View To The Bridge

A path of brilliant light streaked the black morning sky,flickered and dropped to the dirt road in front of KennethMills. It cast a shadow that towered twice his six footframe. Moments before, in the darkness, he had stumbledon a rock not yet fully covered by last night's snowfall. The pain ranfrom his big left toe up his back to his lower neck. His face twistedwith the pain. He turned his face back to the house. The spotlightagain flickered, zigzagging skyward and then back down. The lightnow steadied on his face. Pain was etched in the deep furrows of hisforehead.

Esther briefly smiled at his grimace.

It was an icy, bone-chilling morning, as Kenneth made his waydown the rock hardened path to the covered bridge. Through a lightsnow flurry, Kenneth could see the graying structure awaiting himlike a giant dinosaur. He knew the old bridge presented no danger,as he prepared to cross the frozen river into Osprey Cove.

Kenneth Mills, a thin, gawky, and pitiable man, had lived onthe outskirts of Osprey Cove all his life. Now at thirty years old, hewondered if he would ever escape its cold grasp or that of his bittergrandmother, Esther.

Kenneth had been a sickly child whom his grandmother watchedover with an iron-fisted control that became the gossip of OspreyCove. He lived in mortal fear of Esther Mills and of the townsfolk,who were also critically savage.

Osprey Cove was fifty-one miles north of East Quaco, which inturn was another forty plus miles northeast of Bangor, Maine. Therocky coastline lay nearby. The small seaside cove had changed verylittle over the past century. At the onset of winter, November 1964,Kenneth felt it could just as easily have been 1864.

His face now flushed in anger. Kenneth recalled their earlierargument: "Why can't you let me go about business and try to be aman?" Kenneth argued. "Cause you don't act like a businessman, likeyour Pa, and you never will!" Esther yelled back.

"Maybe that's because you never give me a fair chance at it. Youknow, I never had the full benefit of knowing him like you did."Kenneth said.

"Wouldn't have mattered much. You will never replace him. YourPa was as near perfect as they come; and, you're as worthless as theycome." Esther slashed back.

"Suppose that's why I never became a doctor like I always wanted ...'cause of you and your putdowns on me?" Kenneth half asked.

"You couldn't have been a surgeon anymore than old Sam Bronson,down at the funeral parlor; who by the way, takes advantage of you allthe time. Why you waste your life working for him is beyond me!"Esther exclaimed.

Kenneth didn't answer. He thought of Sam Bronson and thesmall handful of other townsfolk ... not many ... who believed in him.There was Ms. Duboir, his biology teacher, who still believed in himeven though he hadn't gone on to become a doctor. And Kennethremembered Dr. Joe Walters, the town's general practitioner whomhe so wanted to be like. Kenneth loved and worshiped Dr. Walters.Kenneth believed that the good doctor was earnest in his praises andsupport of him; that Dr. Walters truly believed in him.

Then there was Mack of Mack's Pub, who Kenneth felt mightpossibly believe in him. Although, Mack had on more than oneoccasion played Kenneth for the fool that everyone else in OspreyCove believed Kenneth to be.

Kenneth paused on the gray covered bridge where his parents haddied when he was ten. Kenneth felt that his parents, if alive today,would certainly believe in him.

A shiver ran through him as he recalled their frozen bodies in thecar. He grappled with other details of that wintry night, but to noavail. "I feel so terribly alone; deserted, unwanted. Why did you haveto go away and leave me with your mother?" Kenneth whimpered.

Esther's view to the bridge was becoming clearer. She carefullywiped away the innermost frost from the glazed window. The frostymoisture soaked her yellowed handkerchief. The handkerchiefbegan to form cold droplets that fell to the cobwebbed and dustcovered windowsill. She reached above shoulder-level to readjust thespotlight. Its metallic hinge grated and with a shrill refused to giveway to Esther's wiry arm.

"Damn piece of junk," she screeched, giving it a more determinedtug. It shrilled and finally gave way. Esther, with trembling hand,grasped the stiff yellowed handkerchief and wiped away the newfrost from the windowpane. Her withered arm, still hanging fromthe spotlight's iron handle, tightened and twisted the lamp to cast anew path of light. The right quarter of the gray bridge came into fullview. "Aha, now I've got you good and clear," she laughed.

Kenneth stood motionless, partly hidden inside the bridge'sopening. There was the shadow of a much smaller man in a raincoatand a fisherman's hat, just to one side of him. "Who is that?" Estherheard herself ask. "Who are you talking to, Kenneth?"

The shadow shrunk as the fisherman stooped in front of Kenneth.Rising up, the shadowed figure handed Kenneth a large knapsack."Lousy old eyes, can't focus any good," Esther thought.

Straining, nose against the icy window, she screwed her eyebrowsto force a sharper vision. Kenneth was opening the knapsack. Theother man knelt next to Kenneth and pointed into the sack. Esthersaw Kenneth stand and strain as he tried to lift the knapsack by itsdrawstrings. It refused to budge. "Come on you weakling. Hell, ifyou can lift my eighty-five pounds of skin and bones, you sure as hellcan lift that wet sack of who-knows-what." Esther shook her headin disgust.

Kenneth held the knapsack closer to its neck to gain betterleverage and with a second effort, raised it. Esther could see thesmall fisherman, now hunched over, slyly moving away fromKenneth. Kenneth looked back to the house and to the windowwhere Esther's nose and eyebrows traced the only clear glass on theiced windowpanes. His eyes squinted at her window, through thebrilliant path of the spotlight.

He turned back to speak to the fisherman who was steadyinghimself at the bridge's corner pillar, before the fisherman began todescend down the steep riverbank.

Esther wrapped at the window with her knotted knuckles. "What'sgoing on down there, Kenneth? What are you up to now?"

Kenneth knelt, as the fisherman had done moments before.He tied the knapsack's drawstrings to his right ankle and began todrag it to the bridge's corner pillar. He crawled on his belly like awounded soldier with desperate troops clinging to his ankles. Hecrawled, belly-down, to the bridge's opening and peered over theedge, transfixed in his stare, impaled to the bridge's floorboards like apinned frog in a tray of formaldehyde. He lay motionless in a state ofvertigo as he peered down into the ebony ice of the frozen river. Hismind wandered. "God, I hope none of the townsfolk happen by. No,it's much too early. I know what they would think of me, especiallyif they see me like this again ..." He could see their anger and hatred,their total disgust.

The light flickered, nervously seeking out Kenneth. It shotskyward over the bridge to the shabby rooftop of Bronson's funeralparlor, then finally back down to the gravel path where it slowly creptback to the bridge. The spotlight found Kenneth's knapsack, andthen Kenneth. It steadied there with a very slight quivering.

He knew she was watching him again. He also knew it was timeto go.

Coffin Lid

Up at five-thirty every morning had become routine. Fortwenty-one years since graduating from high school—Kennethlost three years while institutionalized—hehad made his way down the hill from his grandmother'shouse, across the Osprey bridge to Sam Bronson's Funeral Parlor.The funeral parlor rested precariously on the Osprey Cove river'sedge. The backroom, where Kenneth eagerly watched Sam embalmthe dead, leaned down towards the river. In Kenneth's tenth year ofapprenticeship, Sam had allowed him to assist with the embalmingof young Joey Stewart, a drowning victim.

"It's now time for you Kenneth to take over the reins of mybusiness. My hands are trembling more and more, likely 'cause of allthe years of drinking," Sam offered.

Esther knew where to focus her rusty spotlight. After nearlyten minutes of river gazing, she knew he would begin to crawl tothe edge of the bridge's opening, dragging the knapsack as he didevery morning, and begin his snowy snail crawl down the steepriverbank. "You're as crazy as they come; most likely even crazier,"Esther muttered.

The trail in the snow was ruffled, but distinct. It appeared as ifa crazed and out-of-control toboggan had slid down and across thefrozen river to alight halfway up the opposite bank. There, with lossof momentum, he would brace himself on his backside and drag theknapsack up the bank to the funeral parlor, which unfortunately forEsther, was beyond her spotlight's reach.

Kenneth reached down and untied the sack's drawstrings at thefuneral parlor's door. He quickly brushed off the sticky snow andflaky mud and stomped inside. With much effort, the knapsackfollowed.

He looked at the mantle clock, which kept precise time. Theclock read 6:27 A.M. A searching spotlight caressed the parlor'srooftop, but could reach no lower because of the bridge.

"I must rush now, 'cause Sam will be here in twenty minutes. Heruns as efficiently as that damned clock." Wiping his face and armsoff with a dead man's winding sheet, Kenneth dried off as well as hecould before standing in front of the potbelly stove which he alwaysfired up, immediately upon arrival. Standing in the shadow of theironcast stove wrapped in the sheet and as thin and pale as deathitself, he looked like a dead man standing.

Kenneth was often taken to daydreaming, especially after hisforty-five minute morning trek, which for anyone else would havetaken only twenty minutes.

"I must hide this knapsack before old Sam Bronson arrives.He hates it when I bring these in here and place them in the deepfreeze drawer. Thank God, he hasn't caught me in the past fewmonths."

Kenneth wondered if some of old Sam's pungent brandy, whichSam kept hidden in the top draw of his desk, might warm him. Thenhe recalled Sam's trembling hands, and decided no on the brandy: heneeded his steady hands. They were the only reason Sam Bronsonwould ever allow Kenneth to assist and perhaps eventually take overall the embalming.

"Why don't you give up your booze?" Kenneth recalled askingSam. "Maybe your hands would get better." Sam's answer was alwaysthe same: "Hell, no! It's too late for that and besides I love thedrinking."

"Maybe Dr. Walters could do something. Maybe if you stoppeddrinking and the Doc gave you some medicine; maybe then ..." Saminterrupted Kenneth, "and maybe you should mind your own stupidbusiness and stop trying to save the whole damn world!"

"Well, I was just trying to help."

"Ken, that's your problem. You're always trying to help someone,and no one but Esther needs your help. Now drop it and finishcleaning up this place," Sam replied.

It was close to 6:45 A.M. when Kenneth awoke from hisdaydreaming. Propped on the end of a broomstick, he resumedsweeping the parlor floor. Some of the dark green painted floorboardsshowed dried blood. "I must scrub the floor before Sam arrives."

Sam Bronson arrived punctually at 6:49 A.M. every morningand left the parlor at precisely 4:45 P.M., unless he had a funeral toconduct. By 5:00 P.M., one could find Sam huddled up to the barat Mack's Pub having enough beer to fill his oversized frame. Later,he would ask Mack for a small glass of the best brandy; then he'dreturn to more beers. No one had ever accused Sam of intoxication orof being the town drunk. It was because of Sam's body size, Kenneththought. Anyone who weighed over three hundred pounds at six-foottwo could put away lots of booze without ever revealing a stagger.Kenneth forever sickly and drawn, paled next to Sam Bronson'sruddy complexion—the result of either high blood pressure or overindulging.Sam always looked like he had some of his deceasedpatrons' cosmetic rouge on his face or that he had been overexposedto the sun.

Sam was well liked amongst the townsfolk. In part, aside fromhis frequenting Mack's Pub and often buying drinks for his friends,he would customarily offer his grieving mourners some full-bodiedwine after his services.

One night, after Judge Seoul's service, Sam plied the judge'sdaughter, Melissa, with enough wine to even make Sam a bit tipsy. Shenever emerged from the parlor that night. Osprey rumors abounded.Melissa was a plump, but not entirely unattractive, spinster lady whocould usually handle her fair share of beer, wine or liquor. She was aregular at Mack's Pub, often sitting next to Sam. She always offeredSam a warm and broad smile; an occasional harmless hug.

"Yuh, you sure had a liking for her, didn't you Sam? Melissa hada way about her that made you think she really liked you; whethertrue or not. Although, I will say, she seemed to understand a side ofyou no one else could. Anyway, it doesn't much matter now that she'sdead, does it?" Kenneth rambled to himself.

Melissa and her baby died in childbirth. Many townsfolk believedthe baby to be Sam's. Sam never spoke again about her or the baby.

Following her death, Kenneth decided to ask Sam about his ownparents and his grandfather. Sam would be off guard, rattled byMelissa's death, and the flowing rumors.

"No, no one, not a single soul showed up for your Grandpa'sfuneral and burial. But there were several of our townsfolk here foryour Mom and Dad's funeral," Sam recalled.

Kenneth did not ask more questions. He had grown up withrumors, or were they truths, about his Grandpa's death. He knew ofthe Victorian attitudes of the townsfolk. How they had feelings ofdespair for him. How they selfishly proclaimed their own sorrow thatKenneth had been left alone at such a young age, following both hisparents' death and then, shortly afterwards, that of his grandfather.Yet, they spoke behind closed doors and whispered even at Mack'sPub about Kenneth's insane grandfather, and his grandfather before.Rumors heard from side alleys and back store rooms had convincedKenneth that he too must be insane, as the illness obviously skippedgenerations. Indeed, he did feel awkwardly different. And of course,everyone in town knew he had been institutionalized for three years.

Sam Bronson had taken over the funeral parlor from his dad,Oley Bronson. Sam, like his father, was a scruffy sight, Kenneththought, as Sam waddled through the parlor with the sides of hisoxblood loafers buckling outward. His suit never appeared to fit hisoversized frame. Kenneth often imagined the seams in Sam's trouserlegs separating from the strain.

Sam was a man of few words and quite cold to his mourningclients. He conducted his funeral business in a dogged fashion, asthough he realized there was no one else, except maybe Kenneth, tocarry on the unpleasant work. He had carefully trained Kenneth forthe day when his trembling hands no longer could function.

Today, Sam approached his funeral parlor with a slower, moreprecarious gate than usual. He was over twenty-five minutes late.The icy air had taken his breath away several times and he felt apain in his chest. He had struggled in his footsteps through theever mounting and sticky snow. He had walked briskly in sub zeroweather before without any discomfort. He worried momentarily."Why the sudden pangs this morning?" he asked himself.

Sam had not slept well the night before, up several times forno apparent reason. And this morning's walk to work was far moredifficult than it had ever been before. "Well, I don't have muchfurther to go," he thought. But with each new footstep, he felt morepain. Now, the mounting snow beneath his feet felt like quicksand.

Townsfolk, especially the jeweler and clock repairman, SethThompson, counted daily on Sam's passing by to set their timepiece.At 6:49 A.M. and again at 4:45 P.M; then if not convinced, certainlyby 5:00 P.M. they could hold their watches' stems outward untilSam squeezed through the rustic wooden doors of Mack's Pub.Sam was never late to Mack's. It was an ordination all the townsfolksanctioned, like the timelessness of the Osprey Cove bridge and theriver below. Sam had well earned his moments, or hours as it mightbe, for the painstaking care of his deceased clientele. Sam Bronson,like his father before him, was well respected.

Kenneth had not noticed Sam's tardiness this morning and thatin itself was unusual as he mentally prepared himself each morningfor Sam's arrival. After all, Kenneth had been reprimanded morethan once for his daydreaming ways.

Sam paused with more chest pains at the parlor doorstep andthen pushed the heavy door open. The wood brass laden door seemedlike a vertical coffin lid sealed with wax, as Sam struggled to openit. The chest pains worsened. Sam caught Kenneth's usual guilt-riddledstare. Over the years, Sam had grown accustomed to thestare. An untrained observer would have thought that Kenneth hadbeen caught in some despicable act. Sam knew better and stared backat Kenneth with unpronounced forgiveness and this time only, withglazed, uncertain eyes.

Kenneth, frozen as in a trance, watched as Sam raised his rightarm to his chest and fell backwards into the open doorway. Kenneththought he heard Sam's head make a slight thud as it fell into a whitepillow of snow. It was a picture of serenity, he thought; Sam's rougecolored cheeks against the snowy pillow. Sam's moans were barelyaudible. With his last breath escaping, he reached out again with hisright hand to the door's edge as if to keep the coffin lid from closingdown on him.

Sam was dead.