FATHER WE THANK THEE

 

by Mihran Kulhanjian

 

Not very long ago on a cold January day in Los Angeles there was a boy by the name of John who had been wandering the streets of the city.  John was the only name he knew; he had no middle name, no last name.  John had no nickname and the poor boy, sadly, had no parents.  No, he had no parents to tuck him in as night and none to take care of him when he was sick.  John had no brothers or sisters or relatives of any kind that he knew of.  At ten years old, John was alone in the world.  He had no home and the only thing he owned were the clothes that he wore. And those were not really his either. He lived on the streets and when he was hungry, he scavenged for food; and like the pigeons in the square and the squirrels in the park, John hunted for food as animals do, as any hungry animal would. But, John was not an animal. He was a member of the human race, made in the image of God, in His likeness. And John had a spirit, a soul and a body, as the Creator made him.

For John, hunting for food was a daily activity; his primary activity. And whatever he found he was grateful. The boy never begged and never asked people for handouts, for it was not in his nature to do so. He never knew where a meal would come from and for many months now he found his food daily without fail

 

It was a duty befallen his mother to teach the boy to read before she died.  John could also spell quite well. But John was shy and introverted.  If he didn’t have to talk, he wouldn’t; but he would always answer when asked a question.  He never said more than he had too.

 

John was thin, bony, somewhat gaunt, which was natural since he barely ate enough food to keep a mouse alive.  Most of the time, the small boy hid in vacated buildings or in empty freight cars at the railway station when he first started out on his own.  Now, and for the last few weeks, John lived in a wood crate he lined with cardboard, which he covered the top with a piece of warped plywood for a roof and hid it in thick brush against a fence near homes that back the railroad tracks.  He stayed away from people and other kids as much as he could.  John was careful, perhaps even fearful of people, and the boy soon realized people didn’t want anything to do with him.  He had not bathed in over a year, and the clothes he wore, he stole from a clothesline from one of the many houses that bordered the railroad tracks.  The people who lived in those houses are poor people, and he knew this, for if they had means they would surely live somewhere else, he thought. 

 

To John, all people were the same, more or less, and he did not want to be around any of them.  One day, after the rain had let up, on that cold January day, John went around to the McDonald's and quickly, routinely, stuck his hand into the garbage can that catered to the discards of the outdoor seating area and grabbed a half bag of fries. His mouth watered when he brought the bag out from the can.  There was something else in the bag; he could feel the weight and a vision of a grand meal consumed him. The boy opened the bag and saw a book—a small book with the cover ripped off.  He looked at it curiously.  He had not read or looked at any book in nearly a year, and since the time he left school.  An illustration of an angle, a child with wings was praying on the front page.  Half of the front page was ripped at the side where the pages flip and the word, “Children” was printed at the top.  He put the book in his pocket and reached deeper into the garbage can retrieving a bag with some weight to it. He pulled it out and opened it, and to his surprise, an entire hamburger, wrapped, never touched and still warm lay in his hand.  But there was more in the bag.  On the bottom he could see and hear the clanking of money.  “Coins and a dollar bill,” he said aloud.  John emptied the bag and out came a one dollar bill, one quarter, two dimes and two pennies. He counted the money: One dollar and forty-seven cents. A grin changed to a smile, for it had been a very longtime since the boy had as much money as that and it was a long time since he had smiled and even longer since a laugh creased his face.  Money for tomorrow’s food he thought. He put the money in his pocket and felt the little book there, too, snug against his hip.  It was a good day—a good day, indeed, he thought. 

 

On his way back home near the tracks, John thought of all the wonderful things he could buy with his new found fortune, things he never had or thought of before.  He thought about buying a house, a bike, some clothes, ice-cream, and pizza. There was so much he wanted, he couldn’t make up his mind.  The world has so much, he said to himself, so much for everyone—so much for me.  How can I choose?  And then he thought about his mother.  If he could have his mother back, he would give up his fortune.  It was an easy decision. 

 

It was dark when he got back to his home.  His stomach was full.  John thought about his mother as he did every night and began to weep.  It was a quiet weep, a somber weep.  He leaned over to his side and felt the book in his pocket.  The book he had almost forgotten he had. He removed it from his pocket and went to the second page, looked at the picture of a girl and a boy praying and then read aloud what it said under it:

 

 

“Our Father, our father,” he said aloud. He read the book and prayer slowly and thought carefully about every word. When he finished he closed his eyes, brought his sleeve to his face and wiped his nose and then heard a sound very close to him.  He wasn’t sure if it was a man or animal—either one could be dangerous.  The sound came closer. Again, he heard it.  It was a small sound, the crackling of leaves and vegetation. An animal, he thought for sure, but he didn’t know what kind.  It could be a skunk or an enormous opossum or the wild dog he saw before and didn’t want to see again. He stood up ready to protect himself or run, he didn’t know what he would do. John sat silent and still, his senses on high alert.  He heard the sound again.  It came closer.  His heart pounded.  His eyes clear and wide, John put his back against the wall of his cardboard home.  Again, it came closer.  He heard it again, holding his breath.  And then it talked.

 

“Meow, Meow”     John’s eyes fell to the ground and there, just outside his box, a few feet away, a tiny cat, a beautiful grey and white kitten.  John relaxed.  He took a breath. The fear had left him.  “Come here, come on, come here,” he said to the little animal. And the kitten came to him. Like John, the kitten was lost and hadn’t a friend in the world: no mother, brothers or sisters to care for him, John thought.

 

The kitten came closer and John picked him up and put him close to his face.  The kitten did not resist.  “You can sleep with me tonight,” John said.  And the kitten slept with John all night, nesting under his arm, close beside him.

 

In the morning, John took two bites of the hamburger and feed the kitten a few morsels of meat and then wrapped the rest of it up and put it in his pocket for later. It was quiet outside.  The rain had stopped and the sky was clear and the air fresh. The sun rose quickly.  John carried the kitten with him in his jacket when he left to search for food.  With the money he now had on him he decided to enter McDonalds and buy something fresh. He hadn’t been inside of an eating establishment in a longtime. It smelled good inside and it was crowded.  There were several lines and he chose the longest one to wait in.  He was in no hurry and didn’t know what to order.  He liked looking at the people in line.  They were all different: some fat and dressed well, in business suits with ties and some were average looking, ugly, and some teenagers.  Everyone knew what they wanted and knew what to order.  John was impressed, anxious, nervous, for John did not know what to order and did not know what he wanted.  And then at last, it was his turn to order.

 

“Good morning,” the person behind the register said quickly, “what would you like?”

John thought for an answer, not knowing what to order and then said: “What can I buy for one dollar?” he asked the person behind the register. 

“We are serving breakfast now,” the man said.  “We have a special; two egg McMuffins for a dollar.  That’s a dollar and eight cents total.”

“Okay, I’ll have two of them,” John said.  He gave the man the money.

“Is that for here or to go?”

“Here.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Cup of water, please,” John said.

 

The man gave John a cup of water and the two egg McMuffins on a tray and John found a booth in the corner and took a seat. It had been a long time since the boy had a warm meal and he was thrilled.  He put his hands over the egg McMuffins and the heat felt good and the smell better. He brought the warm sandwich to his mouth and nose and took a deep breath and smelled the goodness which radiated from it. The kitten smelled the food too and John let it stick his head out of his jacket to look.

 

“We’ll eat just one,” John told the kitten.  “This one we will save for dinner.”  John took a bite of the warm sandwich and chewed slowly tasting every part of it.  It was very good, he thought.  And then he thought about how lucky he was:  fresh food and a new friend with him.  John fed the kitten a little bit of egg and ham and the kitten, like John, was very pleased.  As he finished his sandwich he remembered the book in this pocket and took it out.  He opened it and read the third page:

 

 

He read the passage to himself, but his lips moved when he read. The small boy made a mumbling sound, a mixture of incoherent words flowed out.  A man sitting at a table across from him saw this and heard him and approached John.

 

“Are you alone here?” the man asked.

“No,” John said.

“You’re with your kitten.”

“Yes.”

“Are you very hungry,” the man said to John.

“No, sir,” John said.  “I’m eating.”

The man smiled.  “Is that a good book you’re reading?”

“Yes,” John said.

 

The man was dressed neatly with a dark coat and polished black shoes.  He was tall, and John looked at his hands and they were not large or small.  They were white and clean and his nailed were polished and shined like his shoes. The man dug his hand into his pocket.  “Here,” the man said, “this is for you.”  The man placed a folded twenty dollar bill on the table in front of John.  John noticed the man’s clean hands again and more so, and the perfumed smell of a woman who came behind the man and stood close to him. John knew the smell; it was a familiar smell—it was the smell of his mother.  And for a moment, John felt very happy and his eyes beamed at the woman and his breath quickened.

 

“Make sure your kitten gets plenty of food,” the man said.

 

The lady tugged at the man’s arm.  “Come on sweetie, we’re late,” she said. 

John didn’t know what to think. And then silently to himself, he said, “I am rich again.”   Twenty dollars would buy enough food for months he thought.  He never owned twenty dollars before.  John unfolded the money and put it in front of him beside his half eaten egg McMuffin and stared at it.  “Look at this cat,” he said.  The kitten and John looked at the money.  The kitten said, “meow,” and John took the money, put it in his pocket and gave the kitten a small piece of the egg white from the sandwich, shoved the rest of his meal in his mouth, emptied his water in one guzzle and left.

 

After breakfast, John walked to Main Street and made his usual rounds window shopping and spent rest of the afternoon in Pershing Square watching the people come and go from a bench and played with his kitten.  He told the kitten stories about his mother and the things they use to do together, like going to the zoo and the one time his mother and him went to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. 

 

John was in no hurry to spend his new money.  He knew he didn’t need much to eat, but he thought about the kitten and wondered if he would be able to feed the kitten proper food, more than what he could provide.  Since the kitten was small like him, he thought it over and concluded that it wouldn’t need much either and that it would eat only what was given to him. While in the park he put the kitten on the ground and followed it as it wandered around experiencing the world: the grass; the dandelions and their yellow flowers; trees; and ants and butterflies.  The kitten attacked a beetle and ate it and the boy was happy to see the small creature having fun.  He was also happy the kitten had another meal.  The beetle was plump and John felt a little sad for it, but happy for the kitten.  John put the kitten up to the water fountain and cupped some water in one palm and the kitten drank and drank until it was full.  And John drank until he was full too.

 

Before darkness approached, John remembered to get candles from the dollar store then made his way home with the kitten tucked safely in his coat. He spend one dollar for four candles and went to Eddies Liquor and asked the man at the counter for a book of matches for lighting his candles.  The man gave him a handful, more than he needed and John thanked him.

 

When John got home it was nearly dark; he looked for the moon and did not find it.  The sky was clear and calm and black.  He saw the lights of the buildings that twinkled in the cold air, but it was no consolation to his loneliness.  He liked looking at the moon; it was as if it were an animal, coming alive every night to say hello.  Sometimes it didn’t come out. He sat and stared at it for long periods outside his makeshift home. It was going to be a cold night, he thought, and he held his kitten tight in his jacket as a mother would care for a baby, protecting it from cold and at the same time the little pocket of fur comforted him; it was alive, breathing, alone.  He was alive and alone.  He wanted to see stars, but the sky in the city was always too bright and dirty.  Once, when he and his mother went to the mountains to visit his grandfather, he remembered, he could see all the stars in heaven.  That was many years ago and he hadn’t seen a star light sky since.

 

“Let’s go inside,” John said to his kitten.  The kitten looked up at him while he held it and they went inside.  Once inside, he put the kitten on his pillow, took out a short fat candle and lighted it.  The little space, his little home, glowed and John took the book from his pocket and began reading, all the while holding the kitten in one hand.

 

“I’ll read you a story,” he said to the kitten.  He began:

 

“That was a short story, I’ll read another one,” he said to the kitten.

 

“That story is by Ralph Waldo Emerson,” he said.  “That’s what it says here.  That’s a good story. “What do you think?” he said while petting the kitten.  He pointed, laying his finger on the page and the kitten looked at his finger.

 

John closed the book and bundled up in his blankets and he and the kitten stared at the flickering candle for several minutes. As John grew sleepy, he thought about the day he walked away from the house the day after his mother had died.  It was a cold day, like today, he reflected.  He had been sent to live with relatives who he did not know and who had no children of their own and did not have a dog or a cat; they had a pet rat.  And even at nine years old, John knew that a rat was not a normal grown-up pet—it was not an affectionate rat and feelings for it were equally stricken.  John wanted his mother.

 

John fell asleep while the candle burned and the kitten fell asleep with him nuzzling up to his neck and head.  And as John slept, he did not dream of food as he had before, and he did not dream of a warm house and a warm bed, instead he dreamt of his mother.  He woke in the middle of the night to rain dripping off the cardboard roof and it reminded the boy of tears—tears from his mother's eyes the last time he saw her before her death.  John reached for his kitten and held him tightly, snuggling the small animal under his chin. And without a sound, blew out the candle, closed his eyes and hoped to dream again.