Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

to a fairly-large, round, blond-wood table, in the far corner. Atop the table was the largest. most ornate, emerald-green, table lamp he’d ever seen. The immense, gleaming—all-white—shade was simply dazzling! Already, he’d become completely enchanted! He sat himself down.

His hostess seated herself—ever-so-demurely—on the sofa, across the room, from him. Beneath the large window—looking out, onto the front lawn. She flattened her skirt, over her lap, and leaned forward—her elbows resting on top of the front portion, of her thighs. Her chin wound up—cupped, in the palms of her two rather-tiny hands.

“So,” she began. “You are… did you say your name was… was Jason?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Jason Rutkowski.”

“Jason, hmmmm.” It was almost as though she was chewing—gnoshing—his name over. And over and over! “Hmmm,” she finally observed. “I’ve never actually known anyone… anyone named Jason. Don’t know as I’ve ever even heard of anyone… who was called Jason. Unusual name. Really unusual! Where did the name come from?”

The new-arrival knew—that he would have to be careful! Exceptionally cautious! Obviously, his name was so—so—well, so 21st century. Or, maybe, late 20th century. Either way, it might be a hazard for him. He’d not thought about it, but—upon reflection—he supposed that Jason would not be a really popular name, in his new era. Undoubtedly, it was most uncommon!

He’d have to come up with some plausible reason—for being so named. He’d probably have to invent some plausible origin—for this moniker. Undoubtedly, he would be forced—to invent its genesis! Fashion a bogus history! Whole cloth! Or, possibly, change his name to Paul, or something.

“Well,” he blurted—after a hopefully-disguised, frenzied, 15—or 20-second interlude, of panicked silence, “I think it was my grandma. My dear grandmother, you know. According to my folks, she’d been, in some place… some town, or maybe it was an inn, or a hotel, or something… way out west. And she had gotten… gotten all kind-of-taken-up… taken-up, with the name. Didn’t have any boys, of her own, y’know… so, she kind of prevailed on my own mother to stick me, with the name. Never really had that many people, to ask me about it, though.”

“Hmmm. Interesting. Now, you say that you need a room? Need to rent a room? For how long?”

“Uh… well… for… well, kind of indefinitely. I’d be looking to stay here… a really nice place, like this… I’d be looking to stay here for, really, a good long time. Years, maybe.”

Those last two words did not register well—with his potential landlady! She didn’t evolve into a full-scale shudder! But, she sat, bolt-up, straight—and folded her arms, across her bosom! Not a good sign!

“That is,” he hurriedly added, “unless you’d get tired of me… and would wind up throwing me out! Running me off! Listen, Mrs. Atkinson. Just from seeing, only this part of the house… and, of course, all of the outside… this would be just the kind, of place. The exact kind, of a place… where I’d love to live. Again, that’s… if you’ll have me. And… if you’ll keep me.”

“The six dollars.” she pressed. “Is that all right? I mean, rooms are getting kind of hard to find now… what with the war going on, and all. Apartments are practically impossible, to locate. Well, I guess, so are houses… ones that might be for rent. You might think that six dollars a week is a little steep. Especially since it’s not a room-and-board arrangement. But, I’d have to say that I…”

“Oh, sure! Listen! Six dollars is… is fine! Look, Mrs. Atkinson. I don’t want to try and do anything… under any kind of false pretenses. I only have not-quite-fifteen dollars on me, right now. But, I’ll be glad to give you the first week’s rent right now. Right this minute. Second week too… if you’d like.”

“No, the six would be fine. Will be fine. Tell me, Mister Rutkowski… Jason… where do you work?”

“Uh… well, you see? That’s just it! I really don’t have a… a job. Not yet, anyway. But, you see, I’m…”

“Don’t have a job? That’s a bit of a surprise. Well, more . . . than just a bit! Things have begun to… to really open up here, you know. Over the past year or so. What with the war coming, and all. And now… that it’s here. All the automobile plants, y’know, they’re all switching over… to building tanks, and planes and guns and ammunition. And stuff like that.”

“Yes, I know. It shouldn’t take me long to…”

“My husband, you know, is in construction. He’s always busy! Fanny-deep… in stuff to build. Buildings… and factories… don’t you see. His company… it’s really booming! Well, actually, the whole construction field… is all booming. Right now, Eric’s building a huge munitions factory. Out on West Chicago… down near Schaeffer Highway.”

“That sure doesn’t surprise me. After all, Detroit is the ‘Arsenal of Democracy’.”

That was probably another bad move. The “arsenal” label had been one he’d heard his granddad use—many, many times! Could it be, that he was sitting, in a period—before the term had become part of the lexicon? His hoped-for landlady seemed to have, once again, been taken more-than-slightly-aback. However, this time, she appeared to be rallying—albeit slowly:

“All the guys… all the able-bodied men… they all seem to be, in the service now,” she’d quickly responded. “Or, at least, it’s starting to get that way. So, I must say… I really don’t understand… don’t understand your not having a job. Anybody… anybody . . . who wants to work, y’know, they certainly can work! Can get work! Can find work! Pretty easily! And I…”

“Oh, I will! I’ll get me a job! Just as soon, as…”

“Just as soon as what? Look, Mister Rutkowski… Jason… maybe we’d just better…”

“NO!” His response was too quick! Too panic-filled! And he knew it! “Please,” he continued—in what he’d hoped was a much more reasoned tone. “Please, Mrs. Atkinson! Please! Listen! I need a room… a place to stay! Need it in the worst way! And this place is… !” He was panicking, more and more! The entire interview—was fraught, with landmines!