The Northwest times. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1947-1955, 1954-02-20
A Short Story. .
q BY ROGER SPLINTER


for ably Father was going to re-
count his day and l knew there'd
be a chuckle in his tale or maybe
tear We'll I went to the park
this afternoon and watched the lit
tie boys sailing boats. One little
fellow he must have been about
four. I guess. he had real hard
time getting his boat to sail right.
I helped him fix the sail. Remem-
Der the sail we put on your boat one
time?"
My fathers voice went on. plea
sanity. had become accustomed
to holding the earpiece of the old
fashioned telephone long ago. 1
had learned to balance my forearm
and rest my elbow against my pill
low so l didn't notice the strain. At
first it had been rather difficult.
My arm would get tired and l
would squirm around to rest my
strained muscles Like everything
else that one practices continually,
l had gotten SO that always found
the correct angle to hold the ear
piece and too, l was getting strong
er. Slowly. but l was getting stron-
| ger
They had told me long ago. when
my father first started to telephone
me daily, that the connection from
our little town to him was so poor
that it would do no good to try to
talk to him. 1t was hard for me
just to listen. At first it was, but
soon 1 found that father was so in
teresting, seemed so close. that !
didn't mind
Father was a little man painfully
thin with big wistful eyes and a
soft voice. I could family remem-
Der being with him always. My first
memories were of him taking me by
the hand and leading me through
the woods and along the little
stream that dubbed past our home
Every question I'd pipe he'd answer
with an interested thoroughnes:
that made him seem like the great
est person in the world. Mother.
hardly remembered Shed died Ions
before I was big enough to harvest
indelible memories.
Boy-like. I always thought m.
father very strong. Actually he wa
fragile man Usually he had
cold it seemed, a cough that wrac
ked his thin frame. 1 suppose I in
herited his physical slightness be
cause I became bed-ridden. witt
tuberculosis. After a while. my ia
Their couldn't stay with me. He ha'
to stay in a far-off town where h
was able to earn the money tina
went for my medical care. Yet, bu
sy as he was he called me ever
night.
really think that the DOcto
never thought I'd survive when m
father first had to leave me to wor
in that far-off town. l could tell
the way he acted by the worrie
look in Mrs. Takanaka's eyes.
I guess I didn't much care whe
Their 1 did live or die until about tn
third time that father called me c
the telephone. Mrs. Takanaka e'
planned that he wouldn't be able
hear me but I certainly would he'
him clearly I'll never forget ii
first sound of his voice. 1t was h
dear voice, cheerful and bright al
soft My heart leaped and I tri'
to sit up Mrs. Takanaka smiled al
gently pushed me back. Just lis
en-" she said and her kindly ia
told me that she hoped that h
voice would cheer me. Just list
to him. That's what he wants "
to do He'll tell you all about I
days work"
And he did In the days folio
ing I got to know the town he "
working in. l felt soon, that kn
x his friends. too He described thu
all with a fidelity and clarity til
painted them wildly in my mint
One day I noticed that father h
a slight pause in his sentences. 8.
minute catching of the breath as
he had a little trouble breathil
When he'd finished, cheerily enou
I asked the doctor when he CA
in He looked at me queerly. &C
I guess he's got cold. You KIN
how he catches cold so easily"
I forgot about 1t because the NJ
day father was his cheerful, loql
cious self. think I would hi
forgotten it entirely except wi
happened a week or so later N
Takanaka had come in and told