The sun is rising on a full moon, and an old man readies himself, as he does with every full moon, for the hardship that the day will bring.
Meyer had a hard bottom, but it was no match for the dumb creature he straddled and the uneven and rocky road he was on. No amount of blanket on the creature’s back — it only had one — could keep that four-legged animal’s spine from digging into him. He and Steka were not such a good match. There was not an ounce of fat between them. Between his boney bottom and Steka’s boney back there was nothing but pain. His own, anyway. “Does yours hurt as much as mine?” he would ask. Of course there would be no answer. Everyone knows a donkey can’t talk.
But who’s to say a donkey can’t listen? Not Meyer. He had a better chance with this stubborn animal than he had with his stubborn wife. So he talked. Why not? Did it cost anything? Not a cent. A few oats, a little water, but not one precious copper.
Listening. Meyer liked when people listened to him. But no listening from Gilda. She said he had nothing to say that was worth listening to. Gilda, in the fifty years they were a mister and misses, could find not one thing that was worth a single moment of her time. Hadn’t there been at least one moment when there was talk of a marriage? Not in his little part...
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