Of Great Character

Joseph A. Byrne

Description

Of Great Character is a social thriller. It demonstrates the principle that true greatness is often found in ordinary circumstances. The book uses the often thrilling events of the pea harvest to illustrate this principle.

The book begins in the Old Prussia House, one of Europe's finest restaurants. Here, a pea harvester orders only sweet peas as he tells the tales of interesting, comical and devastating events that happened in the pea field. The greatness found in the characters working there is compelling.

The book is a must-read, both for people who enjoy good stories and for people who are interested in contemplating the deeper questions in life.

Sujets

• Philosophie
• Éthique et morale
• Ethique et morale
• Good
• Evil
• Philosophy
• Philosophie et théologie

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456602253
• Langue: English

Extrait

OF GREAT CHARACTER
 
A story by Joseph A. Byrne
 
 
Copyright 2011 Joseph A. Byrne,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0225-3
 
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
 
For information regarding this publication, please make inquiries via e-mail to: [e-mail]
 
Visit our website at: www.byrnebooks.ca
 


Collie looked at him with empty eyes, tear-filled eyes, pained eyes. He looked like he wanted to die, but responded emotionally to Anthony, as though bonding with him. He would survive. He had reason to survive.
 
Sweet Peas merely made his way to class, his shirt ripped, his arms dirty, his face bloodied, friendless, but with an immense peace inside him, a peace as big as the peace in the barn when the cattle are fed...
 
This book is dedicated to the great Pea Men of Essex County, Ontario, Canada, and to Claire, my children, my grandchildren, my brothers, their families and my staff.
 
Also by Joseph Byrne…
SENSES OF AUTUMN
WHITE SNOW BLACKOUT
 


 
Chapter 1
PRUSSIA HOUSE
 
The man sat in the Old Prussia House, renowned as one of Europe’s finest restaurants, in its finest city. It was Milan’s favourite spot, except for the Old Duluth, which had made a brief appearance in Rouyn, Quebec, while he was there.
He had ordered two small beers, which had come quickly. The food never came, but he didn’t seem to notice it. He sat there, dignified, intense, and waited.
Finally, after he had again sat there for a long period of time, the waitress came over. Politely, she explained she was just starting her shift and would be taking over his table.
“What would you like, sir?” she asked.
A silence set in—the type that is hard to explain. Everyone pretends not to notice it; no one interrupts it. Finally, he looked at her, “I would like sweet peas--only sweet peas.”
Perplexed, the waitress made her way back among the Napoleon cakes, the ones now only made in Europe, past the fine linen and pastry. She bypassed the order table and now made her way into the kitchen, the forbidden area, forbidden certainly to wait staff. She ignored the rules and made her way toward the head chef.
“He wants sweet peas, only sweet peas,” she told him.
As the waitress was back there, an older lady, dignified, sitting across from him, straightened up. She quickly glanced to where the waitress had been, but she had by now disappeared behind the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. She looked at the man sitting across from her. Obviously intrigued, she spoke.
“Sir, might I say that I have been around the world many times. Some would say that I know Africa better than I know the back of my own hand. They would say I’ve seen it all, but you intrigue me. I don’t know about sweet peas. Tell me about ‘sweet peas’.”
The man lowered his gaze. He looked at her. “What could possibly interest you about sweet peas?” he asked her. Then, he started to tell her about it.
“It was an honest time,” he said. “There was an honesty there that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. You got up at 3 a.m. and you went to the pea field. You worked until 3 a.m. and then you slept, if at all, until you started to work again, perhaps at 3 a.m. They’re nondescript, those men there. Yet, out there, I met some of the greatest men I’ve ever known. One of these men, I call ‘Sweet Peas’. He thinks he’s no one special. It was the Brezhnev era. The Cold War was really on. It was before the time of detente.”
 
Chapter 2
ON BEING DRAWN IN
 
When Anthony first arrived at the pea field, he looked it over carefully. The freshly cut windrows emitted a sweet smell as if to invite him into the field. The windrows were neatly cut, laid in symmetry, curving and bending, equally, from row to row, the same distance apart--ten feet between each row. The cut ends of the stalk were always on top of the windrows, the pea pods hanging down beneath them, generally hidden in the windrow. As Anthony bent over a windrow, he tugged at a handful of vines. The vines released themselves easily from the windrow, as if eager to show Anthony their enormous sweet pea pods, in their prime of freshness. Anthony picked one, split it open with his thumb, running his nail along the seam of the pod. He then put each of the eight giant peas that were in the pod into his mouth, flipping them in one at a time.
“Boy,” he proclaimed, “I’ve never tasted anything better than that,” as he popped some more into his mouth.
He looked again at the freshly cut windrows of peas. It amazed him how they attracted him, as though speaking to him. Their sweet fragrance beckoned him further into the field. He was seduced by them.
On the other side of the field, the uncut pea vines glistened in the sun, still wet from the morning dew. The gentle breeze, blowing over them, caused a slight ripple over the top of them, which seemed to break their unity. The ripple was exaggerated by the effect of the sun’s glisten off of the wet pea plants trying to stand there against the gentle force of the breeze against them. The ripple of wind bobbed the pea vines downward and then released them, as if to motion him further into the field.
“ They’re waving me in ,” Anthony said to himself, as he looked out over them. It made him smile to think how naturally they spoke to him. So, he simply walked toward them.
“Are you the new driver?” Kurt hollered over from a distance of several windrows of peas. “We don’t start for forty-five minutes yet. The Jolly Green [the factory] is plugged with peas from this morning.”
Even though it was now only around 9 a.m., Kurt, like the other men, referred to morning as the work period before daybreak. Mid-day was the period of time from daybreak to noon. The rest of the day lasted until dark and night lasted until midnight. Anthony couldn’t help but notice the diesel fumes as they wafted in the air as Kurt spoke. He looked further around the field. It seemed like all of the tractors were running at an idle, standing there, not moving. The engines on the pea combines were also running, also at an idle, breaking the calm silence that otherwise stood over the field.
“ Maybe they won’t start if they shut them off ,” he thought to himself. “See you in 45 minutes,” he called to Kurt, as he started to walk through the field.
Bob was the next one to come over.
“Are you driving tractor for us?” he asked.
Bob was a veteran pea man, having cut his teeth at the old pea viner. The viners were in use in the era before the pea combines had come into common usage. Pea vining was a labour-intensive process. The pea vines were cut in the field using swathers. They were then loaded onto trucks by men using pitchforks.
“Never let the fork touch the ground,” they were told. “Keep it moving.”
The men loaded the pea vines onto trucks, using their long-handled pitch forks, which were then hauled to the pea-vining plant on trucks, where they were again pitch-forked off. Bob had enormous forearms and shoulders, the product of loading trucks in the field, or pitch-forking them off the truck and onto the conveyor belt that led from the back of the dump trucks that hauled peas there. The conveyor belt carried the pea vines into the factory, where the peas were separated from the vines inside the building. There, giant threshing units were doing what the pea combines now did in the field, separating the peas from the vines and pods. Bob worked at the Elmstead pea-viner, then later at the Essex plant.
“Boy! You’re sure lucky you’re driving a pea combine,” he said to Anthony. “Imagine forking vines all day. We were paid fifty-cents per truckload. I used to throw a whole truckload off in a half-hour, then climb over and help the other guys finish theirs. The secret is: never let the pitchfork stop moving.”
Anthony agreed it was nice the pea combines had now replaced the pea-viners, but he didn’t really know. He liked Bob. Bob made him feel like he belonged there. He didn’t treat him like a rookie. He was not down-grading him. Bob accepted him and made him feel accepted.
“Thanks, Bob,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll have a lot of questions for you before the day is over.”
“No problem,” Bob replied, “No problem.”
Anthony walked further. He noticed the field furrows that ran in both directions, perpendicular to each other across the field. The east-west furrows were deeper than the north-south furrows, evidence they had run a lot of water. Anthony noticed that no peas were growing in the furrows there.
“ I’ll bet they put the furrows in after planting in order to drain excess surface water from the field after heavy rainfall events ,” Anthony thought as he kept walking through the field.
He noticed that the windrows thickened on the silty, black land he encountered from place to place in the field. His feet sank in it, among the tangle of pea vines. He noticed how the pea pods were extra long, extra plump there. He stopped to pick one and again noticed how sweet the peas were in this part of the field.
“You got any land like that at home?” Kurt called over.
Anthony chuckled. “Not like that,” he said, as he bent over again to pick a few pea pods.
“Is that what you have in the lunch bag you’re carrying?” Kurt asked, “pea pods.”
“No,” replied Anthony as he fumbled with the large brown paper bag. “Want some?” he called over as he unwrapped what Kurt thought was a sandwich.
“Sure,” he said, as he had been at the field a while already.
Anthony had gotten up early. He went out to the barn to do the morning chores. He gave the cattle a little extra ensilage that morning, thinking he might get home late, then went into the house, boiled an enormous pot of oatmeal and laid it out on several flat pans. He the