Thunder Sandwich #26 - Paul Rogalus fiction

Life Goes On

(The Ballad of Marian and Herb)

Marian was a regular at Antonio's. She came in every day at about 2:30, for free coffee--after the lunch rush had ended. She was a short stump of a woman, with baggy eyes and limp, stringy hair. She always wore the same old faded red woolen coat, and she always had two or three crumpled grocery bags gripped tightly in her fist. She'd been coming for years. I always gave Marian free coffee--even though she stole one of my tips once. A few people had seen her swipe the tip right off the table--but Marian always denied it, rant-babbling her way out of it: "I didn't take it--it wasn't me--I know who it was, but it wasn't me." "Yeah, who took it then?" "It--wasn't me-- I didn't take it--I know who it was, but it wasn't me."

She knew the names of all the people who worked in the restaurant--and she knew the names of many of the regular customers. She would usually come in with something to show everyone, something someone had given her--or a photograph someone had taken of her:

"Paul, here, I wanna show you this--it's a pitcher. Don't laugh, O.K.--don't laugh."

"I won't laugh, Marian."

"Here, look." It was always the same pose: he cheeks puffed out like a blowfish, her enormous, baggy saucer eyes bugging out. "It's me!"

"No, is it, Marian? Really? You look very nice."

"Where's Lisa--I wanna show Lisa. Don't laugh." She'd show Lisa the picture--and then she'd show the cooks, and the dishwasher--and then the customers.

There was another "regular" at Antonio's that most of us at the restaurant had always associated with Marian--since they were both regulars, and since they were both so strange. He was a small, thin, middle-aged man with the face and hair of a skinny rat. His left eye was always half-closed. He shuffled when he walked, holding his little arms stiffly out in front him like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. His name was Herb. He couldn't speak very well--when he tried to, he made a mixture guttural grunts and a low-pitched

wheeze. Herb usually came in earlier in the afternoon than Marian did--and Herb always paid for his coffee. Full price.

"Uhn-uhn, c-coffeereglar," Herb would stammer out in one word. Then he'd hand me a pile of change and make me count out seventy-five cents and give the rest back. Herb also had a difficult time with the sugar. Every day Herb's table would wind up looking like a family of five had eaten at it, without plates--all from one "coffeereglar."

None of us had ever actually seen Marian and Herb together--we just assumed they knew each other. Then one day I saw them actually meet for the first time. They were sitting two tables apart--but they were the only customers in the restaurant.

"Hi," Marian called out loudly to Herb. "What's your name?"

Herb grunted. Marian looked at me. "I never seen him before. What's his name?"

"Don't you know him, Marian?"

"No, I never seen him before." She turned back to Herb. "What's your name?"

Herb grunted a few times before he came out with a wheezy "Uhn, uhn, Herb."

"Hi Herb. Nice ta meet'cha."

Another customer came in, glanced at Marian and Herb, and moved to the far corner of the restaurant. After I brought the customer a menu, Marian called me over.

She whispered to me, giggling: "He said he likes me. Herb. And I never met him before today." Her breath reminded me of old, wet sneakers.

"Good for you, Marian," I said. "Herb's a pretty cool dude."

"He said he likes me." Herb was hunched over his table, looking like a wet rag. "He said he likes me and he wants ta marry me. And I just met him today."

Herb got up and struggled to get his coat on.

"Your wardrobes do match pretty well," I told her. "I mean, you'll never clash when you go to parties."

"Goodbye Herb!" Marian called as Herb shuffled to the door. "See you tomorrow!" Then she turned to me to explain. "He's going into Boston on the subway. I hope he makes it."

"Why don't you go with him, Marian."

"No," she said. "I'll see him tomorrow. He said he'd buy me lunch tomorrow."

Herb crossed the street and shuffled past the subway stop and out of sight.

The next day Marian showed up at the restaurant earlier than usual. I was busy with a few tables in the back, and I swung by and gave Marian a free cup of coffee to keep her quiet.

"I'm waitin' for Herb," she called out as I hurried away.

Herb shuffled into the restaurant a few minutes later and sat at the table next to Marian's. I swung by and asked him if he wanted coffee.

"Uhn, uhn, yes, coffeereglar."

By the time I brought Herb his coffee, Marian had moved over to his table and was sitting beside him. Herb gave me a dollar, and I gave him his change, and rushed off to check on my other customers.

From the back of the restaurant I could hear blurts of Herb's excited babble. Herb was still ranting when I got to him--he was hysterical. And Marian was gone. Herb showed me his empty wallet, and he stuttered out the word: "s-s-stolen."

"Marian took your money, Herb? How much--how much did you have?"

Herb just kept grunt-whining "s-s-stolen" and shaking his head. I gave him a few dollars from my tip money, and Herb started to quiet down. As I was picking up the order for my other customers, I saw Herb shuffle out of the restaurant, still shaking his head and mumbling. I never saw him again.

Marian stayed away from Antonio's for almost three weeks. Her personal record. But then, late one afternoon, just before the shift change, I was sitting at the table in the back of the restaurant counting my tips, and I heard Marian's voice--she was talking to Maggie, the new waitress.

"Hi, my name's Marian," she bellowed out. "What's yours?"

I just smiled and stood up, and I went to go get Marian her free cup of coffee.

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