You Can't Judge a...

You Can’t Judge a…

He had been at the Happy Valley Seniors Retreat for slightly less than two months now, but still very few of the people there, young staff or aged inhabitants, had ever heard him speak. And those that had wouldn’t call it conversational speech, but only a little more than a grunt in response to a question or comment. He never initiated a vocal interaction.

Sometimes people, and not just those who did not know his ‘real’ name of George, called him by the name of ‘Stones’ whenever they gossiped about him. One inmate, who always wore a suit, just called him ‘Stoner’. That was because he always carried five small, smooth stones in his left pocket. When he was sitting in his favourite chair in the common room, he would take them out and stare at them as if he was communicating with them in some way, or that he thought that they were communicating with him, giving him advice. One of those stones, a soft shade of brown, and very, very smooth, he would turn over and over again with his left hand, like it was a source of emotional comfort.  

He also always carried an old fountain pen with him (people wondered where he got the ink) in his right hand some scrap paper to write on, in his left. Some unkind people, including one staff member and one very sarcastic fellow elder, would say beyond his hearing, “Stones is writing a reminder for him to go for a pee. Otherwise he will forget and pee himself silly, and his favourite chair will have to be washed.” It spread throughout the home, like pee down a pantleg, as did many an insider joke.

The general consensus was in tea-time discussions of fellow inmates that there did not look like there were any significant problems with his body. Although George very much looked his age of 80 with his white hair and the wrinkles on his face and neck, no one had ever see him fall or even stumble. Although he usually walked slowly, there was no noticeable limp to his steps. And he regularly ate hardy meals. Still, most on the inmates who thought about him felt that the same could not be said of his mind. George did occasionally walk into a door when he had stones and paper in hand. And it had been a long time since anyone had tried to engage him in conversation, that included both staff and fellow elders alike. The most that was directed his way was a very slow ‘Could…..you…..pass….the….peas….please’ at the meal table, to which he promptly responded with a positive grunt and a passing of the peas.

On those few instances in which he was coerced into playing large crowd bingo, which the inhabitants were forced to engage in as their caretakers felt that all seniors got their weekly excitement from the game, the people sitting beside him would be instructed to say ‘bingo’ for him if the lineup of numbers was right. He never won, but his bingo table neighbours were always ready to call out the magic word for him. Some would even suggest that he put down his pen and put away his piece of paper, so that he could concentrate completely on the game.

For there was a faraway look in his eyes most of the time he was there, like his mind had wandered away and would not be coming back any time soon. 

When staff wanted him to go somewhere, say to crowd bingo, or to hear a visiting speaker, they would tell him, wait a few seconds, and then direct him with both hands so he would not go to the wrong place. He did not complain in response, he just followed where he was directed. He wasn’t difficult to handle in that way.

The Day of Great Revelation

Then came the day of the great revelation. He had visitors, which was certainly a first for him. To anyone’s knowledge, no friends or family had ever come to see him. His visitors on that day wore suits and one of them carried a book, which he handed over to George, like he was presenting him with an award. Then the people in the home saw a rare sight. George actually smiled, fully and completely, and even went so far as to actually hug the book, and then the one who presented the book to him. What’s more, he spoke to the visitors in coherent sentences, thanking them profusely for giving him a copy of his latest book. In his words, he was ‘over the moon’.

        Curiosity in the common room grew quickly. A small crowd slowly walked over towards the three men, to see what this was all about. They were surprised, close to being shocked when they read that the first name of the author on the book cover was ‘George’. Only the staff members knew that the second name of Smithson was his as well. That knowledge spread quickly.  Stones had written a book!

George Speaks

  Then George spoke to the growing audience. “I’m sure you guys and girls have been wondering what I have been doing, what with my ‘communicating with stones’, that has earned me the name “Stones.” I don’t mind that name. I’ve heard worse. I use them to help me focus on the books I write. It seemed to work with my first book, so I use them now for every book that I have written since. I will have my publisher bring copies of my books to the library here soon, for you to read.. Don’t worry, none of the characters in the book are based on my experiences with any of you good people. That would be nasty.

           I promise that I will be more of a ‘human being’ over the next few weeks. I always take a mental break after I have published a book. I can even hold a conversation. Thank you for your tolerance. Now I will introduce you to my five stones. Each of them has a name. I will begin with Alfred.” With those words he dug into his pocket and brought out a smooth light brown oval-shaped stone. No one left the room when he spoke of it.

           A new expression emerged in the Happy Valley Seniors Retreat, “Never judge an author by his stones.”