Page 41 of Theo of Golden

“Atlanta is north of here. Are you documented?”

Theo nodded again, smiling and on the verge of laughter. “Yes, I’m documented.”

Ellen nodded at the space beside her. “Well, then, do you want to sit down? I know it’s hard for old people to stand up for very long.”

Theo chuckled, then stepped forward and sat beside Ellen, careful to leave some room between them.

He was about to ask her a question, hoping he might be able to steer their dialog in a somewhat coherent direction, but he was too slow.

“You look like a Jew,” she said, looking him full in the face. “So, I want to ask you something. Could Jesus eat pork? He was a Jew, you know. And people down here love barbecue.”

Theo did not make light of the question. He looked into the fountain, pondering his reply before responding with slow, deliberate words. “That… is… a very… interesting… question. I’ve never thought about it. What do you think? Could the Messiah eat pork?”

Her head wobbled at the ridiculousness of the question. “I think he could do anything he damn well pleased. You know who he was, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve read all about him and I—”

“But he could change things too. You do know he changed water into wine, don’t you? So, if he wanted to, he could pick up a piece of pork and change it to fish right before it went into his mouth. Or even while he was chewing it.”

Theo nodded in agreement and then attempted a diversionary turn.

“Ellen, thank you for coming to meet me. I just moved to Golden a few weeks ago, and I don’t know many people here yet, so I’m happy for the chance to make a new friend.”

Ellen blushed and smiled, a lazy grin under sleepy eyes. She sat up straight and patted her dress. “I’ve never gotten a handwritten letter before. Your penmanship is immaculate. The coffee man gave it to me.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Shep. He helped me out. Since I couldn’t find a mailing address, I didn’t know how to deliver it.”

Theo winced inwardly, afraid he might have inadvertently and rudely brought her homelessness into the conversation, but she appeared unbothered and gladly explained her situation.

“Well, I sort of live in different places, since I’m homeless. But sometimes I stay at the Mission. Are you from Israel?”

Theo’s laugh was audible this time. “No. Actually, I grew up in Portugal, in a small town near Porto.”

“They have Jews in Portugal?”

“No, no. I mean, yes, there are Jewish people in Portugal, and some are very dear to me, but I am not Jewish myself.”

“Well, then, do you go to a church building?”

“I do. In fact, you see that low steeple over there?” Theo pointed to the barely visible top of a spire a couple of blocks away. “Sometimes I go to that church building on Sunday mornings.” He had pointed at St. James, a landmark known for its opulent windows and ivy-covered exterior walls.

“That’s right next to the post office, isn’t it?” Ellen said. “I’ve never been inside there before. Have you read Eudora Welty?”

“I have indeed.” Theo did not make the connection until later that Mrs. Welty had written a popular story about a post office. “But Ellen, could you tell me a bit about your bicycle?”

She dropped her forehead again and tucked her chin into her chest, so she had to roll her eyes upward to look him in the face. She seemed somewhat offended.

“Mr. Theo, I hardly even know you. I’m sorry, but I can’t really trust you with my personal information yet.”

Theo placed his hand over his heart, supplicating her. “Oh, please forgive me. It was very inappropriate of me to ask a question like that. I’m so sorry.”

In response to Theo’s apology — Ellen was not used to such deference — her chin lifted, and her eyes relaxed.

“It’s really not that big a deal. And since you seem sort of lonely, I’ll just go ahead and tell you. My bicycle is called the ‘Noble Invention.’ Do you know William Saroyan?”

Theo frowned. “I don’t believe I do.”

“Well, he’s dead anyway. But you should know him. You look sort of like him except for his big mustache. He was a writer from California. He was Armenian.”