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The old man slowly put the spoon in the bowl, wiped one hand on his pants leg and offered it across the table. |
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"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mabuto." Cyrus took the man's calloused hand. "You work here?" |
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At the touch of Cyrus's hand, the old man's eyes suddenly snapped into focus. He stared at Cyrus for about fifteen seconds and then dropped his hand and returned to the bowl, nodding his head slowly up and down like one of those dog statuettes in the rear window of an automobile. |
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"Do a little a this, a little that," Kazie Mabuto said. "Nowadays mostly I fix the watches and remount the rings." |
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The woman was standing in the doorway where she could watch the shop. "Papa, we couldn't run the place without you, and you know it." |
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The old man snorted and waved an impatient hand at his daughter. |
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The bell over the front door jingled and the woman disappeared. The old man chewed his stew slowly. Every few seconds he cut his eyes up to Cyrus's face. |
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Cyrus shook his head. "No. Memphis. How 'bout yourself?" |
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"Live here now, but I grew to be a young man in the Sudan, along the eastern Tibesti range. I'm Susu." Kazie waited to see if Cyrus would say anything and when he didn't, the old man continued. "You know anything about Africa?" |
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Letting slip a shy smile, Cyrus replied, "Only what I got from the National Geographic and Tarzan movies." |
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The old man kept nodding his head sagely. "You ever get down to the islands?" |
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"Islands? You mean like Hawaii?" |
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"The Caribbean. Haiti? Jamaica? How 'bout Roatan?" |
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It was Cyrus's turn to shake his head. "Nope. Never had the chance." |
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