ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, March 26, 1997 TAG: 9703260018
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: BEN BEAGLE
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
After the talented, gentle and lovely Beth Macy reminded me that I have been turning out columns for 40 years, I began to write like Papa Hemingway again:
That is the way it is, the old man thought. Time cruelly destroys youth and the body as well.
The seasons come and go like the swift winds on the mountain where the great frozen carcass of the cat was found. Perhaps, he thought, the cat had known too many seasons and had tried to climb to heaven to escape its own mortality.
It seemed that the lovely light of autumn should still greet him in the mornings, but now it was March - a time of winds the old man felt keenly.
'Time passes,' said the woman|
"Aiyee," he said to the woman with the eyes of one who has seen the worst of things. "How can it have been 40 years since I first wrote a column for this very periodico? Time is a tyrant that has its way with us."
"Viejo," the woman said, "it should be no secret to thee that time passes and that the good days on the streets of Radford in the presence of saddle-shoed cheerleaders will never come again and that one cannot think of being able to run before the bulls forever."
"Es verdad, esposita," the old man said. "And yet it hurts in the deep places of the soul that it should be so. Each generation runs before the bulls and then steps back and awaits the Big Siesta. Los matadores face death in the afternoons and often they are gored and bleed on the sand while the bull lives on. But it is a glorious Big Siesta. They die young and vital."
"Viejo," the woman said, looking heavenward as she had thousands of times, "thee have been awaiting the Big Siesta from the time I have known thee. Is it not una fortuna buena that at thy truly advanced age, thee still has the mental agility to type into the computer?"
"That is true, mujer," the old man said. "And I am still able to take the calvados at the proper hour of the day. And I still take some pleasure in the swimsuit edition of the Sports Illustrated. But I wish thee had not spoken so plainly of my advanced age. As you did so, a great tremor of despair ran through my body."
"Viejo," the woman said with ancient, practiced patience, "next month thee will see the coming of the Great Seven-Oh - no matter the tremors in your body. This means that thee are definitely no longer a chicken of la primavera."
40 years worth celebrating|
"Will thee cease this assassination, mujer?" the old man said. "I am aware of the approach of the Great Seven-Oh. I have seen the application for the renewal of the license to drive el automovil. I must tell the proper person at the division of los motor vehicles that I have gained 15 pounds since the Great Six-Five.
"Compared to my face today, I look like a youngster in the picture on my current license. These things are not pleasant to contemplate. They make one smell the breath of the hyena."
"Thee are loco, esposo," the woman said. "Men who have not taken leave of their senses would celebrate the fact that they have been writing a column for 40 years. They would open champagne. Thee are content to write dirges and speak of the Big Siesta. I will have no more of it."
And the woman went to renew herself by digging in the new spring ground and the old man was left to face the Big Siesta alone.
Aiyee, he thought, I did not tell her that my sadness also comes from the fact that I Iooked up the first column of 40 years ago.
It seemed probable, the old man thought, that your average frozen cat could have done better than that.
LENGTH: Medium: 72 linesby CNB