Father Briar and The Angel (12 page)

He’d put a big,
hand-painted sign behind the cash register that read “No Gambeling”
and he was stout and steadfast in his refusal to change the
misspelling.

“
The whole sign is a joke
anyway,” he’d say. He’d put it up because some of the guys liked to
‘shake’ to see who has to pay. Ty Olsen, Bjorn’s most enthusiastic
and regular customer, always had a pair of dice in the front pocket
of his flannel shirt. Low roll paid. While he found it hugely
entertaining, the practice wasn’t too profitable for the owner,
though, because these guys can drink a lot of coffee and refills
are always free.

Some of the other men found
that sinful, since it is a form of gambling. They always paid for
their own, or if they were feeling especially generous that
morning, would pay for their neighbor. Now, these positions could
change as quickly as the weather, just for the sake of
argument.

While the coffee was
strong, it wasn’t caffeine that fuelled the social set at Bjorn’s,
no, it was jovial disagreements. Fellows would often change sides
of the argument they were continuing from the morning before, just
for the sake of novelty.

Bjorn’s was known for its
extravagant dishes and huge spreads on the weekends, and this
weekend was no different. As bored as everybody else by the
stifling winter weather, he was looking to stir up a little
entertaining trouble, and had decided to play host to an impromptu,
but carefully set up and manipulated by Bjorn himself, eating
contest between Dale, “the Bishop of Glutton,” as Bjorn loved to
call him, and the Ty the Taxidermist.

Each Saturday evening
people from all over the county descended on the cafe for Bjorn’s
weekly smorgasbord. Instead of the not-so-clean men in their dirty
overalls driving their farm trucks, these people drive up in their
Chevy four-door sedans and parked on the dusty main street. Most of
the time, there were at least 4 people in each car because friends
come together for this Saturday night outing. The men are wearing
clean plaid shirts, or maybe even a church-worthy white shirt! The
women have jazzed themselves up into dresses, low heels, and always
clip-on earrings. Actual holes in your ears were a sign of
immodesty and were the same sort of body modifications as tattoos,
which were also very much frowned-upon as sinful.

Unfortunately, this
restaurant is much too tiny to accommodate all of the wannabe
eaters, so a long line formed outside. Ty and the bishop, however,
were already inside, having been given the VIP treatment by Bjorn’s
wife, who was usually a co-conspirator in his goofy schemes. The
line had begun almost an hour before the smorgasbord (“which is
never, ever, to be referred to as a “buffet” Bjorn scolded)
began.

This line serves two
purposes. The first is to make sure that there is an orderly flow
into the café, the second is that it provides a time for visiting
with each other and maybe even a bit of gossip. No arguing is
allowed during these times, and, unlike the “No Gambeling” rule,
this one was strictly enforced.

The locals gossiped while
they ate.

“
That there
nuclear-powered submarine is gonna be a game changer. Commies won’t
be messing around with us anymore,” Francisco Montana told Paul
Livingstone. “It is called the
Nautilus
, I believe, the
USS Nautilus.
Funny
name, if you ask me.”

Nobody had.

“
I don’t think it is
powered by nukes, though. Who would want something like a bomb
powering your vessel? I’m pretty sure they’re lying to us about it
being nuclear powered. I’m sure they got some sort of secret engine
in there, something weird and unknown that they discovered
underwater or at the top of a mountain somewhere.”

“
I think those claims
smell a little funny,” Paul said, ever rational and taciturn in the
manner of lonely Norwegian farmers.

“
Was sure launched by a
funny looking woman,” Francisco continued.

“
How dare you talk about
Mamie that way. The First Lady is a very classy dame, and much
better looking than Eleanor Roosevelt,” Bjorn joked as he stopped
by their table to pour more coffee.

That was hard to dispute,
but Francisco did, just for the sake of argument.

“
Now, see here. Mrs.
Roosevelt had her fine points…”

The conversation went
round and round like this. They talked about the famed journalists
Edward Murrow and Fred W. Friendly and their documentary,
See It Now
:
A Report on Senator Joseph McCarthy.

Everybody, of course, hated
Communists, but not everybody was ready to believe, as McCarthy was
accusing, that the “Reds” had infiltrated the U.S. government at
the highest levels and were preparing to destroy the nation from
within.

Ty Olsen was as obsessed
with baseball as he was hockey and taxidermy (Trig played on the
town team in the summers) and was as secretly in love with Marilyn
as was Julianna.

“
There is already trouble
in the Monroe and DiMaggio household,” he told his wife, while
Julianna tried to eavesdrop while still doing a good job
waitressing.

“
They were on their
honeymoon in Japan, Monroe was asked to travel to Korea and perform
for the American soldiers stationed there. The war is over, but
we’ve still got boys over there, so the Red Chinese don’t try
anything funny.”

“
You can’t trust ‘em,”
Trig, every the daddy’s boy, agreed.

“
She ran off to do her
duty for the USO, leaving her unhappy new husband in
Japan.”

Julianna’s heart sank. If
Joe and Marilyn were already having problems, what chance did
Cedric and Julianna have? Her grief was interrupted by Bjorn and
his foghorn of a voice.

“
Yes, yes, gather around
folks, gather around,” Bjorn gestured to the crowd that had filled
his adorable, if a little dingy, café. “Come on don’t be shy,” he
said in his heavy Swedish accent.

“
Today we have a very
interesting showdown between two much respected pillars of the
community,” said Bjorn.

“
Yes, and we have a bishop
too!” said Ty with a cheeky look on his face. People giggled and
chuckled.

“
I haven’t agreed to this,
this is the first of I’ve heard of this, and I don’t appreciate you
roping me into such shenanigans,” Bishop Dale said.

The truth was, he loved it.
It had been many years since he’d been a parish priest and he
missed the attention and remained something of a ham.

“
The rules are as
follows,” Bjorn paused and looked serious for he, too, relished the
theatre of it all, “eat as much of the food as you can.” Bjorn
smiled as he laid out his upturned hands toward the food that was
laid out before him.

Finally, it had come time
to eat. Not just for Ty Olsen and Dale, but everybody. The
newcomers were wowed by the aroma and variety of the food.
Returnees were comforted by the fact that the food was always about
the same. The trump card was Bjorn’s now-famous barbecue baby back
ribs. Other staples were the homemade Swedish meatballs and the
original orange baked chicken, which had been coated with Rice
Krispies Cereal, which was fusion cuisine for foodies many decades
before any such things existed.

There were mashed potatoes,
never the instant type but always homemade, and scalloped potatoes,
but these were often from the Betty Crocker box, were always on the
table. The salads are rarely the “good-for-you” type, but are
instead the “good-for-your- taste buds” ones. This was long before
the days of fad diets and “paleo menus;” these people ate like
dinosaurs because they were, dammit! Jello and Cool Whip were the
main ingredients in these desserts masquerading as sides, with
fruit cocktail or pineapple or pistachio pudding as part of
them.

Oh, and how about the
bread! There was a newly -acquired rotisserie oven which bakes many
loaves of fresh bread and buns at a time. These are the frozen
bread loaves. They cannot be made from scratch because the labor
would be far too intensive, but are delicious anyway, especially
when served right from the oven.

Desserts are dolled-up
puddings, chocolate dump cake or if the pie baker lady is up to it,
there will be fresh fruit pies or maybe even banana cream. In
season, rhubarb pie was the best.

“
The winner of this eating
contest gets to donate $25 to the local charity of their choice!”
the small crowd gasped in amazement at the substantial
prize.

“
Is Ty’s Taxidermy a local
charity?” Trigger asked, teasing his dad. He was sitting with
Ramona’s family, so the pair was well-chaperoned, lest they leave
the smorgasbord for more carnal hungers.

“
Bjorn has never given out
such a sizeable donation for an eating contest before,” Mrs.
Herbertson gasped.

“
And a substantial one at
that. Oh what a wonderful man her is,” Ramona said in
glee.

“
Gentlemen, you first must
demolish the beef ribs, then the mashed potatoes, and followed by
the tinned pineapples. To finish, you must drink two quarts of milk
from Mr. Shacklesbury’s goat. Are you clear on the task at hand?”
Bjorn smiled at the bishop and taxidermist who savored the gluttony
to come.

“
We begin in… three… two…”
Bjorn paused for several moments and smiled as everyone hung his
countdown, “…one.”

And the two men were off to
the eating races.

The downside of this
evening is that there was no time for laid-back dining. The line
continued way down the street and the usually-jovial owner is not
so jovial if he notices a booth of people taking too long to eat.
Any booth, of course, other than the one occupied by Ty and the
bishop. Bjorn would bring coffee to each table but after long so
long (not very long); he will bring the check instead of the pot.
That is a big indication it is time to gobble up the last bit of
ribs and hit the road. Of course, a hint for everybody but Ty and
the bishop. He wanted them to keep gobbling.

The crowd cheered and
looked on in astonishment. The rate at which the bishop consumed
the ribs was incredible. The sauce dribbled down his clothes but he
carried on in spite of his embarrassment.

“
Golly, look at Bishop, he
is really going through those ribs,” said an astonished
Ramona.

“
Dad, on the other hand,
doesn’t look so good,” Trig noticed.

“
My goodness…” he spat,
the ellipses actually audible in his voice, “the spice… it’s
unbearable.”

The taxidermist, through
watered eyes, strained to put the third rib in his
mouth.

“
Bjorn, what on God’s good
Earth did you put on these?” asked the bishop, eyeing the plate
before him.

“
A bachelor farmer from
down in Minneapolis sent me up some fiery new peppers,” Bjorn
smiled in pride at his concoction. The crowd gasped in a mixture of
amazement and concern at the taxidermist as he continued to try to
cool down his mouth. More than a few jaws hit a few flannelled
collars.

“
Milk... I need
milk...”

Bjorn opened the ice box
and laughed at the taxidermist as he sputtered and spat.

“
Think of the cause. It’s
a very worthy one,” said Bjorn as he passed the cooling beverage to
the taxidermist.

Bjorn loved these funny
little pranks and he often pulled them on the unsuspecting. But he
wasn’t always as precise in his execution and payoff of the jokes
as he was in their planning.

In this case, he’d meant to
spice the Bishop Dale’s ribs. He loved Ty the Taxidermist and
appreciated his endless business and good humor. Bjorn had been
trying to make a not-so-subtle point about the gluttony of the
Catholic Church and the greed of the clergy.

And then things went
further south of Heaven; the bishop started choking.

“
Yes, I wouldn’t worry,
I…” The Bishop couldn’t finish his sentence. A cherry from one of
the sweet and sugary salads had lodged itself in his throat.
Everyone looked on, frozen in shock and horror.

Everyone except for Bjorn.
He was a man of action. The bishop continued to struggle, so Bjorn
beat and thudded his chest.

“
It’s not working,” cried
Ramona.

“
Dad, help him,” begged
Trig, but Ty was still incapacitated from the spicy
ribs.

“
Bjorn, do something!” As
with all crises, the suggestions came from those who were too
scared to carry them out themselves. Bjorn kept silent and paid no
attention to their blindingly obvious and therefore frivolous
commentary.

He reached down to the
slushy floor and grabbed Dale by the ankles. He couldn’t help but
notice the gold and diamond ankle bracelet with a little dangling
the man wore. With one effortless pull of his mighty arms he turned
Dale upside down and began to shake him. The spectacle was
ludicrous - a big Scandinavian man shaking a bishop up and down –
but it was effective.

While ludicrous, it was
necessary. The Heimlich Maneuver wouldn’t be invented for another
twenty years, so Bjorn solved this problem with brute
force.