No Greater Gift

It was snowing heavily when Marty Kern left St. Joseph’s Hospital over on Burling Street and headed home. Clouds in pink, reflecting the city’s lights, covered the night sky, and the snow falling beneath the street lamps created illuminated cones of dancing flakes. Winter was whitening the city.

Marty had just left his wife, Vivian, after the doctor assured him everything was ok and promised she would be able to leave the hospital in a few days. Although Marty’s happiness was genuine, a kernel of sadness prevented him from attaining a full measure of joy. This core of regret that never left him no matter how much time passed or moments of happiness came, was no mystery. He knew its source only too well and why it insisted on intruding into his thoughts. It was the memory of his lost friendship with Sean and his friend’s subsequent death on the beaches of Normandy.

Marty knew that although his love for Vivian was greater than his affection for Sean…and completely different…he also knew his love for her could never erase it. The two must always be a part of him.

As he walked, these and related thoughts swirled in Marty’s mind like the snow around his head, until he found himself in front of Slim’s Tavern over on Armitage, the place where he and Sean had spent so many happy evenings together. More by habit than intent, Marty turned and, leaning on his good leg, hobbled in. The heat and light offered warmth and welcome.

Familiar faces were at the bar, and a few people Marty knew casually sat around tables. Emory Blackwood, ever the dedicated gambler, sat in his usual corner dealing cards to five hopefuls. Among them were long-time regulars, Jeff Merriman and Tony Casciato. Most people lost when they played against Blackwood, but if contenders watched the play of cards carefully they also learned.

Marty ordered a Nectar beer for old time’s sake, sighed when the mug came, and quickly drank it in honor of the occasion. The second mug he drank just as fast for Vivian, whose love and suffering were uppermost in his mind. When tears began to blur his vision, Marty ordered a third mug and finished it just as swiftly, again in honor of Vivian. Marty never loved her more than at that moment…the moment when she lay in a hospital bed two blocks away.

Without hesitation, Marty ordered a fourth beer and, although he was sitting firmly on a stool, placed his left arm on the bar to steady himself. While he waited for his next beer, he began thinking about Sean, his friend since childhood…the friend who was dead and buried in France.

Marty drank the fourth beer, and with tears forming in his eyes again, lay his head down on his arm, sobbed quietly and closed his eyes.

He didn’t stir until he felt a nudge against his shoulder. It was Blackwood who had finished his rounds of poker for the night and decided Marty needed companionship. As he sat down next to Marty, Blackwood signaled Slim to slow down Marty’s beers.

“So how’s it going?” he asked in a calm voice, after Marty had raised his head, focused his eyes, and turned and looked at the gambler for a moment. “What’s new in your life?” He paused, letting the thought sink in. “And don’t tell me it’s the same old stuff.”

“Sean isn’t here tonight,” Marty said, as though he hadn’t heard Blackwood. Then turning away, Marty said, “he’s not coming back here. He can’t come back here,” he continued, his words slurred. “I chased him away. He was my best friend, and I chased him away.” Marty blinked his eyes as he tried to stop his head from wobbling.

“You didn’t chase Sean away,” Blackwood said evenly. “You couldn’t have even if you’d wanted to. Sean liked it here, and he liked being here with you. He always liked being here with you. He told me so himself. And if he told me once, he told me a hundred times.”

Marty smiled weakly. “Did…did Sean like me?” he asked, straining to see into Blackwood’s eyes.

“You know he did. He liked you from the very first. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that. And you know it too. Deep down, Marty, you know it too. You know it as well as you know I’m sitting here next to you.”

Marty stared at Blackwood and swayed slightly before he spoke. “Then why didn’t he tell me?” he asked, struggling to form his words. “Why didn’t he hug me once in awhile and tell me? Why didn’t he put his arm around my shoulder and say? ‘Marty you’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend.’”

“How could he, Marty? Really…he wasn’t raised like that. Tony Casciato and Joe Marconi can hug whenever they meet here in Slim’s and nobody blinks an eye. They’re Italian. Italians show affection. It’s something they do. Everyone knows that. But it couldn’t happen between you and Sean. It wasn’t ever meant to happen. To the old timers in Slim’s, even a long handshake between you two would’ve been suspect.”

Marty turned his bobbing head and looked at the bar for a moment. “But I wanted it to happen,” he said. “I wanted us to be able to hug each other once in awhile. I wanted to be able to put an arm around his shoulder, sometimes, while we leaned over the bar, drinking beer. Now it’s all too late. He’s gone. He’s gone forever.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Marty. People die, and people are born. Life goes on like that,” Blackwood said, patting Marty lightly on the back.

Marty, with a weak smile, turned and looked at Blackwood again. “When Sean died, I learned about people dying. When it’s a good friend, it’s awful.” For a while Marty just sat and stared. “Today, I learned about people being born.” There was a long silence. “Vivian had a baby this morning,” Marty said, his eyes brightening. “Suddenly, in the stillness of the hospital, I heard a baby crying, and someone told me it was mine and Vivian’s. I’m…I’m a father. I guess I’m a father,” Marty said, his voice shaking.

“Marty, that’s terrific!” Blackwood said, joyful excitement filling his voice. “That’s great news! Congratulations, Marty! A baby…and born today? How’s Vivian? Vivian’s ok?”

“She’s ok. Thank God she’s ok.”

“Marty, you’re the luckiest guy in the world. Vivian’s given you the greatest gift one person can give to another: a new human being!”

Marty was silent. He just sat looking at the bar as if confused. “But I can’t be a father. How did it all happen? I mean…I know how it happened, but when? How? I mean I’m the father of a baby boy.” Marty spilt the jumbled words rapidly and incoherently. Then he paused to let their meaning sink in. Looking at Blackwood again he said proudly, “Vivian and I…we decided to name the baby Sean.”