29 July 2007

Mrs. Hitler and Uncle Bill



The slap echoed across the pool deck like the report of a small caliber pistol. It was startling. I was in the water, relishing the coolness against my skin. I looked up to see Mrs. Hitler on her feet in outrage, looking down at Uncle Bill with eyes that bulged in anger.

I have seen that look before, often, and not just on her. In fact, that is the root of my current trouble, but that is a separate matter. Uncle Bill is a union official who came up the hard way. He is a wiry guy with round sunglasses and short-cropped hair, short but powerfully built. He is lean from his life outdoors and his bicycling and swimming. He is normally charming, but he doesn't suffer fools and sometimes the work-site survival skills show.

We Big Pink Pool People are a tranquil lot. The most energy we expended was organizing a petition drive We do not generally drink during the day unless it is a special occasion, or at least all of us except Grandma, the semi-retired psychiatric nurse who starts in the morning. We mostly bask like seals in the sun. No one does it better than Ms Hamilton, of course, She is in championship form this year, just back from Miami. I sit in her quadrant of the pool, and be in serene and non-threatening proximity to her bronzed, sculpted body.

She has a sweet disposition, and I think she likes me around to help fend off the attentions of a few of the geeks who come in the early afternoon and gawk shamelessly at her. Stanley is differently abled, not like Lester the gimp, who we think is a pedophile. Stanely is harmless, I think, a thick man of middle age suffering the onset of diabetes that colors his lower legs purple. He shuffles a bit, but is nice enough. I would find his stare unnerving if I looked up and saw him looking at me with rapt attention, floating with his two long blue foam-rubber noodles.

I had been treading water in the deep end near the table where Uncle Bill was reading, I heard them begin to discuss the crucial issue of whether the access door in the garage should be locked, or have the lock removed. There is a rough concrete ramp that has been added over the old step, and the little wire wheelbarrows the residents use to bring groceries up from their cars always halt abruptly at the edge, leaving the outstretched hand and key painfully short of the lock.

Uncle Bill's position is that the locks have not been changed since 1975, and thus everyone in Arlington County now has lived here at one time or another, and must have the universal key to get in the many access doors. Accordingly, we should either change the locks or admit that a door inside a secured garage can be left open.

Mrs. Hitler had a contrary opinion, as she does of most things. Some would consider her to be a cast-iron pain in the ass, but I think it is easier to think of her as a General's daughter who mostly forgets who owns the stars, even though Daddy is long gone. The voices were rising I slowly paddled off in the direction of Ms Hamilton and one of the Sarahs who were cooling their lower bodies in the shallow end of the pool.

I had only just arrived there when I heard Uncle Bill call Mrs. Hitler a "fat bitch."

The words hung over the pool like balloons filled with toxic gas. I looked around to see if there were any kids, but Grandma's daugther had not shown up with the twins.

As I mentioned, we pool people, at least the ones who congregate on the far side of the deck, are tranquil. I tried to turn away, but had to watch in grim fascination as I saw Mrs. Hitler grab the novel that Uncle Bill was reading and hurl it in a lazy arc from the table under the yellow umbrella and into the blue water of the deep end.

It landed with a sodden slap, and the cover that was not underwater immediately began to curl up as the pages took on water.

"You can't call me that," she said loudly.

"You better watch who you hit, Lady, or the cops will take you away. Maybe you have heard that is the law these days," responded Uncle Bill, his lips curled up in contempt. “And you had better replace that book!”

"In a pigs eye. And I did not hit you. I pushed you. You are a man," said Mrs. Hitler, as if that explained everything. I have had some experience with that and would have taken issue with her contention. Instead,    I turned slowly in the water and pretended I was part of the concrete of the pool deck as and then stormed off toward Andra the Czech lifeguard. His mouth was open in astonishment.

She passed through the chain-link gate to the pool enclosure and the last I saw was her Valkerie-like braids disappearing up the walkway in the direction of the side entrance.

Even if everyone in Arlington County had a key, I was hoping she happened to have hers on her.

That took my mind off things for a moment, and I did not get back to thinking about my own problems for minutes. The sun was too nice to be in a funk for long, and Harry Potter took care of the rest of the lazy afternoon.

I actually finished the book, and am now indoctrinated into another set of mysteries. Don't worry, I won't spoil it for you. Hard to believe it is over, since nothing else is, particilularly ithe relations between men and women. Uncle Bill told me later that he thought Mrs. Hitler would be back for more in less than a month.

I wouldn't take the bet. I'm hoping she doesn't start talking to me. Even so, I am a tranquil guy by nature, and would avoid saying anything unpleasant regardless if true. I am hoping that is what will keep my novels out of the pool.

Copyright 2007 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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