Old Jim
The town calls him Jim, but we have no idea of his real name. He appeared out of nowhere one day with scanty knowledge of things everyone just naturally understands -- like knowing how to tie shoes or peel a banana. We had to teach him those things. The fellow had no history either, at least none we could ascertain. So I just plucked a name out of a hat and dubbed him Jim. Jim Smith. Good, solid, dependable name.Folks in Etowah, Oklahoma, don’t normally take up with strangers, but Old Jim proved the exception.
The man stumbled into town on a hot day on July 4, 2003. Almost everyone was assembled at the town center, where we always hold our Fourth of July Talent Show. That day, folks were eating chicken on a stick, fresh catfish, and Indian tacos. Kids were running around with snow cones or chocolate ice cream that dripped onto hands and shirts. Barbara Sue was selling fried candy bars that year. She was almost sold out when old Jim came walking down Main Street.
One of the kids saw him first -- Ginny Donnigan’s daughter, who was no more than nine or ten. Little Bonnie screamed at the sight of the stranger, but no one paid her much mind. The yellow jackets had been buzzing about, upsetting everyone’s watermelon slices and interfering with the cake walk going on over at “Homemade Desserts for Charity.” One of them nasty wasps had already stung Laurence Tucker’s cousin who was visiting from Noble, so not too many heads turned to look to see what had upset little Bonnie, not until she kept screaming and the talent show came to a halt. Then heads turned and everyone gawked, letting out a sound just like the last croak of a chicken before its neck is severed in two.
But it wasn’t yellow jackets that riled up our town that day. No sir! A stranger had come walking down Main Street naked as the day he was born. That caused a considerable ripple of gasps and raspy inhales, but no one spoke. No one moved. Little children, except for Bonnie Donnigan, stuck their thumbs in their mouths. Teenagers giggled and turned red, and we adults -- why we didn’t have the sense to do more than stand with our eyes the size of baseballs and our mouths wider than they had to stretch to eat one of Burgertime’s eight-inch Giant Burgers.
The music had stopped right in the middle of Connie Thash and Bobby Stephen’s dance. I remember blessing whatever had halted the tape recorder they were using and that whole catastrophe they called dancing. It was absolutely no loss for the town that Connie and Bobby didn't get to repeat their effort.
A stranger walking down Main Street was a rare sight indeed. We don't get many strangers, not unless they're related to someone in town, but it wasn’t just the fact that he was stranger or that he was naked, but the man looked
funny -- all sunburned red and wrinkly. His skin had turned the color and appearance of turkey caruncles, the knobby growth found down by their throat wattle. Most of us didn’t mean to stare at the fellow. It wasn’t like he was a work of art – far from it. One look should have been enough, but it wasn’t. We couldn’t tear our eyes away from him, away from the strangeness of the scene. Darn, we couldn’t even blink.
The stranger had a wispy beard – gray as a smoke cloud, and eyes as green as limes. His chest was curly-thick with hair – most of it about the color of his beard. He was holding his hands over his privates like he knew it was wrong to be walking down Main Street without a stitch of clothing, but he didn’t appear to be embarrassed. No sir! That fellow was wearing a smile so broad it was like one of them happy faces people plaster on their windows -- those "Have a nice day" stickers."
Nothing like this had ever happened in our little town of Etowah, Oklahoma. You know what the census said about our town? As of 2000, we'd grown to 122 residents. Oh, we may have a few more since then, but only a dribble -- a baby here or there. It's usually pretty peaceful. Always has been. Sure, the kids get riled up some times on graduation night, and there’s an occasional fight out at Cougar Bar, but otherwise, except for when we host the "Battle of the Praise and Worship Bands," Etowah is a respectable, placid town. But that stranger sure turned us on end and dumped us right into
weird. .
That day, when all we should have been worrying about was whether one of our kids would forget his lines or fall down off the stage, Little Bonnie Donnigan started screeching and hollering as if a whole nest of hornets was after her. The sound of it was as high-pitched as a siren, like one of our fire trucks heading out on an urgent alarm. It made us want to slam both hands over our ears to shut her out, but we couldn't because we were all frozen in shock -- statues of townsfolk with bug eyes and faces twisted in surprise.
Finally someone had the sense to stop the girl, or maybe her voice just gave out. The silence that followed, though, was almost as bad as the screams. It plunged us into ice water. It broke the spell. That’s when folks’ voices flared up, and everyone started talking. The decibel level then rose even higher than when the band did its rendition of “Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog.” People were talking up a storm, but no one moved to confront the stranger.
I looked around, searching for the sheriff, and then I remembered he was home sick with the flu. That left me, the new part-time deputy of Etowah, to take charge. My stomach filled with butterflies. I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't ready, but as if they'd suddenly remembered as I did, the town’s eyes started shifting, beginning to focus on me. My wife nudged my elbow. Jeff Sterber, my next door, neighbor hissed, “What ya gonna do, Ben?”
I unsnapped my holster and pulled out my gun, despite the fact that my wife, Margaret, had suddenly reversed her attitude and was pleading with me not to confront the maniac, as she called him.
I gave her a look that silenced her, pushed old Lady Crabet gently to the side, and strode forward. The crowd parted as I walked. The stranger, by that time, had sat down on the asphalt to remove a thorn from his foot. He didn’t react when I walked up to him. I cleared my throat. He looked up and smiled even bigger. In fact, for some reason, the fellow beamed at me like I were some long lost relative.
I questioned the stranger, but he didn't respond to anything. He just shook his head like he couldn’t understand a word I was saying. Shrugging, I holstered my gun, got out my cuffs, and slapped them on. He didn’t fight me none. The fellow seemed docile as an old, arthritic dog.
I knew that Jeff, my neighbor had followed me over. He hadn't interfered or said a word up to that point. For a moment I'd thought about asking him to hold the gun while I fastened the handcuffs on the stranger, but I didn't really want to do that. No sense sharing responsibility. What was the motto the president always keeps on his desk?
The buck stops here. That was me --, in charge -- the responsibility had to rest fully on my shoulders. .
The townsfolk kept pressing forward. Each and every one of them seemed determined to give the stranger a piece of their minds -- or else tell me what I should be doing and what I wasn't doing right. You gotta understand that folks in Etowah have an opinion on everything, and they consider it their duty to share those thoughts aloud.
Luckily, Jeff wasn't adding his two cents worth. He was just standing back and watching like he reserved the option for later. At least, he was until Charlie Stephens pushed himself forward -- as aggressively as the auto mechanic usually was.. When Charlie started spouting that heathens such as this one ought to be tarred and feathered, Jeff went into action. He was all Marine, then. Charlie and the others backed away the moment Jeff growled and flexed his muscles. Good man to have at your back. I was grateful..
I explained to the naked man that I had to arrest him. I gave him his rights, too, not leaving out a single word. The man just smiled. It took no more than a gentle tug to head him in the direction I wanted, off to the jail cell, As the crowd continued to yell at the man and various people tried to tell me how to do my business, I did my best to ignore them, but I was mighty glad to have Jeff at my back.
When I opened the door of the jail house, the coolness slapped at my face and arm. It was a luxury after the heat of the asphalt and the smothering of that crowd of bodies, all of them blowing heat from wide, flapping mouths. I sat the man down in the "prisoner chair," hoping that once he was cool and comfortable, he'd start explaining.
I itched to go in search of some clothing for him, but I had to take care of certain things first – like booking him. Remembering Sheriff John's instructions, I undid the man's cuffs and repositioned them around the arm of the chair so the fellow couldn't take off -- not that he was about to do so. I think the old guy's bones were hurting him some. He'd sat down awkwardly, first with one hip and then the other. Then he'd just kind of slid into place. He still wasn't putting up any resistance about his arrest. He probably wasn't eager to get outside in all that heat again. I figured he probably wouldn't volunteer to return to that swarm of townsfolk all wanting to sting him either with words or deeds. But then, he might not even have noticed. He was pretty out of it, if you ask me.
I was trying not to look at the man, not to peek at his nakedness. I put my hand on the telephone, wondering if I should call the sheriff, but I didn't know what he could do that I hadn't. Besides, his wife had said he was vomiting real bad. Yet, I felt uneasy about being alone with a naked man. I wanted a witness. Sure, the camera in the corner was always on. It would keep a memory of what was occurring, but it was so easy for an officer to commit some grave error. I’d just been hired. I hardly knew my way around the office. I certainly wasn't polished as to protocol -- especially not of a naked prisoner.
I walked over to the refrigerator where we kept soft drinks and picked up a couple of colas. I handed the guy one. I figured he must be parched. He took the can from me with his loose hand, but he didn’t try to pry it open. He just rolled it around on his chest, and then held it to his forehead. I’m not sure the fellow knew there was a drink inside. I said something, just to get his attention. Then I grabbed the can back. He gave it up without a whimper, just smiling at me as if he were completely at peace whatever I decided to do. I flipped the top and handed it back to him. His eyes studied the small opening for a minute. Then he placed the can between his legs, gripped it still, and poked his finger in the hole.
My own can was sitting on the desk. I opened it and drank, trying to show the guy what he was supposed to do. He smiled even broader then – like someone smiles when they win a hundred bucks in the Lottery. I sipped and nodded at him. He understood then. He raised his can and tilted it, dribbling sugary drink into his mouth, as well as down his chest clear down to the floor. The next time he sipped, I noticed he was more careful. Less of it spilled onto his body.
Before I could get started with the paperwork, Jeff and several other men from the town came thundering into the room. Jeff was still trying to keep things calm, but the others were pretty riled up. They offered several suggestions about what we should do to the wild man who’d destroyed our Fourth of July Talent Show.
I tried to quiet the men as best I could, reminding them that they’d just entered a jail house which was supposed to be a place of justice. When that didn’t unruffle their feathers, I had to warn them that after I jailed the suspect, I’d be booking anyone who disturbed the peace. Sylvester glared at me and Charlie clenched his hands into fists. The former's cheeks plunged inward, like they did whenever he was building up an intense anger. Charlie's face turned red. I reminded both men that there was only ONE jail cell.
With my warning, Clyde dropped down into the remaining chair. He was grinning at me, so I knew he was okay. Sylvester darted him a look, glanced at the naked stranger, and suddenly remembered he had to go help his daughter get ready for the parade. Norm, who usually did whatever Clyde put him up to, bit at his lip for a couple of seconds, but without a word, he followed Sylvester out. Charlie swore at me, then turned and exited. I knew he had to get back to work. Even on a holiday, Charlie had things to do at the gas station. The other two men, Buck and Sam, left without a word. I guess they remembered things that needed doing, too
After the door slammed behind them, Jeff laughed. Glancing at Clyde who had the only other chair in the room, Jeff had decided to perch on the corner of my desk. I kind of chuckled with them, but I'll admit I was grateful for their presence. It made being with a naked man a little easier to take.
The stranger and I were drinking the last of the soft drinks. Since I couldn't offer Clyde and Jeff one, I got up to make some coffee. Clyde tried some more to get the stranger to talk. The fellow was smiling big at each of them, but he still hadn't said a word. Mostly, he just sipped at his cola, patted at the sticky on his chest, and scooted about the hard wooden chair as if sitting on his bare ass bothered his bones some.
At some point, I think while I was putting sugar in Clyde’s coffee, Jeff found a castoff beach towel and handed it to the stranger. The fellow examined the picture, studying the seashells and little red shovels and pails, but he didn’t use the towel as Jeff intended. My neighbor had to remove his own shirt to demonstrate how to cover one’s privates. It took a couple of repetitions before the concept sank in. At last, obligingly, the fellow draped himself with the colorful towel. and beamed again, nodding to Jeff as if my neighbor had just done something wonderful.
Clyde and I couldn’t help smiling. In a sense the fact that the man was covered was a vast improvement, but that didn’t explain this sense of joy passing about the room. It was the feeling you get when the sun suddenly breaks through the clouds after a solid week of rain. No. More like when you were a kid and you got that perfect gift, the one you’d been longing for the whole winter long. The stranger’s smile was like that – blissful, calm, happy, all's well with the world.
I shook my head and tried to dispel what I was feeling. I couldn’t keep grinning like a happy face sticker. I was a deputy, I had business to conduct. I picked up my pen and looked down at the official forms. I asked the fellow again what his name was, but he only smiled. Was he dumb? Was he incapable of speech? I really couldn’t fill out anything other than the reason for arrest. At least that part was easy.
Sighing, I put my pencil down and guided the man into the jail cell. The others followed, like they thought the guy might suddenly turn violent. He didn’t. He just sat down on the cot, took the blanket and pillow I handed him, and looked as contented as a man who owned the world.
The three of us returned to the outer room, leaving the stranger in his cell still covered with his printed towel. Clyde offered to get the guy something to eat. Jeff said he’d go in search of clothes. I sat back down with the paperwork, turned on the computer, and tried to figure out where the guy had come from. No luck. No bulletins of missing people that matched his description -- clothes on or not. I shot a look at the forms again, scratched my head, and then made a decision. I penciled in “Jim Smith,” indicating with an asterisk that the name wasn’t really his.
The Etowah jail cell isn’t one of those that closes off and makes it so you can’t see its inhabitants. Jim Smith was in plain sight. I called out to him, asking him if he had any objections to the name. Again the fellow didn’t respond except to give me another one of his gentle smiles.
When Clyde returned with a burger, I opened the side pocket of the cell to slip in the meal, but Jim didn’t move. He just tilted his head and studied the food I'd put on the tray. Clyde made some noises that were supposed to indicate eating. To see him pursing his lips like that made us laugh. Clyde isn’t the most good-looking fellow even when he’s spruced up for church. With his mouth all kissy-like and his eyes bulging, he looked like a hooked trout fish gasping for breath.
Jim, watching us, rolled off the cot, holding his stomach. The towel unfortunately lost its purpose. Clyde and I were looking the other way, still belly-jiggling – I don’t know why, except you know how the sillies just light into you sometimes and you can’t help yourself. When they take over, you just have to roll with it.
Jeff came in while we were “rolling with it,” and he caught the bug, too. I’m sure glad no one else came in during that time. We must have looked like fools. By the time we stopped laughing, we were wiping at our eyes, tears of hysteria rolling down our cheeks.
Getting clothes on Jim took all of us. We stretched up arms, buttoned, pulled, tugged, and tied. The difficulty was not because Jim resisted. He was happy as a waggling puppy to help, but his movements were all wrong. He hindered us with every turn of his body. And then there were the giggles that kept sprouting up. One of us would get them, and then the rest would succumb until we had to stop again and recuperate.
I suppose while we were giggling, Jim, if he’d had the mind to do so, could have made his escape. The door was open. We couldn’t have restrained him as weak-limbed as we were during those seizures, but Jim seemed completely content. I don't think it bothered him at all that he was in jail.
After we finally got him clothed, we tried to get him to eat the burger Clyde had brought, but Jim tilted his head at us and smiled. His eyes, watery-green – almost iridescent, like the outer casing of a housefly – sent ripples through our souls, touching us inside with something I can’t even begin to figure out. It was like music. Like cool water on a hot day. I don’t know how else to describe it. Jesus must have had eyes like that, eyes that saw all and forgave you for it.
Now I don’t mean that as blasphemy. Jim Smith wasn't at all like Jesus. That’s not what I mean. I don’t know how to say what it was like that day -- except that Jim’s eyes made us feel good inside.
The four of us ended up sitting on the floor of the cell munching on pieces of the hamburger. Jeff volunteered to go back for another, but he didn’t move. When the last drip of catsup was all gone, we still just sat and smiled at each other -- until we heard the outer door open. That shot me up. Margaret was standing in the doorway, giving me a look of exasperation. I suddenly remembered how I was supposed to return after my official business was concluded. I'd been given the day off to be with my family, but that was before the sheriff took sick. I shrugged and sent her a silent apology.
She took two steps forward; the look on her face, sobered me instantly. I helped Jim Smith back up onto his cot. Clyde and Jeff moseyed out of the cell with their heads down low, their faces averted. I guess Jeff remembered then that his wife was probably waiting for him, too. Clyde’s wife had left him two years past. He was free and easy, except he never looked like that. His eyes were always joyless nowadays, joyless and lonely.
Margaret greeted the two men, then turned to look at Jim. She wanted to know if he’d been fed yet. She’d even brought him a bag of cookies.
I motioned for her to give them to Jim. Margaret's eyes questioned. In the past, I’d never wanted her to befriend anyone inside the "cooler." I saw her swallow her surprise and shoot a glance at Clyde and Jeff like she was trying to figure out what was going on. Then, without a word, something not usual for her, she walked over to the food pocket and slid the cookies in. I couldn’t hear what she was saying to Jim. She wasn’t whispering, but she was talking low, as if what she had to say to him was private or something. I edged closer.
Jim had stood to greet her. He seemed to understand that she was giving him something. He beamed his smile of goodness at her, and then she said something else to him. His fingers reached out and touched hers. She didn’t step back. She just stood there, soul-eye to soul-eye, the two of them drinking each other in.
My wife was just the first of Jim’s many visitors. No one could turn away from him. The whole town soon enfolded him in their hearts.
When Todd Bellows, the sheriff, finally came back from his sick leave, he and I discussed the situation. It seemed that Jim impressed the sheriff, too. Todd called the judge and the town mayor. When they came, both of them spoke to Jim for an hour or so and then left with happy-faced smiles. Later, the judge tore up all the booking paperwork and dismissed the case. Mayor Riley returned the next day, opened up Jim’s cell, and set him free.
That was six years ago. Jim wears clothes now as he does odd jobs for folks, but he still doesn’t talk. His smile is just as sweet, and somehow, after he does something for a family, the folks always feel better. It's as if the town has found its own private rainbow . Perhaps, we've all just plum swallowed Jim's goodness in our hearts.
Yet the mystery of Old Jim remained. Where did he come from? Where were his clothes? Why has no one ever come looking for him? Why did the police report never match him to a case of someone missing? Those are questions that may never be answered. I guess some things never are.
I have two additional questions that I wish I could ask -- questions no one else seems to ask. You see, I’ve studied Jim more than the others. He rents a room from me, so I have lots of time to ponder him. I see him seated outside in the old swing where he likes to spend his evenings. His eyes continuously sweep the sky like he’s lost something. If no one bothers Jim, he'll stay there for hours, sometimes half the night.
What I want to know is: what's Jim looking for? And tell, what on Earth does he think he’ll find up there in that sky full of stars?
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