This story is by Chet Lowney and was part of our 2018 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
The old man from the distant village adjusted his knapsack as he slowly pushed himself up from the city bench. It had been a long journey – – one that his doctor had advised against. But he knew the effort was worth it. At his age desires were few and far between and this last one must be satisfied no matter the cost to his welfare. He made his way out of the shadows of the white birch trees, which were old and bent over like the man. The sun was a cold winter one and it made him squint through his thick glasses when it found him.
A block away another traveler approached the stairs to his apartment building. He wore the typical nondescript clothes of his native country. His long woolen overcoat was buttoned so as to hide the colorful jacket beneath emblazoned with the five rings of the International Olympic games. Although he was a well-built, tall young man and the suitcase he carried was light, it seemed a heavy burden that made him slouch.
The old man had made his way to the same street of brownstone apartment buildings as the young man set his baggage down in a dim hallway and fit his key to the door of his
apartment. It opened before he had turned the knob. A young woman greeted him, reaching up a slender hand to touch his face and brushing a tear from her cheek with the other. “It is all right,” she said. When he didn’t respond she repeated, “It is all right.” “No. No. It is not.” He couldn’t accept the sympathy in her eyes. “It is no good. It is not the same as gold. All that time and effort. All that training. For what? Silver?” He shook his head dejectedly as he flipped the shiny medallion to her. He left the suitcase in the hall as he moved brusquely past her into the small but well-kept room. He still hadn’t met her gaze and she knew of no way to comfort him. She searched for the right words, but could not find them.
On the sidewalk outside, the little man looked up at the same apartment building and then peered once again at a small piece of paper he held in his hand. He nodded to himself and proceeded to ascend the stairs carefully, lifting each foot slowly and with obvious discomfort.
The young man entered the one bedroom, leaving the girl standing alone. He sat at the foot of the bed and did not look up as she came in with his suitcase. She tried again, “In four years it will be different, you . . .” His look made her stop. “I’m sorry,” she said. “As I am,” he replied, and reached out to her for the first time.
The old man stopped at the open door to the apartment. He did not enter. “Hello?” He asked. “Hello?”, somewhat louder. The couple separated and the young woman moved quickly from the bedroom. “Yes, may I help you?” she inquired of the man who had backed away when she appeared.
“Is this the home of Sergio Olegnovsky?”
The girl cast a quick look back at the bedroom, then back at the small elderly man who appeared harmless enough. “Who cares?” She finally responded.
“I do. I care.”
“And you are?”
“Dimitri.” He removed his well-worn peasant cap and bowed slightly, as far as his stiff joints would permit. The long bus ride had not been favorable to his arthritis. “I have come many miles to thank Sergio Olegnovsky and to express my gratitude and the appreciation of his countrymen for his recent Olympic performance.”
The girl appeared disconcerted by the old man’s remarks and turned to the bedroom where the young man was now standing. Taking notice, the visitor shuffled forward as the girl stepped back. He removed his knapsack with some difficulty,
opened the flap, and reached inside with shaky hand. His words reached out to the young athlete across the room.
“Please, if you will, sir. I have come to pay my respects and to ask if you will sign this magazine picture of you. I will be eternally grateful sir, as will my children and my children’s children.”
The young man managed a smile for the first time and the dark shadow seemed to lift from his face as he stepped forward. “Certainly. And how should I address it?”
“Oh, why just to Dimitri S. if you please.”
The young man came closer and took the page in one hand as the girl handed him a pen. He peered closely at the wrinkled features of the visitor. Recognition erased the young man’s smile as his mouth fell open slightly. “Dimitri S? S as in Steinitz?” he asked.
The old man nodded. “Pardon my imposing. Excuse me.”
“Martina,” said the young man as he turned to the girl, “Martina, this is Dimitri Steinitz, our country’s hero of the 1952 Olympics. Our only gold medal winner.” With a welcoming gesture, he said, “ Sir, it is our honor. Please come in and sit.”
The young couple moved to sit on the sofa, the old man across from them. He leaned forward gesturing with his cap as he exclaimed, “Unbelievable, that time you clocked. Let me tell you. Unbelievable.” He let out an audible sigh of wonder. “It would have won our race in 1952 by ten meters.” He shook his head in awe. “What a time. Marvelous. Simply marvelous. Did you know I too was fortunate to win a silver medal? Yes, I did. It was the turning point of my career. It was the 1948 Olympics. A wonderful confidence builder, is it not true? Without it I would not later have won the gold nor would I have appreciated it half as much. We are indeed blessed, you and I.”
The young man was speechless, but the girl’s eyes twinkled as she asked, “Won’t you join us in a glass of vodka? We were about to celebrate Sergio’s good fortune.”
THE END
1,075 words
SERGIO’S GOOD FORTUNE
The old man from the distant village adjusted his knapsack as he slowly pushed himself up from the city bench. It had been a long journey – – one that his doctor had advised against. But he knew the effort was worth it. At his age desires were few and far between and this last one must be satisfied no matter the cost to his welfare. He made his way out of the shadows of the white birch trees, which were old and bent over like the man. The sun was a cold winter one and it made him squint
Sergio
2
through his thick glasses when it found him.
A block away another traveler approached the stairs to his apartment building. He wore the typical nondescript clothes of his native country. His long woolen overcoat was buttoned so as to hide the colorful jacket beneath emblazoned with the five rings of the International Olympic games. Although he was a well-built, tall young man and the suitcase he carried was light, it seemed a heavy burden that made him slouch.
The old man had made his way to the same street of brownstone apartment buildings as the young man set his baggage down in a dim hallway and fit his key to the door of his
Sergio
3
apartment. It opened before he had turned the knob. A young woman greeted him, reaching up a slender hand to touch his face and brushing a tear from her cheek with the other. “It is all right,” she said. When he didn’t respond she repeated, “It is all right.” “No. No. It is not.” He couldn’t accept the sympathy in her eyes. “It is no good. It is not the same as gold. All that time and effort. All that training. For what? Silver?” He shook his head dejectedly as he flipped the shiny medallion to her. He left the suitcase in the hall as he moved brusquely past her into the small but well-kept room. He still hadn’t met her gaze and she knew of no way to comfort him. She searched for the right
Sergio
4
words, but could not find them.
On the sidewalk outside, the little man looked up at the same apartment building and then peered once again at a small piece of paper he held in his hand. He nodded to himself and proceeded to ascend the stairs carefully, lifting each foot slowly and with obvious discomfort.
The young man entered the one bedroom, leaving the girl standing alone. He sat at the foot of the bed and did not look up as she came in with his suitcase. She tried again, “In four years it will be different, you . . .” His look made her stop. “I’m sorry,” she said. “As I am,” he replied, and reached out to her
Sergio
5
for the first time.
The old man stopped at the open door to the apartment. He did not enter. “Hello?” He asked. “Hello?”, somewhat louder. The couple separated and the young woman moved quickly from the bedroom. “Yes, may I help you?” she inquired of the man who had backed away when she appeared.
“Is this the home of Sergio Olegnovsky?”
The girl cast a quick look back at the bedroom, then back at the small elderly man who appeared harmless enough. “Who cares?” She finally responded.
“I do. I care.”
Sergio
6
“And you are?”
“Dimitri.” He removed his well-worn peasant cap and bowed slightly, as far as his stiff joints would permit. The long bus ride had not been favorable to his arthritis. “I have come many miles to thank Sergio Olegnovsky and to express my gratitude and the appreciation of his countrymen for his recent Olympic performance.”
The girl appeared disconcerted by the old man’s remarks and turned to the bedroom where the young man was now standing. Taking notice, the visitor shuffled forward as the girl stepped back. He removed his knapsack with some difficulty,
Sergio
7
opened the flap, and reached inside with shaky hand. His words reached out to the young athlete across the room.
“Please, if you will, sir. I have come to pay my respects and to ask if you will sign this magazine picture of you. I will be eternally grateful sir, as will my children and my children’s children.”
The young man managed a smile for the first time and the dark shadow seemed to lift from his face as he stepped forward. “Certainly. And how should I address it?”
“Oh, why just to Dimitri S. if you please.”
The young man came closer and took the page in one
Sergio
8
hand as the girl handed him a pen. He peered closely at the wrinkled features of the visitor. Recognition erased the young man’s smile as his mouth fell open slightly. “Dimitri S? S as in Steinitz?” he asked.
The old man nodded. “Pardon my imposing. Excuse me.”
“Martina,” said the young man as he turned to the girl, “Martina, this is Dimitri Steinitz, our country’s hero of the 1952 Olympics. Our only gold medal winner.” With a welcoming gesture, he said, “ Sir, it is our honor. Please come in and sit.”
The young couple moved to sit on the sofa, the old man across from them. He leaned forward gesturing with his cap as
Sergio
9
he exclaimed, “Unbelievable, that time you clocked. Let me tell you. Unbelievable.” He let out an audible sigh of wonder. “It would have won our race in 1952 by ten meters.” He shook his head in awe. “What a time. Marvelous. Simply marvelous. Did you know I too was fortunate to win a silver medal? Yes, I did. It was the turning point of my career. It was the 1948 Olympics. A wonderful confidence builder, is it not true? Without it I would not later have won the gold nor would I have appreciated it half as much. We are indeed blessed, you and I.”
The young man was speechless, but the girl’s eyes twinkled as she asked, “Won’t you join us in a glass of vodka? We were
Sergio
10
about to celebrate Sergio’s good fortune.”
THE END
1,075 words
SERGIO’S GOOD FORTUNE
The old man from the distant village adjusted his knapsack as he slowly pushed himself up from the city bench. It had been a long journey – – one that his doctor had advised against. But he knew the effort was worth it. At his age desires were few and far between and this last one must be satisfied no matter the cost to his welfare. He made his way out of the shadows of the white birch trees, which were old and bent over like the man. The sun was a cold winter one and it made him squint
Sergio
2
through his thick glasses when it found him.
A block away another traveler approached the stairs to his apartment building. He wore the typical nondescript clothes of his native country. His long woolen overcoat was buttoned so as to hide the colorful jacket beneath emblazoned with the five rings of the International Olympic games. Although he was a well-built, tall young man and the suitcase he carried was light, it seemed a heavy burden that made him slouch.
The old man had made his way to the same street of brownstone apartment buildings as the young man set his baggage down in a dim hallway and fit his key to the door of his
Sergio
3
apartment. It opened before he had turned the knob. A young woman greeted him, reaching up a slender hand to touch his face and brushing a tear from her cheek with the other. “It is all right,” she said. When he didn’t respond she repeated, “It is all right.” “No. No. It is not.” He couldn’t accept the sympathy in her eyes. “It is no good. It is not the same as gold. All that time and effort. All that training. For what? Silver?” He shook his head dejectedly as he flipped the shiny medallion to her. He left the suitcase in the hall as he moved brusquely past her into the small but well-kept room. He still hadn’t met her gaze and she knew of no way to comfort him. She searched for the right
Sergio
4
words, but could not find them.
On the sidewalk outside, the little man looked up at the same apartment building and then peered once again at a small piece of paper he held in his hand. He nodded to himself and proceeded to ascend the stairs carefully, lifting each foot slowly and with obvious discomfort.
The young man entered the one bedroom, leaving the girl standing alone. He sat at the foot of the bed and did not look up as she came in with his suitcase. She tried again, “In four years it will be different, you . . .” His look made her stop. “I’m sorry,” she said. “As I am,” he replied, and reached out to her
Sergio
5
for the first time.
The old man stopped at the open door to the apartment. He did not enter. “Hello?” He asked. “Hello?”, somewhat louder. The couple separated and the young woman moved quickly from the bedroom. “Yes, may I help you?” she inquired of the man who had backed away when she appeared.
“Is this the home of Sergio Olegnovsky?”
The girl cast a quick look back at the bedroom, then back at the small elderly man who appeared harmless enough. “Who cares?” She finally responded.
“I do. I care.”
Sergio
6
“And you are?”
“Dimitri.” He removed his well-worn peasant cap and bowed slightly, as far as his stiff joints would permit. The long bus ride had not been favorable to his arthritis. “I have come many miles to thank Sergio Olegnovsky and to express my gratitude and the appreciation of his countrymen for his recent Olympic performance.”
The girl appeared disconcerted by the old man’s remarks and turned to the bedroom where the young man was now standing. Taking notice, the visitor shuffled forward as the girl stepped back. He removed his knapsack with some difficulty,
Sergio
7
opened the flap, and reached inside with shaky hand. His words reached out to the young athlete across the room.
“Please, if you will, sir. I have come to pay my respects and to ask if you will sign this magazine picture of you. I will be eternally grateful sir, as will my children and my children’s children.”
The young man managed a smile for the first time and the dark shadow seemed to lift from his face as he stepped forward. “Certainly. And how should I address it?”
“Oh, why just to Dimitri S. if you please.”
The young man came closer and took the page in one
Sergio
8
hand as the girl handed him a pen. He peered closely at the wrinkled features of the visitor. Recognition erased the young man’s smile as his mouth fell open slightly. “Dimitri S? S as in Steinitz?” he asked.
The old man nodded. “Pardon my imposing. Excuse me.”
“Martina,” said the young man as he turned to the girl, “Martina, this is Dimitri Steinitz, our country’s hero of the 1952 Olympics. Our only gold medal winner.” With a welcoming gesture, he said, “ Sir, it is our honor. Please come in and sit.”
The young couple moved to sit on the sofa, the old man across from them. He leaned forward gesturing with his cap as
Sergio
9
he exclaimed, “Unbelievable, that time you clocked. Let me tell you. Unbelievable.” He let out an audible sigh of wonder. “It would have won our race in 1952 by ten meters.” He shook his head in awe. “What a time. Marvelous. Simply marvelous. Did you know I too was fortunate to win a silver medal? Yes, I did. It was the turning point of my career. It was the 1948 Olympics. A wonderful confidence builder, is it not true? Without it I would not later have won the gold nor would I have appreciated it half as much. We are indeed blessed, you and I.”
The young man was speechless, but the girl’s eyes twinkled as she asked, “Won’t you join us in a glass of vodka? We were
Sergio
10
about to celebrate Sergio’s good fortune.”
THE END
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