Life in a Thrashing Machine | Page 4

a few weeks. The longest stay-over was in Kitchener, but after a month he just could not stand the better-than-thou, snobby attitude of the Germanic majority living there. Naturally, he moved, yet again.
What was disheartening for the twenty-year-old Henry, was that from all the travelling and walking that he was doing, about the only shoes he got to repair were his own.
No one liked foreigners, so he found, and that was particularly true for those who could not speak the English language very well. Kitchener was a small city that was no different than others through which he passed. Here, in this city, if one were a German and had a difficult time with English, that was just fine. Henry's German left a lot to be desired, too. At any rate; no other foreigners were regarded as intelligent or trustworthy-not even young labourers that possessed a necessary craft or skill.
Finally, Henry left and went to a small town, north of Kitchener, called Salem. On the way to Salem, Henry managed to meet up with the town smith who worked on the local farmers' horses, farm equipment and other such machinery.
Returning to Salem from Kitchener, Karl Sanders gave Henry a lift in the automobile that he had made and they got to know one another fairly well after that. Karl allowed Henry to stay in the spare room of the service station and livery that he owned in town. Until Henry established himself, some of the little work he found, provided him with room and board, as well as with some money, which allowed him to buy leather and tools to make, and repair shoes. A few years passed and Henry fell in love with the daughter of the town Pastor, who under Karl's request began to teach Henry how to read, to write and to speak in proper English. Her feelings for Henry were mutual, and in his third year of living in Salem they married and proverbially, lived happily-ever-after.
Henry understood what Vlad was going through in his life right now. He saw Vlad was a bright, well-educated young man. Like himself, he needed a helping hand from the outside to prove himself. Henry's star had shone for him, first through Karl Sanders' help and then through the love that he shared with his dearest late wife, Penelope.
"Don't worry, Vlad. You'll get a job soon. It may even be in the music business!" Henry tried to be encouraging and supportive.
"I can only hope, Henry!" Vlad said with a sigh.
Henry served another customer while Vlad nursed the half-empty cup in front of him. He stared deep into the cup and watched the darkness near the bottom. He felt as if he were staring into a black hole that had a grab on him, and that was pulling him deeper and deeper into an unknown void. "Like a refill - on me?" Henry asked him, seeing that Vlad's contours were blank and flushed. He called to him and once more repeated his offer. "Vlad!" he said and watched Vlad jerk his head up towards him. "Would you like that refilled? My treat."
Vlad hopelessly smirked and tipped his head in acceptance.
"Thanks!" he said.
"What planet were you on, just now?" Henry joked with him.
"I don't know. I wonder if I am even in this same dimension." he chuckled back at Henry.
Henry looked a little pensive as he filled Vlad's cup to the very rim. He set the glass pot back on the hot-plate of the drip machine and then leaned closer towards him.
"Are you on drugs or something, Vlad?" Henry asked him in a serious and worried sounding voice.
The question made Vlad laugh a little and he patted Henry on the shoulder.
"Of course, not. I thought that you knew me better than that, Henry."
Henry grinned and cleared his throat a little.
"It's just that you seem really down today. More than usual, I mean!" he said and Vlad nodded. "You can be a great man some day, Vlad. But you won't be anything if you permit yourself fall into ruin."
Vlad downed the rest of the coffee and stretched his arms, a little.
"I've been tired lately. You know. When someone doesn't have anything to look forward to, or has something to do, you just kind of . . . waste-away!"
"You're too serious for your own good, son. Just you wait and see . . . one day everything will turn-out for you and you'll look back at today and say to yourself 'boy, was I dumb.' Live life, Vladimir. Go home and work some more on that Musical that you told me about. You're not working, so you may as well. You won't accomplish anything by waiting around and brooding. Put your emotions into your music-it could only benefit you, in the long run."
Vlad balanced his