The Hearth in Amsterdam (1974, a short story)

The Hearth in Amsterdam
(From Dieburg, Germany to Amsterdam, 1974)


Two police men were riding down the cobblestone street on horses, alongside a building I stood, watching several folks standing inside a building, sipping on different kinds of wine, and I and my two twins, Cody and Shawn, just looked, one of them asked, “Dad, what they doing?”
“Tasting wine I guess.
We had just left the center of Amsterdam, where statues of lions were, and ended up wondering the streets. A young American hippie near the statueks asked me “Wanta-buy some pot?” and I never answered him, just kept walking.
Cody was in one arm, three years old, and Shawn in the other, and I carried them like two sacks of potatoes off the statues, and down to earth.
It was my first time in Amsterdam, and it would not be my last, I was, twenty-seven years old, a Buck Sergeant in the Army, living in a little city called Dieburg. I wanted to take my boys on a trip, they never really made much of fuss, and Cody was quiet all the way down on the train playing with his toy cars and Shawn looking here and there, inquisitive. I didn’t bring much luggage, and I supposed I should have found a hotel first, but I didn’t. I felt me and the boys needed some excitement first.
It was winter time, November, and there was a chill in the air. In those days I often just jumped up, grabbed some money and took off. Life was ever so fast for me, and I liked it like that. My apartment back in Dieburg, Germany, was simply bricks and whitewash plaster on the walls, too much to look at every day, so I went to castles up and down the Rhine, and Mosel rivers whatever chance I got, and to most all the countries surrounding western Germany. And this weekend was Amsterdam, and I had liberty to do so, no extra duty on the military base. The railroad ran unbroken from Dieburg, to Amsterdam, a hundred stops, but straight through, no disembarking to get onto another train.

It was now late, and the kids were tired, their heads leaning on my thighs, and falling to sleep as we walked, and thus, I found a midnight hotel, and I and the custodian talked about the night’s rent, and I argued that the night was half over, so he should give it to me for half price. And he said no, and then he saw my kids, and perhaps was overtaken by that, and said, “Well, I’ll give you a break, I’ll only charge you two thirds the price, and so we shook hands, and we had our room.
After settling down in the rooms, my tiredness had long sense departed, and I think the twins were also on their second wind, so we went downstairs of the small hotel, there was a fire in the hearth, and I ordered myself a beer, and the boys each a sandwich. Some invisible arm was put on my shoulder, said
“You come over by the hearth, bring your boys, warm up, and drink with us.”
I turned about and it was an older man, he had a smile with a flow to it, it was contagious, and I smiled back. Shawn and Cody were on each side of me, each on a separate leg, chewing away on their ham sandwiches.
The fact now was, we’d be really tired tomorrow, but the railroad ran back to Germany almost hourly so I felt if I overslept, no problem, I’d catch a later train out of Amsterdam. Thus, light-headed, I sat with my boys, the fire crackling, warm heat soaking through my pants, my legs being warmed up, the light from the hearth was like sparkling firecrackers, and I could have hugged those three fellows for inviting me over to the heath.

There were a few ladies in the background, whom seemed to drift here and there, one a waitress cleaning up things, actually the bar was closed, and it was just this group of guys by the hearth. A cat and a dog lying near the fireplace, but kept their distance as if not to take the heat away from us folks. Then a woman brought me a guitar, knowing I could play—I had mentioned it in passing during our conversation, and we sang some songs, I didn’t understand them, but who cares when you’re half lit up.

That evening, I put the boys to bed, and snuck outside for a moment, found a bar nearby open, and ordered a big beer in a bottle, to bring back to the hotel room. Two guys followed me, once out of the bar, then another joined him, and still another. I couldn’t fight all four I felt, let along being half lit, and so feeling incapable of charging these fellows, I simply broke the bottle against a stone wall I was passing by, and now I had a weapon, and they saw it, and they talked amongst themselves, taking their eyes off me for a moment, and I grabbed that moment, I ran down the sides street, couldn’t find my hotel at first, then it appeared out of nowhere. Bells were ringing in my head, iron bells, ‘I made it,’ I made it up the steps to the apartment, and jumped in bed or passed out I can’t remember, and counted myself lucky to have made back alive in the morning. The trouble was not unavoidable, had I stayed in the hotel room, and thereafter, I did. I never seemed to challenge fate twice; I was a quick learner in the area of survival.


Written 5-26-2008