Robert Napping
(I haven’t written a Saturday Story in a while. It’s not Saturday but it’s a story)
I interrupted Robert’s napping. I’d seen him sitting on a bench near the lake shore numerous times while out walking. He was always in the same spot, a few small boxes and bags beside him on the bench, slightly hunched over and looking down at his hands which were positioned close together near his knees.
A few weeks ago I thought he might be an artist working on a pencil sketch. Then I guessed he was just whittling sticks - or possibly carving out intricate animal pieces.
This day I decided to ask. My younger self wouldn’t have dared to approach him. But I’m older. Less hindered by self absorption. Freer for sure.
“I’m sorry to disturb you but my curiosity got the best of me. I was wondering what you were working on?”
He looked up, gray hair brushing across his shoulder and his scruffy long white beard swaying slightly in the afternoon breeze. “What?”
“I was just wondering what you’re making. I know it’s none of my business but I have seen you out here a lot and every time I’m asking myself what you’re doing. So, I thought I’d just ask you.”
“Flint knapping.”
“Flint knapping?”
“Yep. That’s a fancy way of saying making arrowheads. I’ve taken two classes in Muskogee. The teacher told me it’s a long way to drive. He told me to go to Quapaw and get some stone and practice and check with him later. So that’s what I did. Been doing it for two years now. I come out here almost every morning. Stay till after noon. Sometimes I stay till maybe 5.”
“Looks like you’re doing great to me. That’s some pretty stones.”
He stared handing me various rocks. “This one is yellow gold, and here’s green gold. There’s a red gold too but I don’t have any. This is basically fiber optic cable stuff…”
“Well that’s quite a skill you have. What’s your name?” I asked while holding out my hand.
“Robert, I’m Cherokee.” He went on to tell me about his Cherokee name, how it is spelled, how to pronounce it and what it means. Then he noticed the writing on the front of my t-shirt. “What’s that say on your shirt?”
“It’s Latin. Simul Justus et Peccator. It means simultaneously justified while still a sinner.”
No further explanation was required. “So you’re a God fearing Christian man?”
“Yes, sir. I am”
“So am I.”
“Well praise the Lord.”
“Amen.”
“Roger, it’s been a real pleasure meeting you. You know,” I remarked looking around, “You’ve got the nicest workshop a man could have out here.”
“I do. I do. You have a good day now.”
“You too Roger. I’ll be seeing you around.”