Eye of the Beholder - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

I love fishing. So when my wife, Ethel, started to give me a hard time that morning, I went anyway. Let me start at the beginning. I have this sister. My only one. When her husband passed on, both Ethel and me tried to get her to move south, to be near us.

“His grave is here in Bridgeport. How can I leave him?” she asked.

Finally, a few years later, with letters and phone calls, we convinced her. The day she was supposed to arrive by train, no less, was the day I went fishing.

“I have to pick up some bait at the tackle shop. I’ll be gone maybe and hour, hour and a half. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time.”

And I was. We both went to the railroad station and I have to tell you, it was a shock. Of course, I hadn’t seen her since the funeral and, naturally, then she didn’t look so good, but now! How can I describe it? Now, she looked like our Uncle Simon. We used to, when we were kids, laugh ourselves silly at his looks. She was dressed fashionably enough, and looked in pretty good shape, but the face! What was I going to tell Jake?

Jake is our next-door neighbor. Lost his wife a year ago. The ladies have been after him hot and heavy. But he doesn’t seem to get up much enthusiasm for any of them. I told him about my sister. How good-natured she is. Never gets mad. A sweet woman, really. He said, sure he’d like to meet her.

After, when we got home from the railroad station, I rushed Frances inside, saying the trip must have tired her, and maybe she wanted to rest.

“I’m not tired, Herbert. Please don’t fuss over me. I’m the big sister; remember? What a nice place you have! Oh, and your patio. How lovely.”

While my wife was showing her around I slipped next door to Jake’s.

“Jake, I know we’re good friends, but if my sister is not your type, and, well…you don’t have to feel like we expect you to…”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, interrupting me. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll be over later and you’ll introduce me.”

What could I say? I hurried back to our apartment, nervous as a cat.

“Herbert, why are you sweating?” my wife asks. “Are you feeling all right?”

Later, everything turned out just like I expected. Jake, who happens to be a very handsome man for his age, or any age, comes in. We introduce them. My wife puts out some refreshments. But I could tell. He was very friendly, but he was just being polite. My sister was her usual sweet self, expecting nothing and getting exactly that. He excused himself after a while and from then on became scarce.

One morning, after they finished their game of tennis and while my sister was in the shower, my wife corners me.

“Herbert, forge about finding someone for your sister. She’s very happy the way she is. You know she always asked little of life.”

“I’m not just doing it just for her. It’s for us, too. Don’t you understand? She’s planning to move down here, right? Well, we may have room here but…you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” she said, thinking about it. “I do.”

I didn’t feel like hanging around, so later I called up one of the guys. They were all meeting at the pier to do some fishing.

On the way to the tackle shop I tried to get my mind off serious things by playing out how the afternoon was going to be. Meeting the guys. Kidding around. I start baiting my hook with the live shrimp. Cast off. The ocean should be calm and clear today. Like a lake. And with the sun on my back and cool breezes, I’m feeling free as a boy. Then there’s that pull on my line!

I get to the tackle shop. It’s very crowded. I start looking around. So many things they sell here. A man standing next to me says, “Excuse me, can you tell me what this price is? I’m a little farsighted.”

I tell him the price thinking, why doesn’t he get bifocals like the rest of us.

“I can’t get used to glasses,” he says, like he was reading my mind.

I began to study him. Healthy-looking. Well-dressed.

“Do you drive?” I ask him.

“I beg your pardon?” he says.

“I mean, if you have trouble with you eyes I was just wondering if…”

“Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I drive. Not much. Only short trips.”

“So when you’re in a store I suppose your wife usually helps you?”

“I don’t have a wife. No, I take along my magnifying glass, but this time I must have left it at home. I really would like to meet a nice woman, you know. Someone pleasant. Not with a hot temper.”

I began to sweat.

“Warm in here,” I say, wiping my forehead “You know, it’s funny you should mention this. I happen to have a lovely sister who is visiting us right now. Maybe you’d like to meet here.”

“Why, that’s very kind of you,” he answers.

“I’ll give you my address and phone number. By the way, my name is Herbert Cohen. And yours?”

“Hempel. Si Hempel,” he says, shaking my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Herbert. I have to tell you. I don’t really enjoy living alone. What is the lovely lady’s name?”

“Lily,” I tell him.

“What a beautiful name. Would tomorrow afternoon be all right?”

Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.

Eye of the Beholder by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb