Canto IV

Shaken but undaunted I made my way back up the street, glancing nervously over my shoulder several times to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I walked until I came back to the park, and then found a comfortable bench to sit down and reflect upon my progress so far.

What were the facts? I awoke this morning to discover that someone had broken into my garden shed and stolen a green wheelbarrow full of my homemade mulching fertilizer. To the average layperson this might have seemed a mere insult, but to someone who had labored with love over his garden, who had tinkered with different ingredients ranging from eggshells to bone meal and beer, and who had produced some of the most lovely plants and vegetables this neighborhood had ever seen, this was an affront.

I had been searching for my stolen property assuming the worst, that the thief or thieves had stolen my precious black compost and had merely dumped it out of spite or neglect at the first opportunity. But this was not turning out to be the case. A cursory search of the neighborhood had produced no evidence to support this theory. I was not unaware that I had yet to make a thorough search of every garbage can and dumpster in the vicinity, but was beginning to suspect that my first instincts were correct and that the culprit had targeted my garden treasure from the onset.

A thin telltale trail of manure had led me to this park once before, and it was here that I had decided to undertake my quest to find my possessions. But where was I to go from here? Surely the vandals had passed this way. But where had they gone?

I stood up and scanned the horizon. The tranquil houses became an impenetrable wall obfuscating my desire to lay sight on anything that might give me some sense of direction. I have but two choices. I begin a house-to-house search, or I continue to canvas the area in hopes of discovering more clues or the potential witness.

As I stood there I suddenly realized that the roads and streets were not the only avenue into this neighborhood. Of course! The bike trail. It was only a few blocks away and the thief would have undoubtedly passed this way to access it. Bending over I grabbed the handlebars of my Azarias brand red wheelbarrow and began to trek towards the bike path.

The bike trail was the brainchild of the municipal government and ran along a strip of land originally set aside for a series of power lines that cut through the city. It was thought that adding the trail would create a green zone. But the stark contrast between the cold industrial towers supporting thick grey cables and the tranquil domestic scene of couples pushing their strollers or walking their dogs along the path below was surreal.

The path from the park to the trail ran along the creek and emerged onto a street that separated the power corridor from the surrounding houses. Looking both ways I dashed across the street and as I angled my wheelbarrow past the yellow concrete barrier designed to keep motorists off the bike trail I imagine I got more than a few awkward stares from passing drivers.

Contrary to whatever image the name may summon, the bike trail was not home to bikes. For that matter there were no pedestrians, no dog walkers, no children chasing Frisbees. There was no one. Just a long grey slab of concrete that stretched out across the grass and vanished into the horizon.

Scratching my head, I looked first up and then down the trail hoping that some figure would suddenly burst into sight offering hope and the possibility of a witness. Realizing the futility of the situation I hiked up my wheelbarrow and began to trot along the downward grade of the trail heading back into the neighborhood.

The sun was getting higher in the sky and the weigh of my bathrobe seemed to be bearing down on me. Also, accustomed as I was to pushing my wheelbarrow, this was typically done in the confines of my yard and there over short distances. Needless to say the potent mixture of these three elements, sun, robe and physical exertion were beginning to wear on me and presently I began to feel the need for a rest.

I set myself down on a particularly bright patch of grass and used the sleeve of my robe to blot the sweat from my forehead. Weary as I was I began to think in earnest that I had made a mistake in choosing Azarias as my companion when my thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

“You alright buddy?”
I looked up into the silhouette of a biker. “I’m fine,” I said, standing.
“What’cha have that wheelbarrow for?”
“Nothing, I…” I looked over my interrogator. He was tall, in his mid fifties perhaps, and thin, to the point that you could see skin wrapped over tight muscles that hugged his skeleton. He was balding, wearing dated exercise shorts, the kind you might find in a thrift store. His bike was new. In good shape. You could tell he hadn’t ridden it much, and on the seat was taped an oversized red cushion. “What’s that?” I pointed at the cushion.
“My cushion? I have a low sperm count.” He said matter-of-factly in a way that made you think that red cushions were the solution to fertility problems the world over.
“Oh” I said, “I didn’t know they helped.”
“Didn’t either” said the man, “But Mama insisted, and I want to keep the ol’girl happy, if you know what I mean.”

He smirked and made a kind of half wink. I bared a smile as if to say, “yes, yes I do” but what I really meant was “No.”
“I was wondering if you’ve seen anyone else come this way with a wheelbarrow?”
“No. No thought it was a might odd you sitting here, but then I thought maybe you were stealing it from the construction site up the path.”
“Construction site?”
“Yeah, the Pavilion they call it, or something like that. It looks like a giant castle. It’s supposed to be some kind of mall, but I don’t think they’ve rented many spaces. Construction there is all but halted. It’s no business of mine if you did steal it mind you. But you should know these trails are patrolled and you might find yourself in a lot of hot water.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I said. “I’m actually looking for something someone stole in another wheelbarrow, thinking I might need mine to recover it.”

He looked at me rather pitifully. The same way I was probably looking at him. He didn’t seem to notice though and climbed back up on his bike. “Well you might try looking there. Lots of wheelbarrows and shovels there.”

“Thanks again” I said as he began to peddle away. The red cushion bulged out behind him. His torso rose and swayed over the mass causing the bike to lean and pitch from side to side making his departure both comical and mesmerizing