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The Old Fisherman
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John
Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs
rooms to out patients at the clinic.One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I
opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my
eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shrivelled body.But the appalling thing was his face-lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet
his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've
a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the
eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one
seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but
my doctor says with a few more treatments . . ."For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in
this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside
and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old an if he would
join us."No thank you. I have plenty."
And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on
the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that
this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he
fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband,
who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface
with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his
disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving
him the strength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's
room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded
and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before
he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favour, he said, "Could I
please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out
a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He pause a moment and then added, "Your
children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children
don't seem to mind."I told him he was welcome to come again. And on his next trip he arrived a
little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a
quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them
that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh I knew his bus
left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do
this for us. In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a
time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.
Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish
and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully
washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how
little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our
next-door neighbour made after he left that first morning."Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can
lose roomers by putting up such people!"Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known
him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family
always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to
accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her
flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum,
bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented,
rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this was my plant, I'd put it in the
loveliest container I had!"My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing
how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in
this old pail. It's just for a little while, 'til I can put it out in the garden."She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just
such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have
said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind
starting in this small body."
Thanks to Tom Primerano
