Boaz Bloom and Tumble-Down Row, Part Six

December 4, 2007, 2:00 pm; posted by
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The last of the Best of Job, continued. Lost? Read part one, part two, part three, part four, and part five!

Tumbledown Row and I were through. Back to Dean’s truckbed and talk of the Kansas City Royals. I drove the Buick up on the highway one day to see the spot for myself. It was marked with a few flowers and if you could understand Chap and Boaz’s route at all, you would be mystified by the spot. It made zero sense. The bus driver said he came out of nowhere on his bike. Thought he was a deer at first.

Made me miserable. Made the town miserable. I missed my friend.

 

The weeks passed pretty quickly. I left the sawmill having saved up more money than could really be spent in Chap, and set my sights on getting the house ready for the realtors to take over. I elected to seal the basement myself (we’re a capable lot, we Theins) and just get back east as soon as possible. I was down at the hardware store buying the sealant (heavy stuff, dontchaknow?) when I overheard a man speaking with Rick, the store manager, about aerial surveying being done by helicopter for the government.

“Might be gopher burrows,” Rick told him as they looked at pictures strewn over the counter.

“I thought of that,” the man said, between long sips of coffee. “But look, it’s too straight in places. Are there old lead pipes in those hills?”

“Lead pipes? Nonono… there’s nothing in those hills except for gophers maybe. Well, maybe this one…” Rick hunched down further over the photos. “This one runs up through Tumbledown Row…that might be pipes or something.”

“Tumbledown Row?” the government man asked, adjusting his cap and smiling a little.

“Yeah, just a series of old houses, destroyed by a tornado way back.”

“Earthquake,” his wife corrected him, hunting flies above the stove.

“Right,” he said absentmindedly, still focused on the pictures.

I edged closer to the photos and inspected them, curious to see the Row from the air. The visitor stepped aside willingly. I could see the Row all right — my stoop and the old well — and I could also see the anomaly he was curious about. From the air it looked almost silver-colored, cut into the hillside in definite patterns.

It hit me, and I said it as soon as I realized it — “Boaz’s path!”

I looked up, pressed my finger into the photo. “That’s Boaz’s path.” Rick’s wife was at my shoulder. “You’re right…look, Rick. This is where he finished the day by the IGA.”

We confirmed by the other photos.

“Boaz? I don’t….” the surveyor interjected. Rick’s wife sighed and told him the story with some sadness, but I noted a lot of pride as well, as she told of his funny patterns and interesting relationships in town. I felt some privilege welling up inside me as well.

The government man smiled. He wasn’t from around here, I could tell. He was a little suspicious.

“Those are some pretty interesting paths to take on a bike…daily.”

“Boaz was interesting,” Rick said defensively. “Daily.”

 

I saw the man later on the hillside inspecting the trails personally. He must’ve been truly mystified and I can’t blame him. I would’ve been too, if I hadn’t met Boaz.

–TO BE CONTINUED–


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