Chapter 21: Second Thoughts
Melanie Chowdar closed the door of the Nissan Micra she had rented for her journey to Willington Cemetery. Normally if she wanted to drive somewhere she would ask her parents for a loan of their car. On this occasion however, she didn’t want them to ask too many questions.
There were so many graves in the cemetery that she didn’t know where to start. She noticed a man who was dressed as if he worked there. He had grey thinning hair and was dressed in grey worn trousers, a chequered blue and purple shirt and a navy tattered jumper. His sleeves were partially rolled up and he had a shears in his hand. She decided to approach him.
“I’m looking for a grave,” she started to say.
“Well you’ve come to the right place,” he interrupted with a smile.
“Have you noticed the grave of a Frank Chowdar who died on April 8th 1998?”
“I’m only the caretaker here. Asking me to remember the names and dates on all these headstones is like getting a penguin to play basketball.”
Disappointed, Melanie started to look at the headstones that were nearby. She noticed a pattern. Most of the graves appeared to be arranged based on the date of death. She hurried to where she expected her Father’s grave to be. Within a matter of minutes she found it. The grave was very bare, with no flowers or mementoes. The encryption was very basic and only included his name, date of birth and date of death. In her mind, she prayed for him.
Several minutes later she was about to walk off when she noticed a man walking towards her. He appeared to be a war veteran, with an army jacket and some medals hanging from it. He was six foot tall with white hair, blue eyes and a wrinkled face. He was probably more than seventy years of age. Melanie didn’t move. The man stopped beside her.
“Did you know him?” the old man asked as he brushed back some of his hair that was blowing in the wind.
“He was my Father,” she replied in a downbeat manner
“You must be so proud,” the war veterean declared.
Melanie was puzzled by this comment. While she was sad that she never had the chance of a reconciliation with her Father, her respect for him wasn’t very high.
“He left my Mother when I was very young,” she responded. “I don’t remember him.”
“He saved my life,” the pensioner replied with warmth and affection in his eyes. “We were teenagers, off to fight a silly war in Vietnam. None of us wanted to be there of course. One day it looked like we were going to be captured by the enemy and I stepped on a land mine. It blew my right foot off. I was in agony. I’ve had a false leg for almost fifty years. Anyway, the rest of our brigade was retreating. Some of the lucky ones were being rescued by helicopter. It looked as if I was going to be abandoned and left to rot in a field or taken hostage by the enemy. Your Father though helped me to one of the helicopters as shots were being fired at us. I took two bullets in the back. He took one in the leg and one in the arm but we both made it back to safety, all thanks to him. I don’t think I thanked him enough. It appears he turned to drink after the war. I met him in a bar one time. He seemed to think nothing of what he did, but it killed me to see him destroy his life like that. I wish I had a greater influence over him. I wish someone was able to make him stop it. I’ve been to this graveside numerous times hoping that I could meet someone who knew him. Don’t ask me how many times. Now, here you are. Whatever you do, please don’t hate him. He was a good man underneath it all. Hatred only makes us bitter and twisted.”
A small teardrop formed in Melanie’s eye. What the war veteran said had made her feel proud. “Would you like to get something to eat? I would like to know more about him.” When she asked this question she felt like a young schoolboy asking out a good looking girl and fearing rejection. “I’m sorry I don’t even know your name.”
“My Mother named me Tobias but most people just call me Toby.”
“My name is Melanie by the way,” she said as she affectionately put her arm around his shoulder.
Twenty minutes later Melanie and the war veteran were seated at a café in the nearest town.
“Apart from him saving your life did you know my Father at all?” she asked
“Before that incident that I told you about, he was the life and soul of the party. He would tell tall tales, funny stories, play practical jokes but most of that changed after the incident. At the same time, he was quite humble. He never allowed anybody to thank him for anything. He was generous with his time. I couldn’t praise him highly enough. That day he could have saved his own skin but chose not to.” There was passion in his eyes as he said this but Melanie felt he needed to temper this with reality. Toby probably didn’t know her Father as well as her Mother did.
“You make him out to be some kind of hero, but he’s the same man who walked out on my Mother and I. He was far from perfect.”
“As I said, something changed in him after the incident. He became moody. He didn’t crack so many jokes and when I tried to thank him, he seemed to become all bitter like as if he hated his life and wished he’d never enlisted. Apparently he didn’t drink a drop of alcohol prior to the war but thereafter he was inseparable from a bottle of whiskey. I tried to reach him, to reach out to him but it only irritated him even more. After the war he never returned any of my letters or my phone calls. It’s not as if I called every week but it would have been nice to see the old Frank Chowdar come back to himself, but he never did. “
“There’s something I think you should have. After Frank died an ex-girlfriend of his gave me a diary he had been keeping. She charged me twenty bucks for it.” As he said this Toby produced a medium sized diary from his overcoat. “He mentions you in it several times.”
Melanie had always wondered what her biological Father really thought of her. Recent events had only increased her curiosity. She took the diary and thanked him for it. They chatted for a few more minutes about less serious topics before they went their separate ways. When Melanie got back to her car she opened the book and started to read from it.
It started in 1989 around the time Frank met Melanie’s mother.
“Still having nightmares,” he wrote. “I still haven’t had a good nights sleep in over a month. It’s like I never left the war behind, almost twenty years later. I met a beautiful young woman today, but nothing can cure me from the gunfire and the bombs that rain down on me every night. Not to mention the rain and the mud and the rations. Only the bad stuff remains. I seem to have forgotten the camaraderie in my dreams, the joking, the fun. It’s all misery. It might help if I gave up drinking for a little while. Sherrie has agreed to meet up for a date on Friday. She’s a Secretary in the Department of Health. She has a fine figure and beautiful blue eyes. She appears to love life and have a fine sense of humour. I don’t know what she might see in me.”
Melanie skipped ahead to July 7th 1995, her birthday.
“Today is the happiest day of my life. Today my daughter Melanie Catherine Chowdar was born. She is so beautiful. She gets that from her Mother of course. Seven pounds ten ounces. Perfectly healthy. Married life has not been as blissful as we would have hoped but today makes up for all the rows and moments of unhappiness. I want to be a good father to her and not drink a drop until the day I die. Sherrie has never looked more happy or more beautiful. We are both so proud. Tonight I look forward to tomorrow. I look forward to every minute I can spend with her and not dream of tanks, helicopters and gunfire.”
Melanie then skipped ahead six months to around the time of the split.
“Sherrie has decided to throw me out. I know she has a point. I’m not sure if I’m a greater pain in the ass with alcohol or without it. I can’t hold down a job. It’s three months now since I last worked. Sherrie has found a new man. He’s more successful and far wealthier than I can dream of. He’s probably a nice guy, but he muscled in on my girl and that will always stick in my throat. If I’m being honest, Sherrie and me have drifted apart. I only remember the rows now and cannot remember the last time we shared a laugh. I will miss Melanie. She is the reason I gave up the drink. I cannot bare to be away from her. It will be hard and I don’t know if I can cope without her.
Melanie turned to the last entry in the diary.
May 3rd 1996
“It’s been four months now since I last held my daughter. Sherrie hasn’t let me near her. I’ve been back on the drink now for three months. It’s my way of coping or not coping. Mizzy and I row nearly every day. She is fond of a tipple and likes to smoke. Most of our arguments are about smoking. It’s a disgusting habit in my opinion, even if it does keep her trim. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Melanie. I’d like to be there for her, but maybe I would only be a bad influence on her. Perhaps her Mother is right and Melanie would turn out better without me. Even I don’t like myself. I borrow money to flitter it away on drink. Even Mizzy is exasperated with me and her money that I spend on alcohol. Rarely a day goes by that I don’t hate myself.”
Melanie closed the diary. Started the car and drove away. In such a short space of time her opinion of her biological Father had changed utterly.
Once more Melanie Chowdar found herself waiting outside Reno’s Café on Upper 34th Street and once again her friend Cynthia was running late.
“Sorry I’m late,” the qualified Nurse said once again when she arrived fifteen minutes late. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it,” Melanie responded. “I should probably plan to take my lunch break at 1:15 from now on.”
“So anyway,” Cynthia said with a big smile on her face, “that ring is as big as my apartment. Congratulations once again. What did I tell you. He’s a keeper.”
Melanie became slightly embarrassed, but managed a smile. “Hey,” she said in a moment of inspiration, “you could be my bridesmaid.
“Don’t you think I’m a little tall and too old to be a bridesmaid?”
“Well you are getting on,” Melanie said in an effort to be humorous.
“Matron of honour, now there’s a task I couldn’t turn down,” Cynthia suggested with a smile on her face.
“Too late,” Melanie quipped sharply.
“So, how many people do I have to knock off to get the gig?”
“Well you are third choice.”
“Who’s first?” Cynthia asked with a roll of her eyes.
“Carol Ann.”
“I think I could take her,” the young nurse replied. “She is smaller than me after all.”
“She’s nimble on her feet though,” Melanie informed her potential bridesmaid. “She goes to the gym five times a week.”
“Nobody wants a Matron of Honour who’ll steal the bride’s thunder now do they? You’ll have to strike her off your list.”
It was at this moment that the same homeless man who had disturbed them once before approached. “Can you spare some change ladies?” he asked more in hope than in expectation.
“No,” Cynthia replied as she gestured with her cigarette holding hand. “Go away.”
As the man turned away, a thought entered Melanie’s mind. What if that’s my Father. She knew he wasn’t. She thought that maybe he was someone that deserved to be on the street, a total creep but the more she learned about her Father, the more she believed that he deserved another chance. “Wait,” she said aloud. “Here’s twenty dollars, go get yourself something to eat.”
“God bless you,” he replied without the semblance of a smile.
“You may as well have bought him a bottle of Vodka,” Cynthia responded after the man departed. “He’ll be back trust me. Once he finds a sucker like you, he’ll be back for more twenty dollar bills, maybe even fifties.”
“I know you wouldn’t approve, Cynthia but I found out more about my Father. My biological Father,” Melanie informed her friend.
“Oh, the one who ran out on you and your Mother when you were less than one. The one who died a bum,” Cynthia responded coldly.
“Yes that one,” Melanie responded in a slightly embarrassed manner. She anticipated that Cynthia wouldn’t understand but believed it was better to raise the subject than not at all.
“Well? Anything interesting?” Cynthia pried.
“Yes actually. He was a war hero. He fought in Vietnam.”
“Anybody who fights in a war these days is a hero,” Cynthia responded again in an unimpressed tone.
“Well he actually saved someone’s life and got shot for it. Apparently the war changed him. Before the war he was the life and soul of the party,” Melanie informed her friend. “Apparently he came back a different man.”
“Oh, well then,” Cynthia replied sarcastically.
As she spoke, Melanie had been nervously tapping her nails against the round steel table in front of her. She wished that someone could see things from her point of view.
“Why worry,” Cynthia advised her, “You’ve got a great Father, married to your Mother, so why chase that loser when he’s already dead. Even if your dead Father was at one time a decent bloke, it doesn’t make up for what he did to you and your mother. Don’t think that just because you give twenty dollars to that drunk to buy Vodka that you have done your good deed for the day. Only that bum can redeem himself. Anything you do for him or anything you think of doing for him is a waste of time and money. They have to want to turn their life around and trust me Melanie virtually none of them will do that.”
Melanie once had the same opinion about her Father and about the drunks on the street, but now she found herself in disagreement with Cynthia even if she was reluctant to say so.
Several minutes later both women had finished their meals and went their separate ways back to their place of work. Melanie passed by the same homeless man once more. She wondered about him. She wondered what his story was. Why was he on the street? Was he dangerous underneath it all? These and many other thoughts occupied her mind for several hours.
The following day Melanie decided to go back to the same café even though she had not arranged to meet Cynthia there. She was hoping to go there and meet the mysterious tramp once again. This time she hoped to talk to him and to find out more about him.
The young lawyer was half way through her Caesar Salad when she could see the destitute man walking in her general direction. He was about forty yards away when a gang of youths surrounded him and blocked his path.
The adolescents seemed to be taunting him and pushing him. They knocked some change from his hands to the ground and kicked some of the coins as they fell to the ground.
Melanie stood up and approached the gang. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said in an irate manner.”
“None of your business lady,” the tallest of the gang members said after turning his head around in her general direction. He was probably about six foot tall and seventeen years old with very shortly cropped red hair. Melanie gambled on him being harmless underneath it all.
After turning his head back to face the tramp, the leader, without saying anything further walked away and his companions followed him.
The homeless man seemed to be conflicted as to whether he should pick up the loose change that had fallen to the ground. Even he was not completely humble and seemed to feel embarrassed to pick them up.
“Let me buy you lunch,” Melanie suggested as she beckoned him to follow her back to the cafe.
The homeless man seemed surprised by this suggestion. “How about a whiskey?” he asked.
“I have no intention of feeding your drinking habit,” Melanie insisted bluntly.
“Then why did you give me the twenty bucks?” the destitute individual asked.
“Do you want something to eat or not?” As she asked this Melanie noticed that some of the other customers were put off by the state and odour of the wino standing next to her.
He hesitated before taking a seat and sitting down. “Well I should be resting my legs. Just spare me the Mother Teresa act.”
“What would you like to eat?” Melanie asked.
“A quarter pounder with cheese.”
A waiter came outside to wait on the tables and was initially taken aback by the appearance of the homeless man. After this slight hesitation, Melanie was glad to see that he adopted a professional attitude and approached the table
“What’s your name?” Melanie asked her guest as she turned her head back to the tramp.
“Todd,” he responded reluctantly.
Melanie addressed the waiter, “Can you get me the Americano Burger and ….” She turned to address Todd, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Strawberry Milkshake,” he replied.
The waiter appeared to want to leave the table as quickly as he could.
“So Todd, what’s your story? How did you get where you are today?”
“I’m an alcoholic. Isn’t that perfectly obvious. What is this? Oprah Winfrey? I suppose you think I was once a good guy. Well everyone said I was always an asshole who didn’t deserve any better. I had a wife and kid and spent most of my time in the local pub with a whiskey by my side.”
Todd was unshaven, with a large dark beard, and smears of dirt on his face and tattered clothing. His shoes and his socks had holes in them and were on the verge of falling apart. His demeanour wasn’t entirely unfriendly. Melanie didn’t think for a second that he was dangerous and she was intrigued by him.
“What made you turn to drink?”
“Alcohol was always in my blood. Some days were better than others. Some years were better than others. It’s like a poison that’s hard to get out of the system. Part of me wants you to give me twenty bucks part of me doesn’t. I was never any goddam good. My wife hates me. My son hates me. They moved away. I don’t even know where they are. If they couldn’t help me change no one could.”
Suddenly beneath the tough exterior, Melanie could sense that Todd cared about his life. Unfortunately, up to this point he didn’t care enough to fight his addiction and win. Melanie wasn’t sure of what she was doing. To an extent she hoped that she could help to turn Todd’s life around but didn’t know if she herself would have the tenacity or the required influence to do it.
“You don’t seem to me to be someone, who is completely dead on the inside. There’s always hope that you can overcome it.”
“Like I expected, you think you’re Mother Teresa. It isn’t a light switch you can turn on. I have no home, no clothes worth talking about and this vice I have will always suffocate me no matter how hard I try. Please, change the subject. How are the Knicks doing lately?”
“Hold on, let me consult my phone,” Melanie suggested as she removed her phone from her handbag. There was a brief moment, when the young Lawyer saw Todd’s reaction to her phone, that she wondered if he thought it was worth stealing.
“What do you like to talk about anyway,” she asked as she proceeded to look at the NBA standings.
“Sport,” he said abruptly.
“I guess that rules me out of the equation,” she replied. “Anything else?”
“Look, I’m not hungry after all. I’ve got to earn enough money to get by. Thanks for the offer but no thanks.”
Melanie’s heart sank as she saw him walk away. This was going to be harder than she thought. She was now late for work. She stood up and went back inside to inform the waiter and pay the full cost.
As she walked back to her office, Melanie wondered whether she was naive. Todd could, underneath it all, be a violent man. There must be some reason why his wife and kid abandoned him. At least he seemed to be an honest sort. He didn’t spin her a story, saying that he always wanted a second chance. Melanie had a perception that most homeless men and women whether they were alcoholic or drug addicted were dishonest and would lie cheat or steal just to get their next fix. Recently however she was questioning this belief.
Although Melanie didn’t want to admit to it, part of her wondered about what other people would think. As she left the café, many onlookers stared at her. She knew also, that Cynthia, her employers and her family would not be impressed. This was the main thing holding her back from helping Todd.