Another day with Mr. Bales | Short story - Fiction

‘Good Morning Mr. Bales’ I said as I gave him a cup of tea this morning, something I have been dutifully doing for the past three months or so. Mr. Bales smiled kindly while reaching for the hot drink shivering a little; it is cooling down again as the autumn approaches. In spite of being a national holiday he was getting ready to leave for his office. There has never been a day, ever since I met him - even the day that followed that dreadful night - on which he didn’t get up at the crack of dawn and set off to work, weekends included. Something which regrettably forces me to get up even earlier.

Then, he told me amiably that I did not need to call a cab for him, because today he had decided to walk to work. ‘I want to feel the sunshine in my face’, he said smiling again. I nodded twice, repeating once more the way I mostly interact with Mr. Bales. I watched him walk down the street and stood there until he turned the second corner. Just before he disappeared from my sight he checked his briefcase and ran his hand through his hair. Mr. Bales is very particular about tidiness; he often made remarks about my unpolished shoes. He often promised to buy me a new pair, but every evening, at his return, when I greeted him again with a cup of tea and some biscuits he narrated his meetings, business deals etc... (no details spared), only to then tell me ‘My dear, I haven´t forgotten your shoes. It is just that it has been an incredibly busy day. Tomorrow I’ll get them in the shop.’

In the evenings I often sit beside him for a while and listen to him talking about nothing but his successful enterprises. When he finally gives me back the empty tea cup I wave him goodbye, wish a good night’s sleep and hand to him the newspaper, which he prefers to read at night, unlike everyone else, among his blankets. But, Mr. Bales is unlike everyone else in many, many ways. For example, he isn’t very fond of books, whenever I offer him a book he promptly exclaims ‘books don’t keep me updated about current world affairs, my dear. I only read the paper’. That makes things easier for me, to be honest; at the end of the day I just give me him the paper I read in the morning.

Talking about the paper, a very interesting thing happened one day. By mistake I gave Mr. Bales some old newspapers when I came to greet him at his arrival with his evening tea. It might have been something like one month old, I took it by mistake. Curiously, Mr. Bales never noticed! He didn’t say a thing about it. That situation puzzled me for days. I even wondered if Mr. Bales was literate. Until, of course, that dreadful night, when he didn’t return home. That awful night soon made me forget the newspaper event.

You see, Mr. Bales is very punctual, he always, always, comes back from work at seven o’clock. On that night, the clock struck eleven o’clock and he never returned. I kept looking through the window. I thought I would never see him again, but then he finally appeared on the other side of the street all beaten up. I was in shock! ‘What happened?’ I asked. He said some young men had done it. Mr. Bales was profoundly sad and confused. While we awaited the ambulance he complained about the youth of our days. I, as usual, nodded in agreement asking to myself in thoughts. ‘Who would beat up a man in his late 60’s?’ I am not sure of his age as he told me he is 64 in one occasion and 68 in another.

It only happened that one time. Also, we never talked about it; even while his wounds were still healing and aching he didn’t say a word. So, tonight at seven, I served him tea, biscuits and gave him the paper. Once more when I crossed the road to come back to my house, I looked through the window and watched Mr. Bales lying on his blankets, which he carefully places on the bus stop bench, before he begins to flick the pages of the newspaper. As well as all the other nights I wondered whether Mr. Bales really ever was a successful entrepreneur, or has always been a mad, lovable homeless man.

[Original content by Abigail Dantes - 2017]