the neighborhood

He walked the railroad tracks until reaching the dirt road running along the western edge of the golf course.  While walking the road, he passed the open dump that anyone was free to visit, dump their refuse or  pick through the junk left by others.  He paused and scanned it methodically to see if there was anything he might want to scavenge.  Spying nothing, he turned and continued his walk home, paralleling the railroad tracks until the county road intersected them.  He then switched to the railroad tracks, finally reaching the Hula’s rambler two hundred yards further down and below the tracks.  

Jack, Kellan, Sydney and the Klipper kids were playing kick the can in the acre and a half yard filled with oak trees.  Screaming voices and laughter filtered up to where he stood, bringing a smile to Gabe’s face.  The others didn’t notice him as he sneaked his way down the embankment through the thick brush.  He timed his burst from the weeds, almost reaching top speed as he hit the yard and kicked the can towards the square-shaped concrete covering of the well.  The can hit the concrete, careening off and flying a couple of feet into the air and onto the other side of it. It continued to roll on the ground toward the Klipper’s house, losing its impetus until it came to a halt under John Klipper’s lawn chair.  

John Klipper was the no nonsense father of the three boys and four girls who made up the rest of the Klipper family.  He was raising the children alone after the death of their mother three years earlier.  

Mr. Klipper was smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper as he sat comfortably in his chair on the concrete patio.  When the can had finally come to a clattering stop under his chair, he put down his paper on the small table next to him and took another drag from his Marlboro.  The cigarette dangled from his mouth as he leaned over and picked up the can to examine it.  The children were all deathly silent as they stood and watched him turn his head one way and then the other while he stared at the can.  For God’s sakes, it was just a can they collectively thought.  What could he possibly be looking at and trying to figure out.  

After what seemed like an eternity, he ever so slowly placed the can on it’s side on the ground, stood up like a stretching lion and faced the kids.  Everyone of the kids stood horrified as they wondered what he was going to say or do to all of them.

John Klipper stood for another moment staring at them until a smile broke out across his face and he drew his left foot back and exploded it forward into the can, sending it over all of their heads back towards the railroad tracks.  

Totally shocked, the children didn’t move a muscle until Mr. Klipper, with the cigarette still dangling from the corner of his lips, said, “Well, what are you waiting for?  Go for it!”  He then sat back down, picked up his newspaper and resumed reading.  Shouts and screams erupted into the air as everyone rushed to the can. 

More about Gabe from "Brothers".

“I, I, thought you were somebody else,” Gabe said.  The bum stood silent, not saying anything for a while.  He noticed the man looked old-maybe thirty.  Even in the darkened interior of the fort he could see the bum’s skin looked dirty.  The pants were worn out at the knees and his jacket was almost in shreds.  As Gabe took a step backward, the bum followed with a step forward of his own.  He slammed the club into his hand smoothly, silkily.  There was no doubt in Gabe’s mind the man was threatening him.   

“This is my brothers’ and my fort,” Gabe stammered as he decided to stand his ground.  The man stopped slamming the club in his hand and stared at Gabe for a few seconds before he said anything.

Laying the club on the dirt floor and changing his attitude completely, the bum said, “Well, I didn’t know that.  If I had, I would never have disembarked from my train and utilized your ‘fort’ to cook my supper.  Please, if you will allow me, I will finish my dinner, clean up, and then be on my way.”  He looked expectantly at Gabe, searching for his permission.

“I, uh, think that would be okay,” Gabe finally, grudgingly muttered.  Feeling like he was now in control, he added, “If you want, you can stay here the night.  I think my mom said it was supposed to rain later on and it doesn’t look like you have anyplace to stay…later… I mean.”  

A smile broke across the bums unshaven face as he sat down on one of the many half logs the brothers had dragged into the fort.  “I appreciate that…”  Gabe remained standing as the two of them stared at each other.  “Would you like some beans?  It looks like they’re boiling now,” said the bum.

Gabe hesitated, thought of declining and leaving, but instead said, “Yeah…I’m kind of hungry.”  The bum grabbed a wooden plate, dished a couple of scoops of beans onto it, and handed the plate along with a spoon to Gabe.  Gabe accepted it and began eating as he sat upon another nearby half-log.  The bum began eating the rest of the beans out of the pot.  They regarded each other silently for a while as they downed spoonfuls of beans.

Finally, the bum said, “What’s your name?”

Between spoonfuls of beans, Gabe muttered his name, and then he paused and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Paul.”  The bum put an enormous spoonful into his mouth and resumed chewing.  More silence ensued, broken only by the animal sounds of masticating and swallowing.  As he finished and placed the empty pot on the ground near the fire pit, the bum looked around before saying, “You made a nice place here.  Anybody traveling across the country could have an easy time of it holing up for a while in your fort.  How long did it take you to finish it?”

“My brothers and I took a couple of days to get it mostly the way we wanted it, and then we gradually added some things…like the logs we’re sitting on.”

“Comfortable, better than the flatbed of a train.  I’ll say that,” said Paul.  He let his eyes travel around the interior, whistled, and slapped his hands on his thighs as he rose up from the log.  Quickly, Gabe moved back a little, startled by the crack of the man’s hands against his pants and the swiftness of the man as he got up.  “It’s ok, just getting up and stretching.  I’m not going to hurt you, Gabe.  People might call a person like me a bum, but, they don’t really know what I’m about.  Why I travel the way I do or why I…find myself in this kind of lifestyle.”

Gabe finished his plate of beans.  “Well, I, uh, should get going.  It’s okay if you stay here tonight, Paul, but my brothers and I were going to camp out here tomorrow night and I’d appreciate it if you were gone by then.”  The bum regarded him warily for a few moments with a slightly twisted turn to his lips.

“That’s fine, Gabe.  I’ll be gone in the morning-probably a train passing through then and I know where they slow down enough to jump on.  You don’t have to worry.  I’ll be gone.”  Gabe started to back out of the entrance, which was only ten feet behind him, but reconsidered and turned to walk straight out when he realized the bum might think he was afraid of him and feared an attack.  

“Gabe!”  Gabe quickly turned around to face the bum.  “Thanks for letting me stay here.  I appreciate it.”

Gabe smiled.  “No problem,” he said, and then he left.

He walked the railroad tracks until reaching the dirt road running along the western edge of the golf course.  While walking by, he passed the open dump anyone was free to visit, dump their refuse, or go through everyone else’s junk that had been dumped into the large, open pit.