Bread
Short fiction by Don Brooks
Another guest post today. Everything I’m working on is too long or somehow too precious to put on substack right now. This is short fiction from my dad. He is extraordinarily talented. I don’t think I would be writing if it wasn’t for him.
You can find him on his instagram at @brooksdon for excellent amateur wildlife content. He isn’t on facebook so much anymore, but my favorite of his statuses was posted on Valentine’s day in 2015.
Please enjoy “Bread” by Don Brooks.
I saw him sitting on his porch as I turned the corner. He was there with the newspaper blocking his face a dog and a cup of coffee. There was a thermos on the ground beside him. A table next to his chair. On that table was another cup. I hoped it was for me.
I pulled in and turned my truck off. He didn’t look up but his puppy did. Wagging its tail but not moving from the side of his best friend.
‘Hey old timer,’ I shouted as I opened the gate that separated the fence and yard equally on each side and directed a sidewalk to his steps. No acknowledgement.
‘How’s things this morning? I offered. Hoping for a response that showed he was available today. Only then did his dog move toward me.
I reached down and patted the dog’s head.
‘Good to see you my friend, you’re looking fit’ I snuck him a treat.
‘You are going to make him fat!’ the old man said, folding the paper into his lap.
‘Fine, then he can catch up with you! I’ve an extra if you’ve been a good boy!’
He motioned me to the chair and pulled the thermos out and filled the empty cup.
‘Gonna rain today I hear,’ hands not as steady as they had once held the cup for me to grab.
‘So I see, you know the TV will give you more up to date information if you let them.’
Pulling a hankie out of his shirt pocket he wiped his glasses clean, He looked through the lenses for effect.
‘The day I have a TV is the day they bury me!’ He put the cloth back in his pocket.
I looked at his hands. His index finger and thumbs on both hands were scarred and beaten up pretty badly. He lacked an actual nail on his left index finger and boosted only half a thumb on his right.
‘Shall we begin?’ I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the app for recording and slid a reporter’s notebook from my jacket.
‘Tell me again where you started?’ I asked. Leaning slightly forward in the chair.
He looked somewhere to the middle distance and took a deep breath. We covered a broad range of topics in almost 4 hours. I mainly just listened studying in the orient before the war and then was trapped there. A draft notice somehow reached him but he didn’t know how to respond? He hid and eventually secured a job at an industrial bakery. He was lucky, he was on the first wave of new products available to the continent. Before 1932, most of the world, consumed its bread exclusively in loaf form, tearing off or pulling chunks as needed. Japan, ever steeped in tradition, was resistant to accepting such influence from the west. Sliced bread was introduced to the masses in 1950. It was thought that first white then the blessing that was wheat bread were huge successes. Soon, you couldn’t keep them away from trying dinner rolls, rye, practically every other option. He was the lone American in the biggest factory in the country making this new staple. Despite the fact he spoke none of the native language he was chosen as the spokesman. They dubbed his voice but he provided an anglo face to the brand. The extra pay supplemented his income as a twister. A ‘twister’ as he described was responsible for closing loaves of bread with the plastic wired tie. The same white, or colored tie, depending on the expiration date you see on some of the smaller brands today. This is how his hands became broken. Before automation, before the advent of technology. He was the best at his job. Entered in contests against other manufacturing reps and bested them by tying 86 loafs in 2 minutes. He admitted to getting cocky and trying to impress the women who would eventually become his wife. Showing up drunk he thought he could flirt and show off. Instead, after a flurry of reckless action, he’d damaged his hands to near unusability. She took pity on him and with her help, because he was a pro, he mastered his skill even with ruined hands. It wasn’t until the introduction of the plastic clips that he stopped working. Deemed a hero and industry legend he was awarded a modest pension. He eventually moved with his bride to the fishing village Kyoto.
‘I used to joke that we moved there because it had the same letters as Tokyo and therefore meant I didn’t have to learn anything new!’ he said, smiling.
‘When did you leave Japan?’
‘It was after she died,’ he looked at his hands.
‘I had no reason to stay, you know what I mean?’
I nodded. I reached for a ready tissue from my pocket.
I knew it was time to come home then.
‘And what did the military say?’
‘What were they going to say?’ He looked at me with red eyes.
‘By the time I came back that war was over. We had already been in Vietnam for 15 years. I mean if you count Cambodia. Anyway with these, he held up his hands, what were they going to try and make me do?What would the press have said? The illegitimate son of FDR was living with a Japanese bride during the war. Kind of strange,don’t you think?’
He started to laugh but doubled over in a coughing fit.
‘Sorry about that son, you know, with age comes some problems!’
‘Time for me to head out, I have to make my deadline!’ I stood to leave.
‘You come back again soon and I’ll show you my birth certificate and letters dad used to send me!’ the old man promised as he leaned back in his chair.
“I sure will!’ I shook his hand. ‘Thanks for sharing with me.’
“Anytime, anytime. Come on zeke, let’s get inside.’
He stood and a woman in a white uniform appeared at the door.
‘Time for your nap!’ she smiled at the old man. He nodded and lifted his body from the chair.
Thank you she mouthed to the younger man as he stood watching her help him inside.
‘It always brings him so much joy to see you. The nurse said. ‘How is your mom?’
‘Oh she’s fine. A little under the weather today but she’s ok.’
‘Please give me a big hug for me, won’t you?’
‘Of course!, same time on Tuesday?’
‘Of course. He will be so glad to see you.’
I smiled and waved.
Quickly dialing the phone it rang twice then a hello. I had already removed the weathered employee ID badge from my wallet. Yamazaki Baking, Tokyo, Japan.
‘Just saw dad. I think it’s time we think about a memory care facility.’