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“I want some elephant toast.” The transient said. His clothing was well
beyond worn and tattered. His hair had clearly not been combed in weeks,
or maybe in months. His smell preceded him and lingered long after him.
The woman shook her head. She looked very tired. She said, “I don’t know
what that is.”
“You know,” he said, holding his hands up about three feet apart, “The
big, fat, wide slabs of homemade bread, all slathered in hot butter and
fried in a skillet.” The man seemed hardly able to control himself, he was
so hungry.
“Elephant toast,” she repeated. “Hmmm. Ok, fine.”
She reached under the counter and grabbed a large loaf of home-style
bread. It was oblong in shape and not pre-sliced. Placing it on the
preparation table, she cut three two inch slabs from the end. She buttered
one side and then the other of each slice and threw them on the hot grill,
next to two sizzling eggs. Immediately, the aroma of hot butter and bread
filled the small diner.
“I don’t suppose you have any money to pay for this order,” she stated,
without asking or waiting for a reply. She busied herself with cleaning
off the counter and quickly popping the lids off several salt shakers.
The man sat perfectly still on the stool, his hands clasped on the counter
in front of him, almost as if in prayer, his eyes fastened on the three
slabs of bread toasting on the grill. In a very low voice, he muttered
something like, “No ma’am… But would be much obliged though if you…”
She interrupted, “That’s fine. I figured as much.” She poured salt into
each shaker, stopping near the top. “No sense in anyone going hungry in
this world, so long as we’ve got food.”
A moment later, she turned the bread over and toasted the other side. Then
she served it on a white oval plate, along with two fried eggs and three
strips of crisp bacon. Then she refilled the man’s cup with black coffee.
She set a small stainless carousel of syrups and jams next to his coffee.
“Anything else?” She asked.
“No ma’am,” He said. “This is just right. This is better than right. Thank
you kindly.” And with that, he went after the food.
She walked quickly to the other end of the counter and grabbed an old
broom to sweep the floor by the front windows. The four small tables along
the front wall were now empty. Soon, they’d fill up again with the noon
crowd. As she swept and straightened, she was mumbling something under her
breath. She may have been swearing, or maybe she was singing softly. The
man couldn’t tell.
He ate the food and drank the coffee. She filled his cup again then walked
down to the other end of the counter. Picking up the phone, she called the
lunch cook to make sure he was going to show up.
He saved the last piece of toast, carefully wrapping it in a napkin to
take with him. He sat back a moment, rubbing his belly with both hands in
obvious satisfaction.
He said, “I sure do thank you, ma’am. That hit the ol’ spot real good.”
Then he rose from the stool to go, but was stopped by the woman’s sharp
voice.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She asked.
He stood still, waiting to see what she wanted.
“I got some biscuits and sausage left over from breakfast.” She said,
reaching into the small refrigerator by the grill. “You’re going to need
something for later on, and I hate throwing away good food.” She wrapped
the biscuits and sausage patties in plastic wrap and put them in a white
bag. Then walking over to a snack display by the cash register, she
grabbed a few candy bars and slipped them into the bag, as well.
She handed him the bag and he was on his way. A tattered business license
on the wall by the door said the proprietor’s name was Abigail Perkins.
The man glanced at this as he walked out.
Outside, the autumn air was crisp and fresh in the morning sunlight. He
walked out to the roadside and headed east. It was a long walk down the
mountain’s slope to the valley floor below.
He’d heard the stories about Abigail’s Diner in Arksonville from more than
one source. Now he knew they were all true. He’d been told to look for the
tiny town of Arksonville just west of the summer wheat fields, up at the
top of the old mountain ridge.
And that’s just where he found a little diner by the highway where anyone
was welcomed. Anyone at all. He always loved it when a good report proved
true.
The shabbily dressed man turned from the roadside and walked out into the
prairie grasses where he startled a small group of white-tailed deer. They
silently watched him as he made his way south toward the river below.
The deer were not frighten when the man suddenly disappeared in broad
daylight, simply fading into the morning wind. The bag of biscuits dropped
to the ground. A fox and several noisy black birds would share them later.
The Scripture says: “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing
some have unwittingly entertained angels. . . do not forget to do good and
to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. . . (Hebrews 13:2,
16)
©2004 Jim Sutton |
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