Stories of the Street - Twenty

Antonio has worked in this café all his life. It was his father’s – the older Tony whose name graces the sign outside. He had been in the café since five this morning. The daily process of preparing the place seemed to help him focus on the key things in his life.

His mother had died last year and his father was now in hospital. His beloved father had been such a tower in his life but now he was this frail little man that seemed to be loosing mass by the minute and was so weak gravity was becoming an overwhelming force that sat on his chest and pressed his head to the pillows.

He had been relying on two people to help him keep the business together while his father faded out in his hospital bed.

The first was George was a distant cousin who had worked for him on and off for the last ten years. George was too lazy to keep a regular job but he was a sort of enigma. When George worked he would put his heart and soul into it and everything would be fine for the first two or three weeks then he would begin to lose interest and his performance would decline until the only difference between George being here and not being here was the amount of coffee that would disappear from the Cona jugs without money appearing in the till.

Tony had been careful about calling on George’s help.

The second source of help came from Maria, his late wife’s sister. She was reliable but not very bright and often made silly mistakes but she was a lovely woman and, despite her lack of intelligence, always reminded him of his wife. This brought more pain than any number of small mistakes ever caused. On quiet days she was a good option and if she filled in mid morning and mid afternoon it gave him the chance to spend some precious time with his rapidly declining father.

However, today was going to be filled with worry that could not be lessened by working hard.

His father was having a number of tests today. He knew that when his father was not being subjected to medical scrutiny he would be lying exhausted, needing every minute of rest possible. Today was going to be really hard for the old man. Antonio would stop from time to time and say a little prayer for his father.

Many years ago, when his wife was still alive, a particularly nasty young man had tried to rob them and had threatened his wife with a very large knife. It was late in the evening, the café had been empty and Antonio had been in the small toilet at the other end of the café. As he walked out he saw the young man brandish the knife at his wife and he had stepped through the café with the blood pounding in his temple like a steam hammer. Picking up a chair he had swung it with all his force smashing the man across the empty café and up against the front door.

Afterwards, his wife had held him close and told him it was alright; she had been holding her rosary beads when the young man had entered the café and Holy Mary would not have let him harm her while she was still part way through the Rosary. He had cried, his tears dampening her shoulder as she held him tightly.

Those rosary beads were still in the café today and he was not bothered who saw him using them to pray during the quieter parts of the day.

Of course, he always had some younger help for the busy parts of the day and by lunchtime he would have a young lady working the tables for him. He had a little rota set up behind the counter for the variety of girls and young women who came in to help him. He had no idea just how much he was truly liked by those who worked for him and he would have been severely embarrassed if he had learned the truth.

After cleaning all the tables he popped behind the counter and started praying while watching the traffic build up outside the café.