
Waiting...
by Todd M.A. Wandio
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"...an' he sat down there in the middle of the street, an that was it," barked Ed Getsch, pointing to the crazy man lotus squatting in the center of the downtown roadway, the wind tossing his crazy hair about his face, his rough clothes makng him a prophet-manakin.
"That's it? He just sat there. Nothing else?" Sgt. Levesque, writing in his leather note pad, inquired in an almost disinterested tone.
"Well, yah...Well, no, actually he did say something." The farmer paused, contemplating, scratching the bald spot beneath his whispy comb-over. He slowly replaced his Red Ram cap and looked again at the creature in the roadway.
Levesque was new to Carbon Creek, and still hadn't gotten used to the deliberate, painfully slow ways of the town's prairie inhabitants. They seemed to have patience to spare. It was something the policeman from Montreal found almost annoying.
"What, exactly, did he say?" he pressed, and seemed to startle Ed Getsch awake, though he hadn't been sleeping.
"Oh, well now, that was strange." He scratched his head again, and Levesque prepared himself for another round of slow prairie contemplation.
"He said..." Ed began again, replacing his cap, blowing his nose with a grimy hankie. "He said...'I'm waiting...'"
Levesque himself waited for more, but no more was forthcoming. He looked sternly at Ed Getsch, as if to say, "Quit holding out," but Ed sighed and shrugged and looked once more at the stoic figure in the street.
Twenty minutes had passed since Levesque had been called to the scene, and the man had been sitting a half hour before that, and a crowd was beginning to gather; at least what passed for a crowd in Carbon Creek. Mrs. McAlpine and Miss Joanne Duff, Ed Getsch, Sgt. Levesque, two farm dogs and a stray cat missing an eye watched the stand-off from either side of the street. Levesque knew that he must do something, for every eye was upon him to do whatever it was the RCMP did when trouble started.
He walked up to the stranger as officiously as he knew how, reminding himself of his training in dealing with the "unstable". Use caution while approaching. Maintain eye contact. Be stern bu not overly stern. Be polite and non-threatening. Do not invite confrontation, especially not with onlookers present.
Well that was fine, thought Levesque. Here we are, this crazy man and I, in the middle of the street, and, well, onlookers are certainly present. Scrap the book. But use caution.
"Excuse me, sir, may I see some identification, please, sir?"
The wind whipped the straw-bent, crazy-grey hair around the man's head and into his eyes and face. As for the man, he hadn't moved, not an inch in all the time Levesque had been there. His eyes, wild, almost white-blue remained fixed on the horizon past the far edge of town, and to the south.
Levesque was baffled. "Sir," he said, "Do you realize that you are presenting a danger to yourself and, um, to others by sitting in this here roadway?"
Staring straight ahead, motionless, the man, almost without opening his mouth proclaimed the obvious.
"I'm waiting..."
"Yes, sire, I realize that, but, you see, you must move so that you do not pose such a danger to yourself, and to others." There were a lot of pregnant pauses in Levesque's reply, for the good Sargeant had run out of things to say, and did not wish to: A) invite confrontation and B) do so in front of onlookers.
So he did the only other thing he could imagine. He hitched up his trousers, crossed his legs, and sat down by the man, behind him and to his left. That brought Ed Getsch back to life nearby, cursing the mountie for a lunatic and strutting, elbows raised and arms convulsing agitatively to the policeman's side.
"What'n Murphy's name are you doing?"
Levesque shrugged in response. It wasn't a good idea, granted, but it was better than no idea at all.
Plus, he thought, maybe if I act like him, maybe he will act like me. Again, the chance was slim, but better than no chance at all. He looked up at Ed Getsch and replied.
"I'm waiting..."
By this time more spectators had gathered to watch the event, something interesting on an otherwise unspectacular day, with the typical prairie sun blistering the typically cracked prairie pavement, and the typical limitless blue of the sky a constant reminder that tomorrow would be no different and probably a lot more typical than today was turning out to be.
"Waiting...waiting for what?" Ed Getsch asked Levesque. He didn't care much for Quebecers, though before Levesque he hadn't met any. Now, he figured he knew why is was he didn't like them, at least this one in particular. A fella expected guys coming off the highway, drifting around the country to be a bit loopy, but a cop was supposed to be respectable. Levesque, instead of being respectable, was showing himself to be as crazy as the drifter he sat behind. The longer the two of them sat there, eyes locked on the heat waves shimmering on the horizon, the more convinced Ed Getsch became that Levesque had flipped.
The day wore on. Mrs. McAlpine and Miss Duff had gotten some of the other ladies together to make sandwiches and lemonade for the event. All watched quietly, not saying much, as the two sat, watching with great concentration and, it appeared, a certain peaceful calm, some unknown visage on the horizon. More dogs had gathered and so had a few more cats, both species intermingling and apparently unaware of the other's presence.
Levesque, meanwhile, had become quite used to the sitting. It had ceased to be a waiting game for him anymore. It had ceased to be a plan, even. It had become a spiritual exercise, a type of meditation, though for the most part Levesque enjoyed it because it was oddly relaxing.
Ed Getsch, wiping his nose and forehead with his hankie almost continuously now, had become quite beside himself with curiosity.
"What 'n heck do they see from down there anyway?" he mumbled to no one in particular, though Andy Spiel, the hardware store manager thought Ed was speaking to him, and shrugged in response.
So Ed joined Levesque and the crazy-haired swammy of the street, and squatted, as they were doing, and began staring straight ahead.
That did it. Soon enough Mrs. McAlpine and Miss Joanne Duff, the other ladies and the men who had gathered to witness the event joined the three on the pavement, all staring at the same point on the horizon, though some had to crane their necks to see over the heads of those in front of them. Even the dogs and the stray cats joined in. Curiosity became a game. The game became an exercise.
Quiet settled on the town of Carbon Creek. Silence and the afternoon sun, dipping now in the west, a steady breeze whipping the flags and still that deep blue sky to which the heat haze travelled like a spirit to its rest. Supper hour passed, and still the townspeople sat, transfixed.
If someone were to come upon them, sitting cross-legged on main street, behind the man with the wild hair which was steadily being whipped into his face, behind the police officer who had joined him, behind Ed Getsch who began the rush to follow the other two, and if one were to ask why they were there, they would, of course, answer as they had heard the first man answer.
"I'm waiting..."
And the sun found the horizon after an afternoon of silence, and the townspeople were staring at an obscure black line which they had fixed their eyes upon hours before. A chill settled on the town, as had been typical of late, yet no one moved. No one even wondered about moving.
Silence. And then a stirring. Levesque sensed the crazy-gray haired man shifting suddenly, yet he kept his position and his gaze fixed.
Slowly, knees cracking like dry tinder, the solitary figure arose and yawned and looked about him. Everyone noticed. It was strange to see a figure move after sitting, stoic for so long a time. The man turned to face them, and the breeze stirred, tossing his loose clothes like wings about him. Then the wind died, and silence was complete all around.
He looked them over, then he turned and began to walk. He headed south, down the road he had been staring at the whole day. As he reached the edge of town, he broke into a wild trot, the wind picking up and whipping his clothes hysterically. The very air howled as the wind picked up, driven as if by the black humour of some cruel joke.
Discomfort fell on the crowd, slifling even the wind. Nobody moved; no one spoke. Everyone was stone still for fear that they would by moving accept that they had been fooled. Nobody knew quite what to do. To get up and go home, to laugh, to just sit there all night, warmed by the embarrassment of having been held for an entire day by a vagrant.
In the embarrassing weight of darkness, somebody sneezed. Someone else cleared their throat, and the wind carried on, typically, as it had been doing, of late.
Copywright 1998, Todd M.A. Wandio
