Page 42 of Theo of Golden

“Ah, yes, that William Saroyan.” Theo was struck by Ellen’s literacy and surmised, correctly, that books were her language, her neighborhood, her connection to reality.

“Well, Mr. Saroyan said ‘the bicycle is the noblest invention of man.’ And in ‘Rescue the Perishing,’ that story, the little boy did not want a new bicycle. He liked the one he had. It cost him $27.50 of his own money. Well, I don’t want a new bicycle either. The Mission tried to give me one, some old thing made in China. No, sir, don’t even think about it. I like mine perfectly fine. Can you ride a bicycle, or are you too old?”

Theo chuckled once again at her candor.

“Ellen, I will have you know that, as a boy, I rode my bicycle many times from Pinhão to Lamego and once all the way from Pinhão to Porto. It has been a long time, but maybe I should try again. Maybe you could teach me.”

Her eyes registered doubt. “Well… maybe. You’re pretty old, and I don’t want to get sued. Ambulance chasers are everywhere these days. Probably bicycle chasers too.”

Theo tsked three times before responding.

“Yes, that is a problem. But I promise not to sue you if something happens. How did you get your bicycle?”

“I found it at the Promenade. It was just lying there on the sidewalk, totally neglected. There was this skinny little kitten beside it too. I waited for an hour. I don’t know whose it was, but I said, ‘Well, if I’m going to take care of your cat, I’m taking your damn bicycle too.’ When the kitten got bigger, it ran away. A dog would never do that.

“I’ve had the Noble Invention for ten years. Every day for ten years, we’ve been together. That’s longer than a lot of marriages. Everything I own is on my bike. Travel light. Like Mother Teresa. Did you see ET? He rode his bike all the way to heaven. That’s what I plan to do. Are you somebody important?”

With that, the weave and bob of their conversation continued. No single line of thought held for more than a few sentences. As soon as Theo thought they were on a similar wavelength, she would inject an altogether unrelated idea, at least from his perspective, and move into uncharted territory. But he was neither frustrated nor unsettled by this tendency. Not in the least. He accommodated, as best he could, whatever change of direction she proposed and accepted that he would have to learn about her in bits and pieces.

He did eventually get around to the portrait, which had been sitting on the bench between them as they talked.

“Ellen, I don’t mean to take so much of your time.”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Well, here is the portrait that I promised you. Would you like to see it?”

She nodded hesitantly, bottom lip prominently forward. Her eyes were fixed on his hands as he unwrapped the picture. Paper gone, he rested the frame on his knee so that Ellen could see her likeness.

Her reaction at first was subdued, as if sizing up a strange dog to make sure it was safe. She gazed, tilted her head, and then smiled timidly, good-naturedly, satisfied the dog was nothing to be afraid of. She approved.

“Do you think it’s nice?” she asked.

“I do think the portrait, with all its details, is lovely.”

Ellen straightened up once again and patted her dress. For a stretch of seconds, she sat with her hands on her knees, studying the face in the frame. Theo held it out to her, and she accepted it with the gentleness of a mother receiving a child for the first time. She continued to gaze, sometimes pulling it close to observe a detail, more than once touching the glass as if to feel skin, cheekbone, hair.

“Ellen, when I first saw your portrait, I asked myself, what is this person like? And I thought, she is a most interesting person. In her eyes…”

She immediately focused on that part of the drawing.

“In her eyes I saw someone who is wise and tested. I think she is very strong but very motherly too. Yes, very motherly.”

Ellen turned her face toward Theo, lowered her forehead again in what was obviously her gesture of thoughtfulness, and stared into his eyes. He continued speaking, trusting that some of what he said made sense and hoping that none of it offended her.

“I think that some people misunderstand her, but she is a good woman, a kind woman, a woman with a tender heart. She could be a saint, this woman. It is in her, I’m sure. This could quite possibly

be a portrait of St. Ellen of the Promenade. Do you like it?”

She nodded. Then she began to speak to an unidentified “you.” “Well, you always said I had a crooked nose. Here’s your proof, framed for all the world to see.”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

A raindrop, and then another, fell onto the frame. Ellen covered it quickly with the wrapping paper, reached for her bike, and grabbed a plastic bag, of which she had an abundance. She wrapped the portrait carefully as Theo raised his umbrella over their heads. The rain stopped after a few seconds, but the clouds remained heavy and threatening.

“Ellen, if you need to be somewhere, please don’t let me keep you too long.”

“Where would I need to be? I’m homeless.”