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    Refugium
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Waltzing with Bears - 2. Part 2. Walter and Joseph

For an old guy, Eddie had a respectable appetite, and no problem with his teeth. We didnt talk much until he had mostly finished his steak and I was about done with my fish and chips. Nibbling one last French fry, I said, So, Eddie. You seemed to be hinting at a bigger story.”

Eddie searched the ceiling. The bigger story is my Uncle Walter, Grandpas youngest son. He had moved away to Seattle to work in a bank, and my grandfather considered that a bit of a betrayal. Such a rebel, right? Working in a bank? Grandpa wanted all his sons to work in his lumber business. He built this big house for everyone and he expected loyalty. Then Walter got married in a civil ceremony, no church, only a couple of witnesses, and Grandpa didnt like that. A wedding with no church? That was bordering on Bolshevism. After the labor troubles and then the general strike in Seattle in 1919 -- you know about that? -- Grandpa was always on about the damn Bolsheviks.' by which he basically meant anyone who wanted the rich white men to share some power or money.

I didnt like Walters wife Betsy. I thought she bullied him. I dont think Walter minded as much as I did. She was older than he was. They never had children. Betsy died in 29, had some surgery that led to a runaway infection that the doctors couldnt control. And the bank Walter was working for went under in 30. So by the end of 1930 Uncle Walter moved back into the family mansion, everyone feeling sorry for the grieving young widower. He was only twenty-nine. My father gave him a job in the family lumber businesss office. But in the evening Uncle Walter took to going down to Petes Saloon quite a bit, and the family all clucked their tongues, but they didnt stop him.

It was difficult for my mother. She grew up poor, and marrying my father Archie was a big step up for her, socially. Grandpa didnt approve of her. But she showed him. She was going to run a high-class household if it killed her and everyone around her. She had a lot of rules and expectations, and God help you if you disappointed her. And now here was this black sheep moving back in, just when construction was way down and demand for lumber was half of what it was and money was tight, and it was already getting hard to keep up a front of being a grand family.

I liked having Uncle Walter move back. Id always liked him. He read me The Arabian Nights and we listened to the radio and he always had a take on the newspaper that was very different from Grandpas. Sometimes wed sabotage my mothers cooking - deflate a cake that was baking, or on one great occasion we ruined a soufflé. Sometimes hed ask me, 'Well, where shall we go tonight?' And Id spin the globe and pick some exotic place and hed spin a fantastic story on the spot. For a boy who had never even travelled to Seattle it was as good as the movies. And we even went to the movies a few times.

But Walter had to have his time alone to go to Petes. Some of this Im about to tell you I learned only later. Petes Saloon still kept up the old logging-camp tradition of the Saturday night men-only dance. It wasnt so high-pressure as dancing with women. The men would clean up a little and maybe button the top button of their shirts, but they didnt have women wanting them to shave or wear ties or wear city shoes instead of boots, and their dancing partners didnt complain that their skin was getting scratched or that someone was holding them too tight and hurting them. It was like playing sports or wrestling. It passed the time and burned off some energy.

Walter watched the dancing one Saturday night. The little band -- fiddle, accordion, bass, one guy who played a hand drum that was just a big hoop with a skin stretched over it -- had started a waltz. So a big bearded fella comes up to Walter, smiles, and says, Hey there.

Walter says, Hey yourself.

The guy says, Im Luther.

“‘Im Walter.

“‘Can you waltz?

“‘Sure, I can waltz.

“‘Can you follow? Cause I can only lead.

Walter says, I can follow.

“‘Care to take a spin around the floor?

“‘Be glad to.

And that was the start of Uncle Walter dancing at Petes. As someone who was willing to follow, he was in demand. He liked the big bearded guys. If someone short or skinny or clean-shaven asked him, hed most likely say, I think Ill sit this one out. Thank you, though.' And thats the way it was every Saturday night.

Now someone who stood mostly on the sidelines, nursing the ginger ale that was all he drank, was a big black fella from Baton Rouge named Joseph Gautier. When I say big, I mean six-five at least and broad-shouldered, big legs and arms, and when I say black, I mean pretty damn dark, with a big black beard that crawls up his cheeks and creeps down to the spirals of hair on his chest. So he watches Walter a few Saturdays and finally comes up and reaches out his hand and says to him in his quiet voice, smooth as silk, Hello. My name is Joseph. May I have the honor of this dance?' And the way he looks at Walter is kind of pointed, and something about him seems to indicate that hes looking for more than just to pass the time.

The band is playing a two-step. Walter says, I prefer a waltz.

Joseph looks to the side uncertainly, like hes been given the brush-off. I understand,' he says, and turns to go.

But Walter says, Come and sit down and well wait till they play a waltz again.

So Joseph sits next to Walter and they talk and joke for a while until theres a waltz. And then Walter and Joseph dance. They dance a few more times. By the last dance, Walter is laying his head on Josephs chest.

And Walter keeps coming back to Petes every Saturday night, and drinking more than is good for him, and dancing with the big bearded guys there, but mostly with Joseph.

And meanwhile, Pete introduces Walter to Blackie. And Walter and Blackie really hit it off. When Walter first sees Blackie through the bars, he says, Blackie! Do you work for a bank, too? My tellers cage looked just like this.' And Blackie sniffs Walter and rubs against the bars.

Pete says, Blackie must like you. He doesnt act like this with most people. Careful not to get too close, though.' And Walter ignores him and puts his hand right up to the cage, and Blackie goes straight for it -- and licks it. Licks Walters hand like hes his long-lost friend.

Walter starts visiting Blackie regular, at the end of his evening at Petes. He brings Blackie bouquets of wildflowers, which Blackie eats, and then Walter bows to Blackie and says, 'May I have this dance?' And damn if he doesnt get in the cage with Blackie, and they sidle around each other and Blackie rubs his head against him, and then Walter scratches him and pets him and thanks him for the dance. Pete always stays with them at first, but when its clear how much Blackie loves Walter, Pete stops worrying about it and leaves them alone.

So now Uncle Walter is going to Petes every Saturday night at least and usually a few more nights as well. Im only eight or nine at this point. One Saturday night I stay up and catch Uncle Walter as he is sneaking down the back stairs. He looks kind of dressed up. Uncle Walter!' I say. Where are you going?

He smiles and whispers, Dancing.

I wonder if this is just another tall tale of his, one of his flights of fancy. Dancing!' I say. Dancing with who?

“‘Bears!' he says, and if anyone ever had a twinkle in his eye, Walter did that night. 'Waltzing with bears!

I giggle because that is so silly. 'Have a nice time,' I say.

“‘Thanks, Eddie, I will! Dont wait up for me!' And out the back door he goes.

And I stay up and draw a picture in crayon of Uncle Walter dancing with a bear. The bear is huge, standing on its hind legs, towering over Walter. I cant wait to show it to him. But Im already asleep when he gets home. No wonder Uncle Walter always falls asleep in church on Sunday morning.

I show him the picture after church. He doesnt laugh at it. He takes it seriously, like its something by a real artist. He says, 'Well, Eddie, I think youve really captured something there. Yep, thats exactly how it is.

He tries to hand it back to me, but I say, 'Its for you, Uncle Walter. You keep it.' And he looks so tickled, and he tacks it up on the wall in his room.

But this idea has grabbed my attention, you might say, and I cant let it go. I have to go see what Walter does. The next Saturday night I follow Uncle Walter and watch through the windows at Petes. I watch him dancing. I see him dancing with Joseph, laying his head on Josephs shoulder. It makes me feel funny, like Im listening in on a conversation I shouldnt. Like Im witnessing a crime. And later I watch Walter dance with Blackie, and then its not a funny tall tale, its real and its weird. I start to worry about Walter.”

Next: Part 3. Blackie and Mike
Copyright © 2022 Refugium; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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