The Redemption

Chapter 8

Being Where You Are

The train rocked gently as I enjoyed the train ride. It was a slower way to go but the scenery was worth the time spent. I’d rarely taken time to enjoy travel, preferring to get where I was going so I could get back to where I’d come from.

It wasn’t a pretty day but there was sun until the train moved back toward the coast. I might end up getting wet before all was said and done, but I could change into dry clothes if warranted.

The window of this compartment dampened and obscured the view before the sun shone through it again, drying the rain from the latest shower. There were trestles and grand arching bridges that intrigued me. How long had they been standing? Were they still in use?

The door slid open, and I turned from the scenery and nodded my greeting at the older woman who came to take possession of her seat. We’d left the station long enough ago that I thought I might have a private compartment for the rest of the trip, but company was good.

I watched as she clumsily arranged her things on the seat that faced mine, rearranging them a second time once she’d sat down. She wore a rather audacious hat with a veil; her red outfit reminded me of a pair of oxblood shoes I once had as a boy.

Finally we came face to face as she forced or by one means or another brought a broad smile to her face that was far more cordial than the occasion. I nodded once more and smiled politely. I was happy for her silence and went back to our window.

“It’s a lovely day,” she said, arranging her things for a third time as the rain seemed to threaten again. “Do you come to Italy often?” she sang in an English accent.

“No, I’ve never been,” I confessed in my clear version of English, turning back to the window in time for the next question.

“Are you traveling alone? Or are you with your wife?” she asked, her blue eyes focused tightly on me.

“No, I’m traveling with my father. He’s never been to Italy either,” I explained to avoid the next question, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“How wonderful of you,” she sang in a grand pretense of appreciation for my thoughtfulness. “What a beautiful vase. Did you pick that up while in Rome?”

“No, Iowa,” I said, confusing her greatly.

“Is your father far?”

“No,” I said, patting the vase to bring out even more confusion. “I like to keep him with me.”

The woman sat across from me in silence as the train slowed for what was my stop. Once I stood and went with the vase to the door, I turned to make amends.

“My father says to tell you it was nice meeting you,” I said, smiling an irreverent smile as I left her.

It was the least I could do. I knew she was the kind of woman who would tell the story of the odd American she met on the train. For some strange reason that pleased me and I pleased the Cabby when I gave him my destination. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes. I tucked the vase in the canvas bag I’d brought for the occasion as we drove through the marvelous countryside.

“Let me off here. I want to walk up. I’ll be a few minutes but no more,” I said as the cabby nodded and smiled to let me know he understood.

It was a perfectly paved driveway with a flag pole displaying the stars and stripes blowing in the gentle breeze. As I walked toward it and rounded the first curve, the guardhouse appeared. The uniformed honor guard stepped out of the house and stood at attention as I approached. His white gloved hands were carefully curled to the rear as he stared at a spot straight ahead.

“Sven Olie Gustofson, please.”

Without any sign of recognition he clicked his heels and stepped into the enclosure, peered into a thick black book, then pulled a sheet of paper out from a shelf under the book.  After circling a spot on it, he stood back out to face me.

“Sir, if you’ll follow this drive, take your first left turn, walk to the end of the paved walkway. Turn right. You’ll find Sgt. Gustoff  at the fifth stone.”

“Thank you,” I said, glancing down at the paper he handed me to see if it agreed with his words, and it did.

By that time he was standing back at attention as if I’d disappeared. I couldn’t help but feel honored to be allowed to enter there. If the honor guard was there to set the mood of his being charged with the protection of the last resting place of American heroes, he sold me.

Before I turned I looked back but he was gone. I walked through the rows of gravestones. There was white marble on green grass with concrete paths to transport people so they didn’t step on the graves. It was all quite impressive.

I removed the vase from the canvas bag. I read the name on the gravestone. “Sven Olie Gustoff.” 

 “Well, Daddy, I’m here. You and Sven are back together again. It’s as close as I could come to making your dream come true. I love you.

“I didn’t know you, Uncle Sven, but you must have been one hell of a man.”

Unscrewing the top of the urn, I turned until I felt the breeze on the back of my neck. I spilled the ashes out gently over the grave.

“You two enjoy your eternity together. God’s speed.”

The clouds boiled up overhead as though the sky seemed determined to rain on the reunion. All I had was the canvas bag, but I had clothes at my hotel. I did walk quickly toward the guardhouse and my cab. The storm seemed to be passing by the time I got back to the asphalt.

Once I closed in on the guardhouse, walking quickly just in case, the honor guard appeared, standing at attention rain or shine. But when I was within a few feet of him his stern demeanor changed abruptly, as he looked at where I was coming from, hands on hips, mouth open wide.

“What the…! I’ve never seen such a thing.”

His astonishment was enough to make me turn around in time to see a swirling cyclone of wind carrying sand and dirt and ash in a dust storm, lifting up toward the sky. The color lightened as it rose and seemed to dissipate as it blended with the clouds.

“Damn if I’ve ever seen such a thing. Did you see that?” he asked, looking for affirmation to explain his breach of protocol.

“Oh, that? It’s just my father saying hello to an old friend,” I said, before smiling a smile of satisfaction.

I continued my journey down the asphalt driveway toward my waiting cab. I could feel the guard’s eyes following me as if he thought I may have stolen something right under his nose.

I felt complete as rays of sunlight breached the clouds in a few places, making the sky a work of art.

It was a nice day.

The End

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