金尼斯迈克尔·比奇
JenningsMichaelBirch
Lifewithoutafriendisdeathwithoutawitness。
—Sanishroverb
EvenbeforeIfinisheddialing,IsomehowknewIdmadeamistake。Thehonerangonce,twice—thensomeoneickeditu。
“Yougotthewrongnumber!”ahuskymalevoicesnaedbeforethelinewentdead。Mystified,Idialedagain。
“Isaidyougotthewrongnumber!”camethevoice。Oncemorethehoneclickedinmyear。
HowcouldheossiblyknowIhadawrongnumber?Atthattime,IworkedfortheNewYorkCityPoliceDeartment。Acoistrainedtobecurious—andconcerned。SoIdialedathirdtime。
“Hey,demon,”themansaid。“Isthisyouagain?”
“Yeah,itsme,”Ianswered。“IwaswonderinghowyouknewIhadthewrongnumberbeforeIevensaidanything?”
“Youfigureitout!”Thehonedslammeddown。
Isatthereawhile,thereceiverhanginglooselyinmyfingers。Icalledthemanback。
“Didyoufigureitoutyet?”heasked。
“TheonlythingIcanthinkofis。。。nobodyevercallsyou。”
“Yougotit!”Thehonewentdeadforthefourthtime。Chuckling,Idialedthemanback。
“Whatdoyouwantnow?”heasked。
“IthoughtIdcall。。。justtosayhello。”
“Hello?Why?”
“Well,ifnobodyevercallsyou,IthoughtmaybeIshould。”
“Okay。Hello。Whoisthis?”
Atlast,Ihadgotthrough。Nowhewascurious。ItoldhimwhoIwasandaskedwhohewas。
“MynameisAdolfMeth。Im88yearsold,andIhaventhadthismanywrongnumbersinonedayin20years!”Webothlaughed。
Wetalkedfor10minutes。Adolfhadnofamily,nofriends。Everyonehehadbeenclosetohaddied。Thenwediscoveredwehadsomethingincommon:hedworkedfortheNewYorkCityPoliceDeartmentfornearly40years。Tellingmeabouthisdaysthereasanelevatoroerator,heseemedinteresting,evenfriendly。IaskedifIcouldcallhimagain。
“Whywouldyouwannadothat?”heasked,surrised。
“Well,maybewecouldbehonefriends。Youknow,likeenals。”
Hehesitated。“Iwouldntmind。。。havingafriendagain。”Hisvoicesoundedalittletentative。
IcalledAdolfthefollowingafternoonandseveraldayslater。Easytotalkwith,herelatedhismemoriesofWorldWarIandII,theHindenburgdisasterandotherhistoricalevents。Hewasfascinating。Igavehimmyhomeandofficenumberssohecouldcallus。Hedid—almosteveryday。
Iwasnotjustbeingkindtoalonelyman。TalkingtoAdolfwasimortanttome,becauseI,too,hadabiggainmylife。Raisedinorhanagesandfosterhomes,Ineverhadafather。Gradually,Adolftookonakindoffatherlyimortancetome。Italkedaboutmyjobandcollegecourses,whichIattendedatnight。
Adolfwarmedtotheroleofcounselor。WhilediscussingadisagreementIdhadwithasuervisor,Itoldmynewfriend,“IthinkIvehaditwithhim。”
“Whatstherush?”Adolfcautioned。“Letthingscooldown。WhenyougetasoldasIam,youfindoutthattimetakescareofalot。Ifthingsgetworse,thenyoucantalktohim。”
Therewasalongsilence。“Youknow,”hesaidsoftly,“IamtalkingtoyoujustthewayIdtalktoaboyofmyown。Ialwayswantedafamily—andchildren。Youretooyoungtoknowhowthatfeels。”
No,Iwasnt。Idalwayswantedafamily—andafather。ButIdidntsayanything,afraidIwouldntbeabletoholdbackthehurtIdfeltforsolong。
Oneevening,Adolfmentionedhis89thbirthdaywascomingu。Afterbuyingaieceoffiberboard,Idesignedabiggreetingcardwithacakeand89candlesonit。IaskedallthecosandmyOfficeCommissionertosignit。Igatherednearlyahundredsignatures。Adolfwouldgetakickoutofthis,Iknew。
Wedbeentalkingonthehoneforfourmonthsnow,andIthoughtthiswouldbeagoodtimetomeetfacetoface。SoIdecidedtodeliverthecardbyhand。
IdidnttellAdolfIwascoming。Ijustdrovetohisaddressonemorningandarkedthecaruthestreetfromhisaartmenthouse。AostmanwassortingmailinthehallwaywhenIenteredthebuilding。HenoddedasIcheckedthemailboxesforAdolfsname。Thereitwas。Aartment1H,some20feetfromwhereIstood。
Myheartoundedwithexcitement。Wouldwehavethesamechemistryinersonthatwehadonthehone?Ifeltthefirststabofdoubt。Maybehewouldrejectmethewaymyfatherrejectedmewhenhewentoutofmylife。ItaedonAdolfsdoor。Whentherewasnoanswer,Iknockedharder。
Theostmanlookedufromhissorting。“Noonesthere,”hesaid。
“Yeah,”Isaid,feelingalittlefoolish。“Ifheansweredhisdoorthewayheanswershishone,thismaytakeallday。”
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