The Black Ice under Pure Snow

A stranger walked into "O'Malley's Bar". He took off his soaked cap. His whiskers were so heavy with snow, you could only see his haunted dark eyes.

Johnny, the bartender asked, "What can I get to warm your belly?"

"Coffee would be fine, thanks."

"No hair of the dog?"

"No thanks, son," the man brought out a pipe.
The smell of cherry tobacco filled the room.

George Worley and John Fisher were drinking Boilermakers at the other end of the bar. Friday was pay day. After giving their wives grocery money, they had cash. Today, most of them spent the day splitting wood and hunting. Tonight, they had earned the right to party.

There were four guys at the pool tables. The night always started friendly with a soothing buzz of conversation. The men bantered about their work week and families. Then the subjects changed to ballgames, politics and union talk.

As more liquor was consumed, guys would develop what Johnny called "beer muscles". Some guy accused another bloke of hitting on his girl. Usually, it was just innocent flirtation. Most of them had known each other since grade school and even dated each others' girlfriends at one time.

Families had long standing feuds from the past, reasons often forgotten could turn grown men into foolish children. Pool cue sticks could become deadly weapons, taking out an eye on one occasion. Johnny hadn't been a bartender then. He had just returned from Vietnam and was with some other vets. It was a local man, Paul Witner, who had a reputation as a trouble maker that couldn't hold his booze. After a half dozen beers with shots of whiskey, he started looking anxiously around.

Paul walked up to Casey Pringle, another local guy that worked with Paul at the GM auto plant. Casey was a quiet guy, usually sat at the bar, smoking a cigarette, watching television featuring sports or news.
Paul slapped Casey on the back, "Man, you sure are a sneaky little liar for a nerd. I hear you been screwing round with Tom Logan's woman, Lisa".
Casey started shaking his head, "You got the wrong guy! I don't even know her."
"It's all over the plant bout you and her. Tom's a good friend and I otta teach you a lesson bout whorin' around!"

Casey got to his feet and put some bills on the bar. He thanked the bartender and turned towards the door. He didn't make it. Everything happened so fast that no one reacted. Johnny told the cops how Paul had planted his meaty fist into Casey's abdomen. By the time Casey struggled to his feet, Paul had a pool stick and was swinging it wildly. His movements were erratic and sloppy. Casey let out a gutteral sound of pain, like an animal caught in a trap. Blood poured from his right eye.

Johnny learned a lesson that day. You have to always be alert in life. He knew that one from being in the jungles but thought he could relax at home. It turned out that Casey was innocent yet he lost the sight in his eye. He had to go on disability and Johnny never saw him back in the bar. As for Paul, he went to prison for three years and no one saw him after he was released. All in less than an hour, two lives were completely changed.

Now, this stranger seemed at home in the bar, chuckling at the antics although not interested in joining the men. He had been there and done that. He looked thirty-five but had the eyes of a wiser man that had seen the rough life of a fifty year old. He had scars on his forehead and chin, perhaps a fight or two. He also had a navy tatto, an anthor with a blade dripping crimson blood. On the other foream was the name of a woman 'Rosalee' with a rose intertwined with a vine.

Johnny asked the man, "You passing through?"

The man said, "I came to see my daughter and grandchildren. They aren't interested. I don't blame them though".

"How long since you seen them?"

"Bonnie was five when I hit my lovely Rosalee. I thought I had seen her with some bloke. It was the booze with jealous eyes. I hit my own darlin' wife and they put me in the paddy. She died from cancer a week ago."

Tears ran freely down his face into his icy beard.

"I was let out of the joint today. I came here to remind me. Poison can kill a man's soul."

He picked up his hat and walked out into the snow.

No one had asked his name.

The men became very quiet when the fellow spoke about his wife.
Most had young families.

One by one they filed quietly out of the door. Something had changed in their hearts that night.

On a normal night, they probably would have drank more and then split up to party at one of the single mens' house. Chances are good they would have stumbled in their own doors drunk. Their wives would have covered them up on the sofa in their damp clothes. That is if their wives weren't too angry.

The next day was Sunday and ten of those men got up and dressed in proper church clothing. They started the coffee and helped their wives dress the children for church. The women decided to keep quiet as if an angel had whispered gently in their ears.
The men held childrens' hands and when the call came to give their hearts to the Lord, they went to the alter.


By Kathie Stehr