Pete Conrad: Survival of the Sparrows

“When May was shot, first person I thought a was you, Med. I was gon’ run to your place to find somethin’, I dunno, that could fix her up. And I did. If you hadn’t a gone to medical school and saved them books… well…” He covered Med’s head with earth.

Amadeus watched intently from a distance, unsure of the new dog that sat by his master’s side. Winston saw the cat and called him over. Amadeus reluctantly crawled toward him, hissing at a disinterested Muffin.

“You gon’ hafta get used to each other, I guess.” Winston picked Amadeus up and stroked him as they all walked home, Amadeus purring loudly, content in his owner’s secure embrace, and Muffin gleefully trotting beside them. He grabbed cans of cat and dog food from the apartment and fed the cat on Medusa’s stump and Muffin on the ground beneath it. He took his usual seat and gazed at the photos — they looked different now, almost foreign to him. A brown MRE package was set in the center of the stump with a note on it that read:

Winston,

Thank you again.

Enjoy the turkey tetrazzini.

It’s the least gross of them all.

He tore the package open, only now realizing just how hungry he was, and ate the meal voraciously. Tomorrow he would find a way to get to May up in Atlanta. But tonight, he, Amadeus, and Muffin would sleep in the apartment with the doors wide open.

The brass bell rang out of tune as Winston wrapped up his shortened day. He had come in to the store for a few hours to cover for three employees who were currently eating barbecue over at his place. It was the third annual Labor Day barbecue that he and May now hosted. The celebration started the year after The Great Liberating War , as it was now known. Winston didn’t look up as he wiped down the belt on checkout lane three.

“I can’t say that I’m not unhappy you back. Did ya get some a them chicken wings? I’m still confounded that I can’t figger out the Mayor’s secret recipe.”

He looked up expecting to find his three employees, which he did, but six other eyes were staring back at him.

“You should be kissed by someone who knows how,” the man said.

Winston nearly broke down in tears when recognized Woo-jin, Seul-ki, and their two-year-old daughter.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Winston replied, threw down his rag, and ran to the visitors. He plucked a giggling Woo-jin off his feet and laughed, “I can’t believe you finally made it!”

“This is Seul-ki.”

“I am honored to finally make your acquaintance.”

They hugged tenderly.

“I have heard very much about you.”

“It ain’t all bad I hope.”

“Most of it is.”

Winston paused. Seul-ki grinned.

Winston said, “you got his sense a humor. I like that,” and bent down to the height of the little girl who clung to her mother’s side, “and what’s your name?”

“Maybelle with a E ,” the little girl proudly said.

“Wow! What a pretty name. Did you know? That’s my wife’s name.”

Maybelle shyly nodded her head.

“Would you like to meet her?”

Another nod.

“Well, let’s go!”

As they left, Winston paused on the porch, staring at the faded black and white photo still hanging in the window of Calef’s Country Store. It was of an aged white man standing with a young black man in the very spot that Winston, Woo-jin, Seul-ki, and Maybelle now stood. The men in the photo wore matching painter’s overalls, wet paint brushes in hand, and they were spattered from head to toe in white paint. Their wide-mouthed grins conveyed a bond and camaraderie borne by decades of unconventional and unconditional friendship. The photo was dated 1905, and the caption read: ‘ Mayor Lonnie Calef with Josiah Wellbeloved, painting the store – again .’ Winston, standing cross-armed, smiled genuinely as he gazed upon the photo as he had done countless times before. Suddenly, a car’s exhaust backfiring rang out loudly, which startled Winston back into the present. He turned to Woo-jin and asked, “know how to paint?”

“I think so.”

“Good. We start tomorrow.”

They walked the short distance to the Sparrow residence, the Yongs wheeling their luggage behind them, and discussed what had happened in the three years that they had been apart, and how they all came to be together, which is another story altogether. But new leaders were elected or overthrown, new policies were adopted and enacted, and lessons were learned, which was all anyone could have asked after the Great Liberating War .

The Sparrow residence swarmed with Johnsonville’s surviving residents and more than a few transplants from McDonough who had moved into Johnsonville homes left otherwise unoccupied. May was elected Johnsonville’s mayor with a unanimous vote, and her first act was to re-establish her father’s time-honored Labor Day Barbecue. At age seventy-three, she was the town’s second-oldest citizen, two years younger than Winston, still spry and energetic, despite the limp from Woo-jin’s bullet.

Amadeus sat in the kitchen corner watching May pull one of her famous blueberry pies out of the oven, with Muffin nearby, her tongue wet with anticipation of a careless hand. The house smelled of sweet blueberries as Winston and his guests walked toward the back door. They had dropped their luggage off at Ben and June’s house two doors down, which is where they would stay indefinitely, and it took a solid thirty minutes to get through the crowd and inside the house. May watched from the window; Winston Sparrow had turned out to be so much like her own father — caring, loving, generous, democratic, and resistant when required. The people of Johnsonville crowded around him as if he were a rock star, congratulating and complimenting the fine barbecue. He introduced Woo-jin and his family to the Johnsonville citizens as new fellow residents, and the Yongs were welcomed with opened arms. When they finally made it inside, Winston said, “Mother, this is Woo-jin, Seul-ki, and… Maybelle .”

“Welcome to our home,” May said, and shook Woo-jin and Seul-ki hands.

After introductions and getting-to-know-you small talk, Seul-ki offered a plastic container. “This is for you. It is a traditional Korean dish called kimchi.”

“It should be perfect,” Woo-jin chimed in, “she made it in Seoul two week ago.”

“Thank you,” May replied and opened the container, its pungent, sour, spicy, and garlicky odor striking her and Winston at the backs of their throats.

“It’s cabbage?” May asked.

“Yes, with spices and fermentation,” Seul-ki said.

Winston said, “well, it smells divine. I never had kimchi before.” He grabbed a fork, and dug in, choosing a crisp, wet piece of the Napa cabbage.

“It’s spicy,” Seul-ki warned, giggling.

Winston offered the first piece to May, who took a small piece into her mouth and chewed. Winston was more adventurous, taking a much larger bite. His eyes grew wide at the enormous spicy tang, but he charged through without incident, nodding his head up and down emphatically, muttering, “delicious,” between swallows.

“That is delightful, honey. Will you show me how to make it?” May asked.

“Of course.”

May sliced out three portions of her dessert onto paper plates. “Try some warm blueberry pie?”

“We’ve never had blueberries before!” Seul-ki said excitedly.

“You’re in for a treat then. We picked musta been a hundred pounds or more this summer jes’ across the street,” Winston said.

May laid out the plates, and turned to ask Maybelle if she would like some pie, only to find the little girl laying on her side and petting Amadeus and Muffin simultaneously, both animals rolled over on their backs.