Theo of Golden: A Novel by Allen Levi - 38

By some act of Providence, or by operation of some force field that surrounded the bench, or by some duly recognized rule of adverse possession, Theo managed, with rare exception, to sit at the same bench — the one on the south side of the fountain — each time he carried out a bestowal.

In his letters, he still instructed all his beneficiaries to look for the heather-green flat cap, but he might just as well have said, “I will be sitting on the bench closest to the Eye of God.”

In his mind, it became his bench.

It was big enough for four adults, but he claimed the entire length for himself and his invited guest. The presence of third parties would have been an awkward distraction from an already awkward transaction.

His strategy was simple: arrive early; sit in the middle of the bench; put hat, jacket, umbrella, or portrait on open spaces to indicate they were all “occupied”; and then politely shoo away any would-be intruders.

There was , though, one occasion in early summer that called for more creative measures.

Theo and his guest, a woman named Lena, had taken their places on the bench and were just beginning their conversation when a middle-aged man dressed in business casual and reeking of self-importance sat down next to Theo. In fairness to the man, the seat was open. Theo had simply forgotten to put something there to indicate the space was already taken.

The man did not acknowledge the presence of Theo and Lena when he sat down. He was engaged in an animated telephone conversation of short statements and quick replies, all delivered with considerable volume and urgency. The man was arguing with Somebody about Something. For all intents and purposes, he took over the bench. When he wasn’t speaking, he gestured emphatically with his free hand as he awaited his chance to berate the person on the other end of the call.

“What if it costs you a chance to become a partner? How many people get to be a partner in a Big Four firm? Have you even thought about that? I raised you to be smarter than this. Hell, I spent a fortune on your college. And you’re just going to throw it away?”

Theo turned to look at the man, hoping he might take a hint and either lower his voice or, even better, leave. The Talker was oblivious. Theo tried a loud clearing of the throat. That also failed to register. The Talker kept up his diatribe.

“Why are y’all in such a damn hurry? You’re still young; it’s not going to hurt anything to wait a couple more years, is it? This is a crazy time to do it. Think about what you’ll be giving up. It’s insane.”

Theo didn’t know if the argument being carried on beside him was almost over or just beginning. He did know, however, that if it continued for much longer, any bestowal to Lena would be nearly impossible. All sense of decorum, gravitas, or sweetness was lost as long as The Talker and The Phone were there.

Theo turned to Lena, whispered an apology, and asked her to excuse him for a moment.

He slid a few inches closer to the man until they looked like economy-class passengers on a regional commuter flight. Theo turned and winked at Lena, who was watching with spellbound curiosity.

The Talker continued his tirade. “Why can’t you get this ‘gotta-have-a-baby thing’ out of your mind? You’ve got a career. What can’t you understand about that? You have a kuh-reer!”

As he spoke, he leaned forward and stared at the ground between his feet. His right elbow rested on his right knee. His left hand held The Phone.

Theo’s head was two feet or less from The Talker’s when he began humming a song, not loudly but noticeably, with the aggravating monotony of a mosquito. Lena could hear it from where she sat. The man either did not hear it or was not bothered by it.

Undaunted by the failure of his initial attempt, Theo hummed a trifle louder and began to include an occasional line of lyric. He turned to smile at Lena, a conspiratorial smile as if to say, “Don’t worry, my dear; we shall prevail, you and I.”

Still no response from the man, who simply raised his voice to meet the challenge.

“Leave Gammy out of this. That was a different time, and she didn’t have one damn bit of business sense.”

At the mention of “Gammy,” Theo hesitated and examined The Talker’s face more closely. Then he leaned slightly forward and to his right, a move that placed him even closer to the offending device. He discontinued humming and began singing. His volume rose a decibel with every line.

Finally, with eyes full of irritation and contempt, The Talker turned and looked at Theo.

Theo nodded, kept singing, and upped the volume.

Lena feared for Theo’s safety but, at the same time, had to fight back laughter.

If a Portuguese man, woman, or child had walked by at that moment, they would have recognized that Theo was singing their national anthem. Such a person might have joined the elder countryman in that patriotic display. But no such pedestrian appeared, which left Theo with no alternative but to perform “A Portuguesa” by himself, loudly and proudly.

By then, passersby could easily hear Theo’s scratchy voice above the falling water of the fountain. One could only imagine what the person on the other end of the man’s phone must have been thinking.

The Talker left no doubt about what he was thinking.

“Hey, hold on just a minute. I’m sitting next to some old drunk guy.” He moved the phone away from his ear and turned toward Theo. “Hey, old guy, can’t you tell I’m trying to talk to somebody? Either tone it down, or I’ll call the law. Are you listening to me? What the hell language is that anyway? Would you please . . .”

Theo never broke stride. He had almost reached the end of the anthem — “Saudai o sol que desponta/ Sobre um ridente porvir” — when The Talker, exasperated, rose and stormed away from the bench.

Lena was finally able to unleash her laughter. It joined with Theo’s — a duet — as he slid back to the center of the bench. He removed his hat and placed it, along with the portrait, on the just-vacated seat.

“Well, well. I don’t think he was having a very good day. But Ms. Lena, where were we? You were telling me that you moved to Golden eight years ago. Tell me more.”