War and Peace
By Elaine Troisi
Andrew Natovski was mindful of the time as he rushed through the mill gate. Cap pulled low over his eyes and collar turned to the wind, he positioned his black lunch pail under his arm and grasped the thick paperback firmly in his hand. It was 12:02, which meant he had only 28 minutes remaining.
Twenty-eight minutes in which to eat his lunch, conclude the final chapter of War and Peace, and pass through the gate before the 12:30 warning whistle.
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| Lunch on the bench watercolor by Elaine |
He tapped his foot and grumbled, unheard by the pedestrians around him as the electric trolley rumbled past.
Impatient for the light to turn, he engineered his way across the intersection, horns beeping in protest in the noontime traffic.
It was already 12:07 when he settled onto his bench, directly across from the town clock.
Setting the lunch pail on the ground and the book on the bench, Andrew removed the thermos and poured the soup into the lid. He unwrapped the thick crusty bread that served as spoon.
Balancing the steaming cup on one knee, he spread the yellow-paged volume on his other and began to read.
The words disappeared with the soup and bread, as he devoured all with ravenous urgency. Periodically, he glanced at the town clock.
Returning to the mill after the whistle wasn’t an option; it meant lost wages.
Satiated by the words and the food, Andrew sighed as he gently turned the last page.
Only then did the sounds of the park, in retreat for the past twenty minutes, return slowly as he set the book down.
The clattering of the trolley, the chirping of the birds, the rustle of the leaves, and the chatter of the children at play drifted into his consciousness.
Something uncomfortable, a strange sensation, the sense of another’s presence entered his peripheral view.
Then he heard her, “Great book … War and Peace … hmmm.” It was an observation, not a question.
Andrew jumped, as if struck across the face and stole a glance to his left. He was shocked to see someone sitting on his bench. When had she sat down?
Andrew grew very still. Instead of acknowledging her presence, he haphazardly gathered his belongings into a heap.
He raced off in the direction of the mill. War and Peace slipped from his arms, unnoticed in his haste to escape.
“Hey, your book…,” the stranger shouted as she picked up the volume, but Andrew was already gone.
Still puzzling over his encounter with the stranger in the park, that evening Andrew carefully wrapped a thick crusty slice of bread into his lunch pail placing it next to the thermos of soup.
Then, picking returning to Anna Karenina … he was already on chapter 5 though he had just finished his dinner … he returned to the vestibule to place the book and the lunch pail with his hat and coat, ready for the morning. He turned off the light.
It was then that he realized his treasured volume of War and Peace was not on the foyer table where it should have been. He searched frantically through the two-room apartment but couldn’t find it.
His heart sank as he realized that in his haste he must have left the precious volume on the park bench. He looked out the window.
It was beginning to snow. A nor’easter was forecast for the night. The street lights were already on.
He grabbed his hat and coat and ran out the door. For the first time in years, Andrew left his apartment without locking the door.
His heart was racing, but the soft layer of white had a calming effect on him as he headed toward the park. He mused that the world seemed less lurid and despoiled in the soft light.
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| Andrew races through the park watercolor by Elaine |
His footfalls landed
unheard, and he slowed his pace.
Halos of light pooled around each lamppost. Devoid of pedestrians at this late hour, the lampposts stood as sentinels against the dark and cold of early winter.
As Andrew rounded the corner, the town clock came into his view. It was nearly 8 p.m. when he approached the park bench.
Acid rose in his chest when he saw that someone was leaning over the bench. “My book,” he thought. “Someone is taking my book!”
“Hey, you!” he shouted.
The person started, turning toward him in alarm. “Oh, it’s you,” she stammered. “You frightened me. I’ve brought your book back.”
“You … what?”
“Your book, Andrew. You dropped your book this afternoon. I picked it and took it home.”
“How do you know my name? If this is some kind of …”
She cut him off. “Your name is in the front of the book.”
“Oh, of course,” he mumbled awkwardly. “Then, you are not st…”
“…stealing your book? Hardly, I’m bringing it back to your bench. I knew you’d be worried about it, so I wrapped it up to weather this snowstorm.”
She turned her face to the snow and caught a flake on the tip of her tongue, laughing. “Well, I’d better be getting home.” She turned to leave before he could utter a word. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch. This is a great reading bench you’ve got here, Andrew.” And she was gone.
Andrew was without words. He looked after her, but she disappeared in a flurry of snow.
He picked up the package on the bench, and turning his collar to the cold, he looked in her direction once more and headed home, trying to sort through his confusion.
The snowfall was already diminishing, but he shook the snow off his coat and stamped his feet before entering the vestibule of his apartment.
He set the package on the foyer table and carefully hung his coat. Then he unwrapped the package and found that his cherished book was dry and safe.
As he placed the volume on the bookshelf next to his Tolstoy collection, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
He picked it up and caught a pleasant scent. It wasn’t perfumed, but it held the fragrance of clothes dried in the sunshine.
Turning it over in his hands, he realized it was a note, not a bookmark.
Curious, he sat down in his reading chair and turned on the light.
Dear Andrew,
I’m sorry I startled you today. You were so engrossed that you never noticed me. Tolstoy has that effect on me, too.
I must have seemed likeNapoleon’s army, laying siege when I claimed your bench. Unless your bench is covered in a foot of snow tomorrow, I’ll be there. I, too, love to take my noontime in the park, rain or snow. I’m reading Anna Karenina. Have you read it?
Smile when you see me …”
Your friend in the park,
Natasha
Andrew was stunned. Carefully he folded the note and returned it to the book.
Was he Andrei and was she Natasha from War and Peace?
Andrew. Natasha.
“Smile at me,” she had written.
Andrew was grinning, almost blushing.
When he returned War and Peace to its place on the shelf, he felt unusually warm inside.
“Tomorrow…”
Remember, I’m listening!