The Sheriff's Visit

Although old people generally love to talk about the past, Old John recalling his wartime days was uncommon. It only came up occasionally, when he was in a particularly good mood.

When he talked about those things, he didn't expect any response.

That probably had to do with him spending most of his life alone, already used to entertaining himself.

He would talk about the heroes he met during the war—how many fascists they killed, who they saved. He'd also talk about how, during those toughest times, he met his wife, and how they got married after the war.

He'd go on about how wonderful that woman was, and the little details of their life together.

At times like that, Henry just had to be a patient listener.

He didn't even need to give the usual audience responses like "And then?" Just shut his mouth and lend his ears.

Of course, that night Henry was busy eating. When he finished, he went back to cooking, then ate some more.

Old John, fueled by alcohol, kept talking nonstop. It was as if he were dreaming right then, all those past events playing out before his eyes.

By the time the old man finally slumped over and fell asleep, it was already past seven in the morning. But at that hour in winter Alaska, the sky wasn't light yet, and the house still needed lamplight to see.

After sending the man to bed in his room, Henry cleaned up the kitchen and started sweeping the bar.

Even though Old John would clean up after closing every day, dust was the kind of nuisance that piled up constantly.

He dusted off those little troubles, then fixed up a few things that were on the verge of breaking. According to Old John's habit, he'd wait until something was completely broken and unusable before dealing with it.

But Henry wasn't used to that. Doing limited repairs was like a kind of maintenance—it could extend the lifespan of things.

The reason Old John waited until he absolutely had to fix something was, to some extent, because his physical strength wasn't what it used to be, and he couldn't cover everything.

Once everything was ready for opening, he could flip the sign on the bar door to "OPEN" and officially welcome customers.

But that move was really just for show. If anyone dared to come to the bar to drink in broad daylight, they'd get a blast of Old John's fiery sarcasm. Things like:

"Only thugs and useless wastes come to drink during the day. Even a damn maggot knows to go make money or get high. You're so pathetic you drink in the daytime—I'm genuinely ashamed for your father."

"The only people I'd sell booze to during the day are guys whose wives ran off or whose wives are sleeping around. If you're that pitiful, I'll let you get drunk here. Otherwise, move your fat ass out and find a real job."

"What kind of idiot thinks about getting drunk in the middle of the day? Oh, it's you. You can only do jobs even a dog could handle, so don't blame anyone when you get replaced. Hope you've got enough cash to keep drinking until you're in a coffin. I don't do tabs."

In short, every living soul in town had been trained by Old John not to show up at the bar during the day.

So after tidying up the place, Henry guiltlessly turned on the classic movie channel on the TV, sat down by the window seat where the sun was shining, and watched the movie while soaking up the rays.

Comfortable~

Before long, the bar door swung open. The winter chill poured in, making the temperature drop sharply and giving him a shiver.

Henry was wondering which bold bastard dared to come into the bar in broad daylight, but then he saw a guy built like a bear, with a big beer belly, a middle-aged dad type.

Wearing a police uniform, Henry recognized him as the town sheriff.

Well. Some of those nasty remarks Old John could make, but if Henry dared to say them, he'd better be ready to get shot. Especially when the target was a sheriff.

He gave a greeting: "Morning, Sheriff." Henry went behind the bar and asked, "What can I get you?"

"Just water, Henry." The sheriff, looking around as he walked, came up to the counter.

"Coming right up, Sheriff." The water the bar served was lemon water. It was usually for customers to rinse their mouths, free of charge. Henry poured a glass and set it in front of the lawman.

"Henry, I heard you went out to sea. When did you get back?"

"I don't know how long I slept, but I docked on the sixteenth and came back that same day."

"Today's the eighteenth. You've been asleep for over a day."

"Good thing it's only a day. Didn't waste too much time." Henry joked about himself.

"What about Old John? He should be up by now. Why don't I see him?"

"When I woke up in the early morning, I woke him up. He chatted with me for a bit, and now he's catching up on sleep in the back. Want me to call him?"

"No need." The sheriff stood up and walked toward the room behind the bar, saying, "You mind if I take a look?"

Henry made a "go ahead" gesture. But even if he hadn't, the sheriff carefully pushed the door open and peeked inside.

As luck would have it, Old John just happened to roll over and let out a loud fart toward the door.

The sheriff quickly shut the door and cursed, "Fuck, that old bastard."

Henry gave a helpless shrug. The old man farted—he couldn't exactly rush over and plug it up.

Back at the counter, the sheriff pointed out the window at the Cadillac they could see and asked, "That your car?"

"I bought it from Old Tom. He let me drive it first; the paperwork's still being processed."

"Tom? Which Tom?"

"The one from the small town down south, Old Tom's Manpower Agency and Consulting Company."

"Ah, him. I thought that car looked familiar." The sheriff, either genuinely unaware or playing dumb, put on an act and said, "I remember you went on... uh, whose boat?"

"Old George's boat, the Annie No. 21. The Pole set me up with it."

"Ah, right, Old George's boat. Crab fishing's no joke, is it? The Bering Sea in winter—I went once when I was young. Left quite an impression on me."

Talking about that experience, Henry complained, "Yeah, it never stopped rocking. Before I went out, I was thinking, to make sure I had enough energy for the work, why not schedule more rest time.

"Later I found out, you can't get a decent sleep on the boat at all. Everyone just wants to get it done fast and head back to port. Calling it dangerous or tough—I think that's putting it lightly."

"Yes, yes, I feel the same way." The Sheriff smiled and asked, "I heard you want to go to Hollywood? You know, when I was young, I dreamed of seeing the red sofas in Hollywood, with all the actresses at my beck and call."

Henry's eyes lit up. "Oh, did you make it?"

"That place is so cutthroat you can't even land a janitor job. Forget the red sofas—I couldn't even find a sofa to sleep on. So I came back."

"Well, I've decided to make more trips this crab season. Seems like a smart choice. I'm not counting on making it big in Hollywood—just going as a tourist."

"Ha, then you'd better work hard." The Sheriff drank some water, stood up, and prepared to leave. "Time for my patrol. If anything comes up in town, you know my number."

"Got it, Sheriff." Henry stood to see him out.

New book—Request for follow-up reads, collections, and recommendations. Thank you~~