The Landlord
I park by the curb and see in the mirror Mrs. Clement pulling up behind me in her sporadic Oldsmobile. I call it “sporadic” because its wipers work on and off. “No mechanic can fix it,” boasts Mrs. Clement. When it rains and they don’t, she quiets her seated beside husband that she’ll look between the drops.
Not quite out of her car, she:
“And-what-is-this?”
“This, Mrs. Clement, is a fishing rod with tackle. Folded. Just purchased it for an incredible bargain price.”
The price actually was neither incredible nor a bargain, just average. But I like treating country Americans to those “incredible” sale occasions, because it makes them so unrestrainedly happy. Their blood revs up and “your kidding me, your kidding me!,” they revel at the mention of a someone they might not even know, not even heard of, getting something for less. Oh, the joy, the bliss, the ecstasy! Whether they are indoors or outdoors, clening or watching, standing or lying, they just can’t contain themselves. They-are-happy! No jealousy, no envy, just pure joy that this world – this country, kids, this country – is so well disposed toward them. They’re pleased with another’s success, because intuitively, and from experience, they know that it will not shorten them. On the contrary, in some multifunctional communal sense, they will gain from it.
That’s what he felt when he was putting that down, I’m sure:
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.