A Bowl of Chili

As if it was about chili.

Being drunk out of your mind is worse than passing out. If I’d had any presence of rational thought that night, I’d have known why I was still on my feet.

Kate. She was the single force that had held things together for the previous eight years. It was Kate and me, the entire reason I'd kept working that shit job. Kate was the only reason I came home at night at all. I was about to lose her, and that would be about the same to me as the end of my life.

That night, my legs worked as though in a dream, my work boots clumping along on pavement until at last, the cold air of a late fall night allowed me to realize that I was actually moving, and not exactly in a straight line. Light post. Crashed into it, bruised my shoulder without even feeling it. If I’d been seen by a cop it would have been over for the night, I wouldn’t have gotten home. It was the drunkest I’d ever been, but so far I had avoided arrest. I tried in vain to gather my wits. At least I realized, I needed to walk like I could be sober. But was I even headed in the right direction? No matter, the job was to begin straightening up.

After some time, my muscles began to firm up, my vision began to clear, and I marveled that I’d set out in the right direction. I was on my way home. I had miles to cover, and I needed all of them to get straightened out enough to speak - even though at home, we weren’t speaking.

The blurred star pattern around each streetlight began to fade, the grey fuzz of the sidewalk hardened into sections of concrete, and the cold breeze chased curled dead leaves across it. My open jacket admitted more of the cold than I wanted, but I didn’t bother to zip it. Gradually, I regained an ability to think. Reality was still unwelcome.

I checked my watch. It was after nine.

That was the way I’d been doing it, every night for weeks; ever since my name turned up on the layoff list at work. One month to no income at all in an economy that offered no options for a laborer like me. With the job gone, our home soon would be too, since Kate’s teaching position had already been cut. When money is a problem, couples have other problems as well. Kate and I were already on the outs, man, it was just about over. Everything I lived for. Or had worked to keep. So every evening after work since, I had stopped at McMurtrie’s to drink. I knew I was becoming an alcoholic, and I didn’t care. Why the hell not? At that point, that was the limit of my reasoning power.

From the hard-wired downtown of Minneapolis to a quiet street in the burbs, it was a long damn walk. Ours was a better home than I deserved, in a nice neighborhood with neat yards and white picket fences, and for-sale signs in front of at least a third of them. We weren’t the only ones hurt by that stinking economy. People were beginning to move out of the neighborhood as they found work in other places, or sometimes, they just needed to get out from under the mortgage. Homes that had gone up for sale weren't selling, either. In fact, our next door neighbors had moved out about a month earlier, the lengthening grass and un-raked leaves a typical backdrop for the black-on-white, swinging realtor's sign out front. The Swigarts had been good neighbors. But Bob Swigart had been lucky enough to find work in a small town some seventy miles distant, so the family packed up and moved to an apartment there.

But tonight, something was different. As I finally approached my own home, I saw that the Swigart place had apparently been sold. The brown brick ranch gleamed with light and the realtor's sign was gone. I stopped beneath the streetlight as I reached the sidewalk to the front entrance. The leaves had even been raked! All in one day? No doubt about it, the place was occupied.

Just then, the front door swung open and a tall, late-middle-aged man stepped out beneath the yellow glow of the porch light. “Hi, neighbor,” his greeting boomed, “You're Darvin, right?”

I was shocked. Not only had the guy moved in and raked his yard, he must have talked to Kate already. I answered hesitantly, “Well, yeah. Nice to meet you.” I guessed I’d better step up and shake the man's hand. As I approached, I thought, 'I hope he doesn't smell the booze.' But if he did, he didn’t let on that he’d noticed, as he held back the storm door and motioned me inside.

“Come on in,” he offered, “I'm cooking. I have a kettle on the stove.”

As he led the way though the house to the kitchen, the big man’s speaking demeanor seemed strong, friendly and kind, all at the same time. I was struck immediately by his presence. Retired military? Nah. Corporate executive? Surely, not here. Minister? Not like any I'd ever met.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I queried, “Obviously you already know mine.”

My new neighbor had ambled right over to the stove, but turned and smiled warmly, extending a hand. “You’ll know me soon enough. Just call me Fred.” The smile broadened, and I reached to shake his hand. Immediately, I was surprised at the strength of the older man's grip.

“Wow Fred, that’s some handshake!”

“I was holding back.” Fred chuckled. “Hope you’ll join me for a bowl of chili. It’s almost ready. I make the best chili on the planet.”

“It does smell wonderful. But I know my chili, and it’ll have to be exceptional to beat my wife’s,” I declared.

“I’m sure she makes great chili, but I’ll bet she doesn’t use chevon.”

“Chevon?”

“The meat of a goat. Real chili is made with chevon. That, and plenty of onions. Some folks argue about beans, but my chili wouldn’t be chili without beans.”

“Where in the world do you find the chevon?” I was puzzled. “I’ve never seen it at the supermarket.”

Fred chuckled again. “I have sources. Some markets handle it.” He looked directly at me. His steel-gray eyes seemed to penetrate, although they were focused on my face. His smile broadened. “Great to be alive, isn’t it?”

“For some, I guess,” was my simple reply. “You just got here. I s’pose I’ll soon be moving. My job is going away, and I’ll have to find work somewhere. I’ll go where I have to.” I wasn’t sure why I’d offered that information to a stranger, as I hadn’t gathered the nerve to share it with Kate.

“Seems to me, a job is very little of a much bigger picture. You’re young, what are you, thirty-three?” Fred was still smiling, although quite a bit less than before. He turned, lifted the lid from the kettle and began stirring the chili.

“Great guess. You’re right, I’m thirty-three. But a job is a pretty big part of the picture, for me. Kate’s job was eliminated months ago. Without my income we wouldn’t be able to stay here for long.” I hesitated. “What do you do? What brings you here?”

“What brings me here and what I do may be related, but they aren’t really the same thing. I’ve been all over, and I mean, all over. And I do many things. In the main, though, I dare to think of myself as an artist.”

“You paint?”

“Oh, you bet I do.” The bigger smile had returned. “I also sculpt, and write, and compose. Right at the moment, I’m cooking. That’s artistry too, ya know.” Fred continued to stir the chili, and I began looking around the kitchen. Three cutting boards were arranged on the counter, the remnants of onions, garlic and green chilis brushed aside. There was also an electric percolator near the kitchen sink. Fred put down the spoon and turned around. “Fresh coffee. I’ll get you a cup.”

I gratefully accepted a cup of hot coffee. I took a sip. Then, I took a drink, and I know my eyes must have widened.

“Fred, that is some coffee!”

Fred laughed. “Like I said, I’m an artist.”

I was already starting to feel completely comfortable in the company of this stranger. I'd been welcomed as if by my best friend in the world. If I’d had to explain it to anyone, I couldn’t have done it. But, no one was asking.

“Let me tell you about art,” Fred offered. “All art comes from emotion, and if something that's art works for you, it also elicits emotion. And life is like that. It's all about emotion. You live, you love, you appreciate, you create. But most of all, you keep it under control. It's about choices. It's about, co-existence.”

“Know what, Fred, I’m really glad you’ve moved in next door. I’ve not seen anyone else around, do you live alone?”

“Well,” Fred replied, “Just so you’re not quite so surprised later, I’m not planning to settle in. I won’t be in this house for that long. And because of my work, I’m never really alone.” He reached into a cabinet, produced a pair of bowls, and proceeded to scoop chili into them. As he placed a steaming bowl on the table in front of me, he advised, “Try this.”

I tasted the chili, then looked up at my host. “This is chili?”

“That,” Fred answered, “is chili. Like it?”

I was almost speechless. “You could make a fortune marketing this stuff! I’ve never tasted anything like it!” I dug in, savoring every bite. “This is unbelievable!”

“Glad you like it. Let me ask you, Darvin, what do you plan to do about a job? Do you think you’ll re-train?”

“I don’t know, I guess so, if I have to. I don’t have many marketable skills.”

“Ah, but you have talents. Unexplored ones. Everybody does. Believe me.”

“Well, I used to write, some. I’ve always enjoyed doing that. But I really don’t have the time. And I guess I’m not that good at it.”

Fred frowned slightly, for the first time. “I’d guess otherwise. What makes you say that?”

I winced. “Rejections, that’s what. I sent my fiction all over the country, and all I got back were rejections. If my writing was any good, surely someone would have recognized it. So I guess it wasn’t.”

Fred was smiling again. “Don’t let that bother you. I write even better than I make chili, trust me on that. Once, just out of curiosity, I sent a story to The New Yorker. I’d heard that if you were published there, your career was on its way. They rejected it.” Fred laughed. “Wasn't like I needed the money, though.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe I was just too sensitive about it.”

“Sensitivity and intelligence are closely related. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“So, what do you write, Fred? Fiction?”

“Well, it always starts that way. I write about life, death, and possibilities. Have to watch myself, though. Things I've written have too often come to pass.”

I was amused by that statement. “You mean like, you write it, and then it happens?”

“Yep.”

I paused. Fred didn't seem to be joking. Maybe I needed to humor this guy.

Fred continued. “I'm not sure you'll understand. But just the other night, I sat down with my laptop and wrote about the destruction of the earth.”

I tried not to grin, but it wasn't working. “Well if you thought it could happen, why would you ever write it?”

Fred sat back in his kitchen chair and became philosophical. “It was like a kid in a candy store who swipes a pack of gum with the storekeeper standing right in front of him. It was like a skinny kid in high school who punches the star linebacker of the football team. Or maybe the drunk who walks up and smacks a street cop on the side of the head. Sometimes, you just can’t help yourself.”

“So maybe I won’t have to worry about a job. Because the Mayan calendar says the world ends this year, too.”

Fred appeared to grimace slightly. “No, it won’t. I may never understand that one thing about people. They can’t believe in a creator, but there were a bunch of people whose civilization existed long ago, and they practiced human sacrifice. Surely they knew when the world would end.”

“Good point,” I observed, “but you did say you wrote about it...”

“Look at it this way, my friend. It’s not exactly how it is, but it’s a good symbolic representation. Let’s just say that if I never publish the story, it won’t happen. And I’ve no plans to publish it. Tonight, I'm making chili, instead. Just making chili. Tomorrow night, I'll be doing something else.” Fred smiled.

“But you didn’t delete it either, right?”

“I never should have mentioned it. You’re right, of course.” Fred walked over to the counter and opened a laptop computer. He tapped around and then hit one key, firmly. “There. It’s gone.”

“Man, that’s the biggest, thickest laptop I’ve ever seen,” I remarked. “Any bigger, you could mistake it for a briefcase. Who makes it?”

“Truth be told, I put it together myself. Helps me keep track of things. And I’m sure not running Windows.” Fred began to pour us both a fresh cup of coffee.

For about the next hour, we talked. The more we talked, the deeper my respect for Fred became. For the most part, I asked questions, Fred answered them...all except for one. Eventually, Fred looked at his watch.

“Tell you what, Darvin. I've an admission to make. I actually came here to see you. Not to move in.”

“Say, what?”

“I've known your wife Kate since...well, let's say, since she was a little girl. I'm a close friend of the family.”

“And?”

“And she's worried about you, worried about your marriage. Says you have a drinking problem.”

I was suddenly defensive. “I don't know what business it is of yours. I was really starting to like you, man. What did you do, set yourself up to deliver a threat?”

Fred's face had “Aw, come on” written all over it. “Give me a break, Darvin. I can see you're alright. I'm not here to threaten you. If you need it, I can help. But I'll be having to step out shortly, and you can be on your way home. Let me send some chili along with you for Kate. Tell her about our conversation, okay?”

I stood, wondering if I should be angry. Holding palms out to both sides, I asked, “So what did you accomplish?”

Fred stood up too, walked around the table and placed a huge hand on my shoulder. “I've connected with you, that's what. And I want you to be confident, you will indeed be fine. You'll find a job, you'll earn a living, and I know that if you want to write, you'll be published, sooner or later. Take care of Kate, will you? I love her like she’s my own.”

No question about it, I love my wife. I just didn't think she'd care much about the pressures I'd been under. But I decided then and there, Fred had to be okay.

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern.” Then I asked, quizzically, “So did you buy this place, or not? And what's your last name, Fred?”

Fred laughed heartily. Walking back to the counter, he snapped a plastic lid over a glass bowl of hot chili and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. Then he turned and handed it to me. “Just tell her you met the guy who gave her back her panda bear,” he said. “She'll tell you the rest.” As he walked me to the front door, Fred added, “And ask her the question you asked me, that I didn't answer. She can clear that one up for you, too. It's not complicated.”

I shook Fred's hand again, said good-bye, and headed across the yard toward home.

********

Kate looked more than a little surprised when I stepped through the back door and into the small kitchen of our home. She'd been writing something at the kitchen table, but she quickly put down her pen and folded the sheet of paper in half.

“You're home! I wasn't expecting you...”

“What, did you think I died?”

“No need to get smart. It's early.”

“What?”

“It's early. You usually don't come straight home. Most of the time you stay out and get drunk.”

Puzzled, I lifted my wrist and looked at my watch. Damned thing must have stopped. It said six o'clock.

“Look,” I said, “I can explain. I was over talking to our new neighbor, Fred, for the last couple hours. Says he knows you well. Says he's a close friend of your family.”

Kate's brow knitted. “I've never known anyone named 'Fred' in my entire life!” She paused, processing what I’d said. “New neighbors! You have been drinking! Nobody moved in next door! What'd you do, skip out on work and drink all day?

“Hey, hold on! I worked a full day, and then I went to McMurtrie’s for a couple. Yeah I'm late, but part of that was because I was over talking to your friend,” I defended.

Angrily, Kate picked up the note she'd been writing and stalked around the table. “Here! I expected you'd be late as usual, drunk on your ass, and I was planning to leave tonight! I'm all packed! At this point, you can't even tell a story with a clear head! It's daylight out, Darvin! Daylight! Where the fuck did you say you'd been all day??”

I was sure enough I had her there. I walked over to the back door and threw it open for Kate to see. I stopped cold in my tracks. It might have been evening, but it was also daylight! I looked down at the bowl of chili, still gripped in my left hand, warm and wrapped in a flowered kitchen towel. If all of that hadn't happened, if I was indeed crazy, where did the bowl of chili come from? Feeling faint, I reached for a chair. I almost fell as I sat down. I placed the bowl on the table as I did.

“Kate, Kate.” I stared at the table. “Listen to me, please.”

Kate walked around the table and closed the door. “Listen to what?”

Closing my eyes, I began. The plant was laying off again. I was on the cut list, and had only a week and a half left to work. I'd worked all day. I had indeed stopped at McMurtrie’s. I remembered walking home, checking my watch at nearly nine-thirty. “That's PM, Kate. I remember it clearly. Even though I'd been drinking. It was dark!”

As I spoke, Kate decided to sit down. I guessed she thought that if her husband had lost his mind, she needed to know about it. I continued. The streetlights, arriving in front of the Swigart place, the realtor's sign being gone, the leaves raked. The introduction, the handshake, the chili. The coffee. The laptop. Everything. Then I added, “Fred said he knew I had a drinking problem. He told me to tell you that I'd met the guy who'd given you back your panda bear, and you'd be able to tell me the rest. He didn't even tell me his last name! Honestly, Kate! He sent this bowl of chili along for you!”

Kate's face suddenly contorted. The sound of her weeping caused me to open my eyes and to look up at her.

Through freely-flowing tears, Kate said, “I don't believe it! Oh no, I can't! I can't!”

“Kate! What's wrong?”

“Nothing! Wait! Let's go next door! I'll bet...there's nobody there...”

Kate hurried through the door and into the back yard, with me right behind. We stopped at the edge of our yard, and I stared. We stepped together onto the front lawn of the house next door.

There were autumn leaves nearly completely covering the overgrown grass. The black-on-white realtor's sign swung gently in the cool evening breeze, right out front. I walked over to the front door. There, plain as day, the realtor's lockbox hung on the front door. Suddenly, I wished I'd never taken a drink in my life. I turned again to face my wife.

“Believe me, Kate...”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Darvin. The only one who could have returned my panda bear, was God.”

“What?!”

Kate turned toward me, the breeze blowing her auburn hair back about her shoulders. “I was just nine years old. I had this little stuffed panda bear, and I was completely attached to it, like a nine year old should never be. I went to church camp for the first time in my life, and I was so homesick. I clutched my little panda bear and took it with me, wherever I went. An older boy, a bully who obviously didn't want to be there, took it from me the second evening I was there, and he threw it into a bonfire. I saw it burn!” Obviously, the memory of it still could make her cry.

“I screamed, and cried, and would have climbed right into the fire to get it back, but a counselor stopped me. After that, all I could do was pray. I asked for it back. I cried myself to sleep.” Kate sighed, a long, breathy sigh. Her tears had stopped.

“When I woke up the next morning, I was clutching my panda bear. And it was the same one! It had the same little notch in its ear, the same missing second button, even the little red ketchup stain on its white belly. It took me another entire year before anybody could get me to put it down. And there was only one way I could ever have gotten it back.” Kate turned and put her arms against my chest, her hands touching my shoulders.

“It was an answer to prayer. So was this visit. Anyway,” Kate continued, “that bully was probably twelve or thirteen. Remember, I was just nine. The next day, after I'd gotten my panda bear back, he tried to take it from me again. But I broke his nose. I had no idea where that came from.”

She took my hand and began to lead me back to our home. “I want to taste that chili,” she said, “and hear the rest of it.”

In a few moments we were both seated at the kitchen table. Kate felt the chili bowl and exclaimed, “It's still warm!” Then she removed the cover and stirred it carefully, looking at the contents. “I don't suppose you got the recipe?” She smiled at me, and it was a warm, loving smile. It was the first smile like it I’d seen from her in many months.

“I can only tell you this. You won't believe how good it is.” I looked on as she took a bite. I could see the surprise on her face.

“Kate, even with the things I've experienced, I can't quite buy this. God? I don't even believe in a God!”

Kate answered, “This is sooo good! Just tell me everything that you heard, and I will enjoy this...chili. After you finish, I have a bit of something else to show you.”

I did finish the story, ending with the statement that Kate could answer that one question. “And what question was that?” she asked.

I paused. “With all of the bad things that happen in the world every day, with the crooked government, unemployment, hunger, fires, floods, famines, broken families, even slavery....how could there be a God?”

“Really? That's not complicated.”

“Yeah, that's what Fred said.”

“That's rich, 'Fred'!”

“What-ever. Can you explain?”

“There was one item on that list that wouldn't necessarily be caused by human activity, and that's a flood. If a dam breaks, that's human activity too. And if it's the weather, there are some strong indications that humans affect that. That's the short answer.”

“Well, it's pretty inadequate,” I declared. “Like okay, people do all of this bad stuff. So why did God make us this way, and then step back? If He is there, and He did make us? And how would you go about denying evolution? Hmm?”

“Another uncomplicated one. The question of evolution is silly. Of course, life evolved. It's scientifically proven, to the point of common sense. To God, time is virtually meaningless. There's a lot of symbolism used in the Bible, and you can't take everything word-for-word. Evolution is a means of creation. And then, you have free will.”

Kate placed the bowl aside. “I'm keeping that bowl forever.” She continued. “You value your personal freedom. I'm sure you wouldn't want it any other way. But imagine this scenario. A man makes the easy choice and selects a mate who's easy to get to, sexually. They have children who are of course, like them, perhaps times two. Each of them does a similar thing. Generations pass. Next thing you know, everyone's oversexed and chasing each other down in the street, having sex as they can, bypassing rules of civility, ignoring marriage vows. Sound familiar? Same thing applies to greed. Everything that's wrong with this world is the doing of people, who like to stand around and blame it on God. And there you have the reason your 'Fred' left it up to me to tell you. If I were in His place, I'd get angry when I went over the reasons why.”

Kate got up from her chair and walked into the next room. She came back to the kitchen with a cd in a case, and a brown wrapper. “This was in the mailbox on the front porch, but there's no postage or postmark on it. It was addressed to me. No return address.” She handed both to me.

“A music cd. I'm not familiar with this album,” I said.

“It's not an album, it's a cd single,” Kate explained. "I'll play it for you. Then, tell me why this arrived on the same day you had this experience. Oh, and by the way? I'm pregnant. You dropped the bomb on me about your job, so there’s mine. I suspect you won't be doing a lot of drinking any more. I'm twenty-nine years old, and twelve weeks along. And now I know we'll be alright.”

Strangely, I wasn't that surprised. A father! I wasn't unhappy; just completely, totally incredulous. What an evening.

Outside, darkness was beginning to fall for the second time in my day. And from the little boom box on the kitchen counter came the sweet voice of Joan Osbourne, singing Eric Bazilian's composition, One of Us. True enough, it did seem too obvious to be a coincidence.

I mused, and smiled. Some secrets needed to be kept forever. I’d forgotten all about the skinny red-headed kid. Who'd have ever thought? And if that was God, surely He knew.

I reached up and grasped my nose. She was right, of course. Seemed like she was right about everything; I hadn't wanted to be there, at all. The real question was, where would we be right now, if I hadn't thrown that bear into the bonfire?

The girl sure packed a wallop.

**********************