Читать книгу Jack’s Passion - Bill Kinsella - Страница 7

Early June, 2001

As a young man he had his whole life ahead of him but just after graduating Duke, he still hadn’t heard from the Wall Street firm most likely to bring him to New York. Jack Conroy always thought he’d end up on Wall Street. He felt that was his inheritance. It had to do with his father who worked there and with his mother who liked that his father did. And because of his competitive nature and need to continually prove himself, Jack thought he wanted to work on Wall Street. But so far the firms who’d responded to his interest encouraged him to go on and get his MBA and then reapply.

Consequently, Jack found himself forming a contingency plan; an interim solution to the problem of what to do should Wall Street pass on him this time around. The odd thing was he wasn’t that upset about it. You could even say he felt a sense of relief, as if he’d been spared or released.

He thought he might be able to work the summer at the Durham Nursery. The owner of the nursery liked him. He had worked there throughout college part time and felt confident he could again. This morning he got up with the sun and drove out to talk to Carlo Bellini.

The nursery sat in a valley some ten miles out of town. This morning the valley appeared as peaceful as heaven, bathed as it was by the soft light of the new day. The sun ascending seemed to grow larger before Jack, like a giant golden eye that watched and followed him. A spotless sky assured their communion. For him, being in the country early in the morning with the sun coming up always felt like a blessing. His eyes brightened taking in the countryside: mist clinging to poplars along the river outside of town; dew softening the hard edges of clumped grasses in an expansive field he passed by; and then, too, the luxuriance of late spring flowers that seemed to spread everywhere around him.

He knew what to expect at the nursery at this time of day. Bustling activity: flatbed trucks crawling out of huge garages, dump trucks loaded with soil, grinding their gears pulling onto the roadway, fork lifts scurrying about like giant yellow bugs, moving stacks of fertilizer. At the center of it all, directing everyone and everything, stood Carlo Bellini, a bulky, tall man, waving his arms like a traffic cop and grumbling out directives to his small army of workers. Jack exited his Jeep eager to be recognized. Always aware, the man with fingers the size of sausage waved hello. “Jacky,” Bellini said in clipped speech, his voice as resonant as a kettle drum. Jack smiled and waved and stood to the side waiting for Bellini to approach him. The big man read his expression.

“Give me a minute,” he said, one arm waving rapidly in a circular motion to get a sleepy truck moving. That finished, the stirring lot became suddenly calm and Mr. Bellini walked toward Jack. Watching him walk, Jack imagined he could feel the ground absorbing the shock of each step. When his old boss stood before him, looking like an Italian Paul Bunyan, Jack wondered if the man had ever been small.

Bellini relocated to North Carolina from Brooklyn thirty years before to open a nursery that, he was proud of saying; he’d started from seed and grown into a good business. Jack began working for him his freshmen year. They got along well immediately. Jack regarded Bellini as an unpretentious, hard-working man, who admired those qualities in his workers.

“I thought for sure you’d left for New York,” Bellini said.

“Not yet.”

“Nothing from the Street?” Bellini asked.

“I’m still waiting to hear from one firm.”

While he said he was still waiting to hear, Jack’s mien suggested he was also fairly certain what the reply would be.

The two walked together toward a large warehouse that resembled an airplane hangar. Jack was nearly as tall as Mr. Bellini but more slender although more athletically built. His broad shoulders outlined against the white linen shirt he wore suggested power at rest. He had on faded jeans and sandals with thick leather straps and his golden hair shone brilliantly in contrast to his companion’s thick crop which was as black as a crow’s wing. Bellini’s power was the power of raw nature, as if he were the marble mountain from which the beauty of Jack had been carved.

The inside of the warehouse was as long as a football field and had a cool dampness the way large warehouses can. They walked under fluorescent lights past rows of stacked planting materials: fertilizer, manure, peat. Strangely, Jack felt his muscles relax to the familiar alkaline smells of fertilizer and lime that gave way to the pungent odor of peat as he made his way down a wide, brightly lit, corridor between the floor-to-ceiling shelves that loomed like mythic giants on both sides.

Just past the shelves of manure, Bellini said something he always said at this point, “Smells like shit in here but I love it.” Jack laughed on cue knowing it would please Mr. Bellini. Today, Jack laughed more loudly perhaps, feeling comforted by the predictability of the remark which he found especially reassuring.

They reached the end of the corridor and turned right and walked to a tight corner where the owner entered a small office. Jack followed him in. Behind a desk that looked too small for him, his boss sat down in the same squeaky swivel chair he always had. Then with a huge hand he grabbed a coffee thermos and with the other motioned for Jack to sit down.

“What’s on your mind?” the big man asked as he poured a cup of steaming coffee into a mug as big as a bowl. Jack expected Mr. Bellini to know right away why he was there and to offer him a job without him having to ask. It’d always been that way.

“I came to see if I could work the summer here,” Jack said.

Bellini became more serious and sounded apologetically answering, “Sorry, Jack, I got all the summer help I need.”

Jack felt hope sink, and what’s more, something like a suspicion begin to emerge.

“I thought for sure you were gone,” Bellini explained.

“I understand,” Jack said.

“But here you are.”

Bellini got up and walked toward a steel file cabinet in a corner of the cramped room. “I want to show you something,” he said.

Jack had no idea what he might be shown. All he could guess is that Mr. Bellini might have gotten a ton of applications for summertime help. He watched politely as his old boss attempted to retrieve whatever it was he felt he had to show him. The big man couldn’t get all the way to the cabinet because bags of a new grass seed blocked the way. He bent down and began moving the bags. Jack assisted, clearing the bottom bags but stopped abruptly after moving a few. A small bird, a gold finch, lay dead on the floor.

The sight of the diminutive creature, lifeless, startled Jack.

His eyes filled with a kind of sad confusion.

“You should have been outside in the open fields,” Bellini said to the creature as he disposed of it, “shouldn’t have been in here.” Then turning to Jack, “It happens every so often. A bird will come in to feed and get smothered.”

The power of Bellini’s voice snapped Jack out of it. He observed the big man gently dispose of the bird by wrapping it in a small burlap cloth which he then slid into a receptacle.

Then Bellini went to the now accessible file cabinet and looked in a couple drawers until he found what he wanted. He sat down again and handed Jack some papers. “You recognize these?” They were landscape design sketches Jack had drawn over the years working at the nursery.

“You still have these?” Jack said.

“Yeah, and I’ve used them,” Bellini said, running a finger over his thick black mustache.

“You’ve got talent for this, Jack,” said Bellini, holding up the sketches, “I’ve said it often. And if you want to, you can work for me full time. It won’t be New York but you won’t have to wait to prove yourself either.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. There was no question the offer pleased him, for he instantly felt a weight had been lifted from him. But working full time at the nursery? He never seriously considered that because of Wall Street. Yet the idea was a revelation. What if he could bypass Wall Street and have another life. He listened to Mr. Bellini explain.

“I’d have asked before,” Bellini offered, “but thought for sure you were headed to New York.”

“New York,” Jack repeated automatically.

“You’d do well here,” Bellini said.

Jack wanted to say yes but remembered his upcoming trip.

‘’I’m taking some time to visit family, Mr. Bellini. Would it be okay if I let you know after that?”

“That’s fine,” Bellini said.

Then the two walked side by side outdoors. Mr. Bellini got into his pickup truck and beeped as he drove away. Jack watched the truck disappear and wondered.