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The Hibernaculum
The Hibernaculum (Lexington Avenue Express - Short Fiction)
Cruel illness had taken Albert's wife that first year, the year they had purchased their dream; just west of the main Houston ship channel, three slips, one covered dry-dock, and a small workshop tucked beneath a modest elevated cottage.
After his wife's death, time had passed slowly for Albert, his shallow breath spanning the changing seasons. To survive, he'd constructed a piecemeal existence improvised from the ordinary -- alcohol, television, work, junk-food, sleep; such was his armor.
"No, this is Pfister's Engine Repair. Gough sold this building to me three years ago," Albert said, speaking too loudly into the telephone wedged between his shoulder and his stubble-covered chin.
"Nope, Gough went out of the import business and moved back to Australia," Albert continued in a semi-shout. "Last I heard he was living north of Perth; works for some sort of zoo or something. I've got a telephone number for him there if you want."
Albert Pfister gazed out the kitchen window as a battered tug passed by, diesel engine clattering, bludgeoning its way toward the setting sun with steady, brute force. As usual, Albert was a little drunk; several moments passed before he found the postcard with the phone number and returned to the line.
"No problem," he finally said. "Tell Gough 'hello' for me if you reach him." With this final comment, Albert placed the phone in the cradle and sat heavily at the kitchen table, his fingertips absently following the contours of the nearly empty Jack Daniels bottle resting in front of him.
"No ice on the pier this morning," Albert said to the bottle. "The weather's getting better and Daugherty's bringing his 32-footer in tomorrow; top-end overhaul on twin 3208-diesels, that'll be a good job. Four good working days and we'll be in the money," he smiled faintly, pouring the last of the bourbon into his coffee mug.
*****
Her third winter on the dock had passed slowly, spanning the frigid months as she waited patiently for spring's arrival. This year she'd quietly relocated to the second floor, seldom venturing from her modest comforts. She'd grown accused to this new place. The activities of her neighbors seldom disturbed her; she was content, peaceful.
*****
March 15, ‘Beware the Ides,’ Albert smiled to himself as he readied breakfast. The weather was warming but the portable kerosene heater in the kitchen had run out of fuel during the night. Albert could see his vaporous breath as he busied about the kitchen stepping lightly over the steel grating of the long-dormant floor furnace.
"Wish you were in working order on a morning like this," he said to the defunct furnace as he stood atop its grate looking down into the darkness. He could feel deep grooves, rectangles forming on the bottom of his wool socks as he paused there, pouring his first long draft of Jack-Black for the day.
"Where are you, Chester?" Albert called. From the bedroom, Chester responded with a hearty meow. "Here's your breakfast, your highness," Albert smiled, carrying a bowl of fishy-smelling something toward the bedroom door. "I'm not serving breakfast in bed this morning, big boy; I gotta get to work."
Albert was concerned about his old cat; he hoped Chester wasn't dying. The old cat had been behaving strangely for months now. Chester had always roamed freely but these days he seldom ventured from the foot of Albert's bed.
Cruel illness had taken Albert's wife that first year, the year they had purchased their dream; just west of the main Houston ship channel, three slips, one covered dry-dock, and a small workshop tucked beneath a modest elevated cottage.
After his wife's death, time had passed slowly for Albert, his shallow breath spanning the changing seasons. To survive, he'd constructed a piecemeal existence improvised from the ordinary -- alcohol, television, work, junk-food, sleep; such was his armor.
"No, this is Pfister's Engine Repair. Gough sold this building to me three years ago," Albert said, speaking too loudly into the telephone wedged between his shoulder and his stubble-covered chin.
"Nope, Gough went out of the import business and moved back to Australia," Albert continued in a semi-shout. "Last I heard he was living north of Perth; works for some sort of zoo or something. I've got a telephone number for him there if you want."
Albert Pfister gazed out the kitchen window as a battered tug passed by, diesel engine clattering, bludgeoning its way toward the setting sun with steady, brute force. As usual, Albert was a little drunk; several moments passed before he found the postcard with the phone number and returned to the line.
"No problem," he finally said. "Tell Gough 'hello' for me if you reach him." With this final comment, Albert placed the phone in the cradle and sat heavily at the kitchen table, his fingertips absently following the contours of the nearly empty Jack Daniels bottle resting in front of him.
"No ice on the pier this morning," Albert said to the bottle. "The weather's getting better and Daugherty's bringing his 32-footer in tomorrow; top-end overhaul on twin 3208-diesels, that'll be a good job. Four good working days and we'll be in the money," he smiled faintly, pouring the last of the bourbon into his coffee mug.
*****
Her third winter on the dock had passed slowly, spanning the frigid months as she waited patiently for spring's arrival. This year she'd quietly relocated to the second floor, seldom venturing from her modest comforts. She'd grown accused to this new place. The activities of her neighbors seldom disturbed her; she was content, peaceful.
*****
March 15, ‘Beware the Ides,’ Albert smiled to himself as he readied breakfast. The weather was warming but the portable kerosene heater in the kitchen had run out of fuel during the night. Albert could see his vaporous breath as he busied about the kitchen stepping lightly over the steel grating of the long-dormant floor furnace.
"Wish you were in working order on a morning like this," he said to the defunct furnace as he stood atop its grate looking down into the darkness. He could feel deep grooves, rectangles forming on the bottom of his wool socks as he paused there, pouring his first long draft of Jack-Black for the day.
"Where are you, Chester?" Albert called. From the bedroom, Chester responded with a hearty meow. "Here's your breakfast, your highness," Albert smiled, carrying a bowl of fishy-smelling something toward the bedroom door. "I'm not serving breakfast in bed this morning, big boy; I gotta get to work."
Albert was concerned about his old cat; he hoped Chester wasn't dying. The old cat had been behaving strangely for months now. Chester had always roamed freely but these days he seldom ventured from the foot of Albert's bed.
22 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 26, 2011
2 people want to read
About the author
Jess Butcher
49 books2 followersJESS Butcher is the author of three Mike Bishop novels, SUN DOG, SIDEWINDER REQUIEM, and MULESHOE. In addition, Butcher has published FINAL THOUGHTS and 17, short fiction anthologies that feature titles from his Lexington Avenue Express series.
All of Butcher's titles are available on the Kindle e-Reader; SUN DOG, SIDEWINDER REQUIEM, MULESHOE and FINAL THOUGHTS are also available in Paperback.
Please note: Lexington Avenue Express and Canal Street Station titles are short fiction. These short story titles range from 1,200 to 4,000 words in length.
You may contact Jess Butcher by email at:
jessbutcher.home@gmail.com
www.jessbutcher-author.com.
All of Butcher's titles are available on the Kindle e-Reader; SUN DOG, SIDEWINDER REQUIEM, MULESHOE and FINAL THOUGHTS are also available in Paperback.
Please note: Lexington Avenue Express and Canal Street Station titles are short fiction. These short story titles range from 1,200 to 4,000 words in length.
You may contact Jess Butcher by email at:
jessbutcher.home@gmail.com
www.jessbutcher-author.com.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
February 28, 2017
Effe
Exciting little episodes just for thrills. The author certainly catches the jugular of the righteously inclined Readers in just a few pages
Exciting little episodes just for thrills. The author certainly catches the jugular of the righteously inclined Readers in just a few pages
Displaying 1 of 1 review