Passage
christopher woods
They were young, in their mid-twenties, probably. They drove an old blue Chevrolet truck. Between them, on the seat, sat a brown dog, some sub-phylum of terrier. All this rounded the corner and came to a quiet halt. Then I saw why. They stopped to look at a mattress that leaned against a tree. The matress had been abandoned there, left to stand against that tree, a few days before.
Some of us along the street had discussed the mattress. We wondered who had left it there. No one would admit to owning it, or having put it there. No one. It had just appeared, standing side by side with an oak tree, in the yard of a small apartment house. It didn't seem to be going anywhere else.
The couple climbed out of their truck to get a better look at that mattress. They climbed out on either side and closed the doors behind them. The dog turned around and, with his head resting on the back of the seat, watched them through the rear window. He would have to watch the mattress inspection from the sidelines, it seemed.
I had been washing the car. But watching that couple with the mattress, beginning to touch it somehow hopefully, was more interesting. I went inside my house and watched them through a window.
Maybe, I considered, this was none of my business. Somehow, I felt this was a private moment. And it was. Of inspection for them, of observation for me. There are so many of these private moments, don't you think? Who can know how many? But what truly amazes me is how many seem to talke place in public, in full view of anyone who cares to look. And another thing comes to me, that we are better off because of this.
The young couple studied the mattress with a great seriousness. At that moment, nothing else in their lives was so important. Standing in that yard, it was like they were in a store. They looked it over for quality, durability, the promise of long, peaceful sleep. And they did all this without a word passing between them.
When a word did pass, it was the man saying something to the woman. I was not close enough to hear. To me, it sounded like a kind of grunt. Then the woman replied with a similar sound. They had apparently reached some kind of decision.
There was no hesitation then. The man reached out and embraced the mattress with both hands. He lifted it off the ground and away from the tree. Into the air. The woman, maybe concerned that it was too heavy for him, tried to help. She held one side of the mattress with her fingertips. She wasn't much help to him, of course, but it must have made her feel a part of it. Of helping. Some things, I knew, were simply matters of spirit.
The mattress flew slowly throug hthe air, at last coming to rest in the back of the blue truck. It made a hush sound as it settled into the bed. The dog, head cocked to one side, watched it all.
Their work done, the couple took a last look around the yard, then up the street in either direction. I wondered if they cared that someone might be watching them. Or maybe they were thinking that this same street might provide an additional treasure or two.
A few seconds later, they turned to go. The man followed the woman to her side of the truck. As she began to climb in, I noticed for the first time that she was pregnant. The man was making sure that nothing went wrong. The man then closed the door and started around the truck to his side.
He took the back way to check on the mattress again. He made sure the tailgate was closed tight. Certain everything was ready, he gave the mattress a kind of slap, I don't know what else to call it. A slap. Nothing cruel or hard, but more a slap of waking, was how it seemed.
I thought of a doctor slapping a baby to clear the lungs. This man slapped that mattress three r four times, until he was satisfied. Until it seemed right.
