by Ken Kreps
©2002, all rights reserved

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Two small children were playing outside of the front door to Bernie’s shop when he looked up and spotted them.

"Hey, get away from there you little bums.  Get away from my front door.  I’ll give you the back of my hand if you come around here."

"Miserable little kids.  God, I hate them," he thought.

As Bernie was still glaring at his front door, a man and a small girl, perhaps seven, entered.

"Yeah?" Bernie said looking at the man.

"Oh, hi.  Just saw your store and thought we’d look around and warm up a bit.  It’s cold out there."

"You want something in particular?"

"No, no, just sort of browsing."

"Well, all right, but don’t take too long. This isn’t a charity.  I got a living to make just like the next guy.  If that kid of yours breaks anything….you buy it   And if you really want to get warm…find a fireplace."

"I’ll watch her, but you don’t have to get so hostile," the man said.

"Hostile.  That wasn’t hostile," Bernie snapped.   "You’ll know it when I get hostile."

"Look," the man replied.  "My wife died a few weeks ago and we’ve passed this store many times meaning to come in, but never did.  I just thought we’d drop by and maybe find something like she would have bought.  Maybe something to hold on to.  Something to ease the pain a little bit.  That’s all."

"You’re breaking my heart, pal.  Look for a little while and then either buy something or get out."

"No, we’ll just go now," the man said quietly.  "But I have to tell you one thing."

"Yeah?"

"I hope you never have to suffer the loss of someone you love.  Someone who means as much to you as my wife meant to me."

"I don’t need love," Bernie growled.   "That’s for suckers like you.  I take care of number one….me, and I don’t need anyone else’s help."

The man and the little girl left without saying another word and Bernie moved to the rear of the store and began re-arranging a table display.  As usual, he was angry.  Angry at the man and his small daughter, angry at the world, just angry.

Only a few minutes passed before the cheap bell over the front door rang.  As Bernie turned a woman entered the store.  In her mid-thirties, she was tall, pretty and walked with calm self-assurance.

She looked around the store before saying, "Hello.  Anyone here?"

Walking toward the front Bernie muttered, "Yeah, Yeah. I’m coming."

"Hi, I’m Helen Parker and you’re……?" the woman said as she smiled.

Before he could say the usual, "What business is it of yours," or some equally surly remark, Bernie, to his amazement, found himself saying………

"Uhh, Bernie…Bernie Filo.  Look, lady……."

"Helen, please call me Helen."

"OK Helen.  Did you need something?"

"No, not really.  I’v just always wanted to come in and see your store and today’s the first chance I’ve had."

"Now just a minute," Bernie stammered.  "This….I mean uh….."

"Yes?" she said looking puzzled.

"I mean, sure.  Look around.  Take your time.  I’ll be in the back if you need anything,"

"Bernie shuffled towards the rear of the store and all he could think was, "She’s not here to buy anything.  She’s just here to look.  I ought to tell her she can only look for a few minutes.   But, I don’t want to.  What’s wrong with me?"

Picking up a small lamp from the table just to her left she asked,  "Bernie, how much is this lamp?"

Bernie turned and started back towards the woman.  "Oh, that’s a very expensive item.  That’ll cost you eighty….. eighty…..I mean eight dollars and ninety five cents."

Bernie couldn’t believe what he’d just said.  "Oh, I’m losing it," he thought.  "Most suckers will pay a lot more for that lamp.  "Course, it only cost me five dollars, but they don’t know  that."

"It’s beautiful," she said.  "It reminds me of a lamp I used to have, but I don’t really have any place to put it.  Say, is that coffee I smell?"

Bernie was a four or five cup-a-day coffee drinker and always kept a fresh pot brewing in the back.  In all the years he had operated the store, he’d never once offered a cup of coffee to anyone and, in fact, a few years earlier, when a customer asked if he could have some, Bernie offered to sell him a cup for two dollars.  So he was shocked to hear himself say, "Yeah, Yeah it is.  Ahh, would you like a cup?"

"I’d love one."

It seemed now that every word out of Bernies mouth was in a foreign place.  He couldn’t believe what he was saying.

"OK.  Ah, I’ve got a table and a couple of chairs in the back," he volunteered.  "We can have our coffee back there."

"Great," Helen said.

Once Helen was seated, Bernie poured a steaming cup of coffee for each of them before taking a seat across the table from her.

"Hmmmmm, that smells delicious.  You’ve had this store a long time haven’t you Bernie? "

"Yeah, I have, but how……?"

"Oh, I can just tell from the way it looks.  I’ll bet some of those items have been on the shelf for years."

"Yeah, I’ve bought some things that were real dogs, all right," Bernie admitted.

"Well, everyone makes mistakes in business.  Of course in my line of work, we can’t make too many."

"What do you do?" Bernie asked.

"I’m a fire fighter.  Company Seven, you know the station over on Central Avenue."

A look of amazement crossed Bernies face as he said, "You’re, a fireman….no!!"

"Well, actually, I’m a fire woman, but yes, that’s what I do."

"But how.  I mean you’re so……?"

"I’m stronger than I look, Bernie.  I work out.  I take care of myself."

"I never would have believed it.  Why fire fighting?"

"Why not," she said.  "Even as a young girl, I knew that’s what I wanted to do.  When the trucks would race past our house with the lights flashing and sirens screaming, I knew someday, I’d be on those trucks.  I guess I was just meant to be a firefighter.  I’ve never wanted to do anything else."

By now, Bernie was as comfortable as he’d been in a long while with another person.  For the first time in years, he was enjoying having a conversation with another human being.

"Do you like running this store, Bernie?"

"What’s to like.  It’s a living.  Not a very good one sometimes, but a living all the same."

"But do you like it?"

"No, not really," Bernie answered.

Why not?"

"It’s the people mostly.  I don’t get along with people very well.  They want to look, but not buy.  I don’t like talking with people.

"You’re talking with me."

"Yeah, that’s strange.  I don’t know why, but it seems OK to talk with you."

"You seem like a nice man to me, Bernie."

The hint of a smile crossed his face before he said, "Well, you won’t find many people that’ll agree with you.  People don’t like me very much.   But that’s OK.  I don’t like them much either."

"You seem really bitter about people.  Why is that?"

"People are no good," Bernie answered.  "Oh, they’ll smile and act nice to your face, but underneath, all they want is to take something of yours.  Mainly they want to take your money.  But I beat ‘em to the punch.  I take theirs before they can take mine.  No, I don’t like people very much.  Well…..to be honest, it started with my old man."

"Your father?"

"Yeah.  At first, he was a great father and I really loved him.  Then things changed when I was six.  His business went bad and he started drinking heavily and in a year he was a falling down drunk.  He started beating my mother and me almost every week.  He ran off when I was ten.  It was actually good that he left, but by then his hard ways had taken a toll on my mom.  She died eight years later and I’ve never forgiven that bum for what he did to us.  He killed my mom as sure as if he’d put a gun to her head.  I swore never to trust another human being as long as I lived."

"Bernie, you shouldn’t let the actions of one man, even if he was your father, color your opinion about all people.  When you really think about it, people are all we have."

Bernie shook his head.  "Not for me."

"You know, the guys down at the firehouse say I’m pretty good at predicting the future.  Would you like me to predict yours?"

"Sure.  Why not."

"OK, how about this.  Before too long, you’re going to help someone when they really need it.  You’re going to be there for them and do all you can without any regard for yourself."

This time Bernie actually did smile.  "That’ll be the day," he said.  "Look, Helen, like I said, you seem like a real nice lady, but you’re as wrong as you can be.  I’m not helping anybody and I’m not expecting anyone to help me."

"Oh, you’ll see Bernie.  You’ll see."

"No way," he said firmly.  "Would you like another cup?"

"No, I’ve got some things to do before I go on duty tonight.  Thanks for the coffee, but I really have to go."

"Uh, you’re welcome.  You….you can come back again if you want."

"I’d like that Bernie.  I’ll see you soon."

With that, Helen walked to the front door and was gone.  Bernie placed their two cups on a small counter and got up to putter around the store.

"Nice lady," he thought.  "But she’s wrong about me.  I don’t need people Do unto others before they can do unto you, I say."

Other than Helen’s visit, the day was much like any other.  Bernie felt less anger than usual and all in all, was in a pretty good mood.  Around three o’clock an elderly couple walked timidly through the front door.  They were dressed in dirty, tattered clothing.  The woman stood just inside the door looking down at the floor as the man approached Bernie.

Bernie glared at the man before saying, "Yeah, what do you want?"

The old man looked at the floor as he said, "I’m sorry to bother you."

The man’s reluctance to say what he wanted was starting to irritate Bernie as he said, "What is it?"

"Well, it’s just that …..I mean……"

"Yes?" Bernie demanded.

"Do you have any blankets?" the old man finally said.

"Yeah, I’ve got some over by the wall."

"How much are they?"

"Different prices.  Depending on their condition, some cost more than others."

"I’ve only got three dollars."

"OK.  Maybe I could let one of the older ones go for three bucks."

"We need two blankets," the man said still looking at the floor.

"Look. Buddy, three dollars won’t buy two blankets.  You’re lucky, it’ll buy one.  Now do you want it or not?"

Obviously frightened by Bernie’s tough demeanor, the man repeated his statement.  " We need two blankets."

"Are you deaf?" Bernie shouted.  "One blanket.  Now make up your mind or get out of here."

Looking embarrased, the man said "I really don’t want to do this.  Please forgive me.  I have no choice."

With that, he reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out a formidable looking snub nosed automatic pistol and pointed it at Bernie’s chest.

"What the…" Bernie exclaimed as he jumped back.

"I’m sorry," the old man said.   "But times have been rough.  We live out in shanty town and two nights ago our blankets were stolen.  My wife gets cold…..she’s not well  and I can’t stand to see her suffer in the cold like she did last night."

"Easy, buddy," Bernie said trying to calm the old man.  "I’ll do whatever you say.  I’ll give you the money in the register.  Just take it easy."

"I don’t want your money."

"You don’t want my money?  Then why the hell are you holding a gun on me?"

"I want two blankets."

"Your holding me up for two blankets?"

"I don’t feel good about this. I’m only doing it because I have to.  Once I have the two blankets, we’ll leave."

Bernie walked over to a table piled high with blankets.  He picked out two blankets, walked back to the counter and put them down in front of the man.

"How much do you usually sell these for?" the man asked.

"For blankets like these…three bucks each," Bernie replied.

Still holding the gun on Bernie, the man reached into his pocket, pulled out three crumpled dollar bills and laid them on the counter next to the blankets.

"I ‘ll pay you the other three dollars as soon as I can," he said.

"You hold a gun on me and then you tell me you’re going to pay for everything you’re taking?"

"I’m not a robber.  I just didn’t know how else to get the blankets."

Any other time, Bernie would have been hopping mad.  He kept his own gun under the counter and the way the old man’s hand was shaking, he could have shot him, easly.  Yet he thought about Helen and what she’d said about him helping someone soon.  What he did next was unlike anything he’d done in years.

"Put the gun down, oldtimer, you don’t need it?" Bernie said lowering his voice.

"I’m so ashamed that I had to point a gun at you. I’ll put it down.  Call the police and I won’t give them any trouble."

"No one’s calling the police."

"But I tried to rob you."

"No," Bernie replied.  "I don’t call two moth eaten blankets a robbery.  You don’t look like the usual bums that stumble in here.  You seem different."

"We’re not bums. I was an engineer and my wife has a degree in music.  She’s a fine musician.  At least she used to be."

"Then what are you doing living in Shanty Town?" Bernie asked.  "That’s nothing more than people sleeping in plywood crates."

The old man again looked down at the floor. "I don’t know really.  We wern’t very good at saving money.  Then my  company was sold and I lost my job.  Mary, my wife got sick……we couldn’t pay for the house and we lost it…..things just seemed to really go down hill after that…..no money, no place to go and we wound up in shanty town."

"But couldn’t you find a job of some sort?"

"I tried, but nobody wants an engineer over sixty.  I really tried, but after awhile, I just gave up.  Mary can’t work, so we sort of live hand to mouth."

"Well, the gun looks pretty new," Bernie said.  "It must be worth something."

"No…firing pin’s gone, barrel’s corodded inside, handles chipped, but you can’t see it when I hold it.  It’s not worth anything."

Bernies day got even stranger as he did something so out of character that even he couldn’t believe it.  He picked up the three dollars off the counter and handed them to the old man.

"Here, take the three dollars."

"But we need the blankets." The man said looking at Bernie.

"I know.  Take those, too."

"But, I don’t understand."

"Neither do I.  Just take the blankets and get out before I change my mind."

"Thanks, Mister.  I won’t forget this."

Bernie was astonished to find himself opening the cash register and putting his hand inside.

"Here, you’d better take this, too," he said.

"Twenty dollars.  I….I can’t take that."

"Just take it," Bernie insisted.

The old man could not hide his embarrasment and gratitude as he said, "Thank you."

The man picked up the two blankets, turned and walked toward the front of the store.  His wife had been standing just inside the door, looking down, ever since they came in.  Her husband handed her one of the blankets as he moved slowly past her and out the door, but before following him, she raised her head, looked at Bernie and gave him a sad smile of gratitude.  Then she wrapped the blanket around her thin shoulders, turned and followed the old man through the door into the cold.

"You’re losing it, Bernie," Bernie thought.  "You just gave twenty dollars and two blankets to a total stranger.  And you did this after he pulled a gun on you.  Helen said I’d help someone soon.  How did she know?  Well, one thing’s for sure.  That’s the first and last time.  From now on it’s back to the old Bernie.  No more bleeding heart stuff.  From now on, I look out for Bernie "

It was near the end of the day and Bernie was getting ready to close the store when he heard the bell on the front door ring.  He  gazed over the dusty shelves and narrow aisles, but saw nothing.  He walked half way towards the front of the store and looked a second time.  Again, he saw nothing.

"That’s funny," he thought.  "I’d swear someone came in.  Ahh the winds pretty high tonight.  That must be it."

He went back to his nightly routine of closing down the store and five minutes later, hat and coat in hand, he was at the front door ready to leave.  Just then, he remembered he’d forgotten to turn off the stove.  Bernie never had central heating installed and kept the place warm with a large and very old kerosene stove in the back of the store.  He’d only taken a few steps towards the rear when a terrible explosion ripped through the night.  Bernie watched in horror as the rear of his store burst into flames.  A blast of heat drove him back towards the front of the store.  He ran as fast as he could.  Finally reaching the front door, he threw it open and ran into the street.

"Help, someone help me," he cried.  "someone call the fire department."

An automobile raced around a nearby corner and slid to a brake-screeching stop 25 yards from the store.

"Bernie are you all right?" Helen asked as she jumped out of the car.

"Yeah, I think so. What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to my shift at the fire station when I heard the explosion.  What happened?"

"My old kerosene stove.  I guess it finally gave out."

"Thank God you’re OK," she said looking relieved.

A man puffing for breath ran up to them from across the street.

"Have you seen my little girl?" he gasped.

Looking at him Bernie said, "I haven’t seen any little girl.  Wait, you were in earlier today with your daughter."

"She’s in your store, Bernie, we’ve got to get her out," Helen said calmly.

"No, she didn’t come in.  I would’ve….wait….Oh my God.  Just before the explosion, the door opened and closed.  I thought it was the wind."

"Come on Bernie, follow me.  We can do it," Helen urged.

The girl’s father started to follow.  "I’m going with you."

"No," Helen cautioned.  "We need you to stay here and make sure the fire department’s been called."

The man stopped, looked at Bernie and said, "Her name’s Julie."

Bernie watched Helen as she sprinted across the street to his shop, stopping  for the briefest moment while she motioned for him to follow.  Pushing his fear aside he followed her as both ran through the door into the store.  By now, two thirds of the shop were engulfed in fire and thick smoke.

"Julie, Julie.  Where are you, honey?" Helen shouted as she entered.

Once inside, Helen dashed left and Bernie went right.  Fighting for breath and struggling to see through the blinding smoke, he pushed ahead.  Then, he saw a small shape no more than 30 feet from the door.  It was the little girl, passed out and curled into a tight ball.

"Helen, over here. I’ve found her," he cried.

Bernie, picked up the small girl and turned towards the front door He faced a solid wall of fire.  And then, to his great surprise, he saw that a small lane had open in the flames.  It wasn’t very wide, only a third of what it had been when he came in, but Bernie knew it was all they were going to get.  He looked frantically for Helen, but saw nothing but walls of flames and dense black smoke.

Holding the girl tightly to his chest, Bernie ran toward the door as flames licked at them from both sides, scorching their clothes.  Choking on smoke and gasping for air, Bernie finally ran out of the store and into the cold night air.  He stood dazed as  a paramedic ran up and gently took the girl from him.  He leaned against a parked car, coughing heavily, as a fireman approached.

"You OK mister?"

"What….Yeah….yeah, I’m fine"

"Better have the paramedics, check you out," the fireman urged.

"No, I’m fine really.  I just need to catch my breath and get some fresh air."

"I’m Chief Benson and in almost thirty years of fire fighting, I’ve never seen anything like that."

Bernie looked puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?  When we got here, the building was totally engulfed in flames.  When the girl’s father told me you’d gone inside to get her, I thought, for sure, you were both goners.  I didn’t think anyone would come out of that fire alive.  It’s a miracle."

Coughing less frequently, Bernie asked, "How’s the girl?"

The chief looked over where the paramedics and the girl’s father were gathered
around her.  Just at that moment, one of the paramedics, raised his head, looked at the chief and made the OK sign with his thumb and index finger.

"Looks like she’ll be fine, Mister…..ah, what was your name?"

"Uh, Filo….Bernie Filo."

"She’s doing OK, Mr. Filo, thanks to you.  You’re a real hero."

"No, I’m not.  If it hadn’t been for Helen.  Oh, my God….Helen.  Is she OK?"

Looking shocked the chief asked, "Was there someone else in the building, sir?"

"Yes, Helen.  Helen Parker, One of your fire fighters.   I don’t see her anywhere."

The chief looked sad before saying, "Mr. Filo, Helen Parker is dead."

Bernie was near tears.  "Oh dear God, she didn’t make it.  She walked right into the flames!  There was nothing I could do."

"No, I’m afraid you don’t understand," the chief explained.  "Helen Parker didn’t die tonight."

"What do you mean?"
 
"She died almost a year ago fighting a fire on a cold night very much like this one."

"No. That’s impossible," Bernie said.  "She was right here!"

"Mr. Filo, the only two people in that building were you and the little girl.  No one else."

"No," Bernie argued.  "She was on the way to her shift at Company Seven when she saw the fire."

"Raising his eyebrows the chief asked, "Company Seven?  How did you know Helen worked out of Company Seven?  How did you know her at all?"

"She told me where she worked.  I only met her this morning, but thank God she was driving by when the fire started.  I couldn’t have done it without her.  She left her car right in the middle of the street."

"There wasn’t any car in the street when we got here," the chief replied.

"Ask the girl’s father.  He saw Helen."

"He told us you rushed into the burning building after telling him to make sure we’d been called.  He said nothing about another person.  No sir, you rescued that little girl all by yourself."

"But, I saw her, I tell you," Bernie insisted.  "Helen was in that burning building with me.  She was leading the way.  I would never have had the courage to go into that building by myself.   She was in my store this morning and she was as real as you are."

Putting his arm around Bernie’s shoulders, the chief said, "People in fires see strange things.  Even experienced firemen see things they can’t explain.  I don’t know how you know Helen’s name or what you saw or what you think you saw, but I know Helen has been dead and buried for a year."

"I can’t believe it."

"Funny thing though," the chief added.

"What do you mean?"

"She died when she ran into a burning building trying to save a little girl who was trapped inside.  She didn’t make it and she and the little girl died in the fire.  She was a fine lady and we all miss her a great deal.  She really loved helping people."

The girl’s father walked over to Bernie and the chief, glancing occasionally back toward the curb were his daughter sat with two paramedics.

"How can I thank you?" he asked.

"Uhh, well it was nothing," Bernie stammered.  "Ah, why did Julie come back to my store?"

"She wanted to apologize for upsetting you earlier, today.  That’s the kind of kid she is.  She’s so shy, I’m sure she was working up the courage to talk to you when the store caught on fire."

"I’m just glad she’s OK," Bernie smiled.

Shaking Bernie’s hand the man said, "Thank you.  Thank you so much.  I’ll never forget this," and then walked away to join his daughter.

"Chief?" Bernie said, turning toward Chief Benson.

"Yes, Mr. Filo."

"Maybe she still is."

"I don’t understand."

"I mean, chief, maybe Helen is still helping people."

Several days later, Bernie was allowed to go into the burned out store to see if anything of value could be salvaged.  The store was totally destroyed and Bernie found nothing.  Nothing except two coffee cups buried under some rubble and miraculously still intact.  On the rim of one was a perfect half circle lipstick imprint.  To this day it sits, unwashed, in Bernie’s house on the mantle above his fireplace.  He thinks about Helen often.  In the one day he knew her, she changed his life, forever.  Insurance paid for a new store and when it opened, there was also a new Bernie to go with it.  He’s nice to people now and fair with his prices and the people are nice to him.  Business is booming as never before.  Julie and her father drop by often and have become his good friends.  Bernie’s life has never been better and there is absolutely no doubt in his mind as to why.  He knows he owes it all to the lady from Company Seven.

©2002 by Ken Kreps. This work of fiction may not be re-published in electronic or print media without the express written permission of the author. All rights reserved.

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