Who Are the “Good People”?

Range Road Retirement Home is a country resort for mostly Jewish, German, and English folk. The enormous Victorian-style home has been refurbished many times, but it is still filled with trinkets and baubles from the World War One era. Intoxicating aromas of freshly-baked breads and pastries flood the residents' senses throughout each day. Before smoking was banned, you could smell cigar or pipe smoke wafting through the halls.

The front yard is enormous, and lawn chairs are scattered over it; with room to spare for lawn croquet, played by the more active crowd. A white picket fence encircles the perimeter of the grounds, and small colourful flowers line the inside of it. A lush fruit and vegetable garden adorns the right third of the front lawn. Two giant weeping willows shade the entire left third, where the residents can be found lounging, on sunny afternoons, hiding from the sun.

Mr. Abraham Lowenstein and Mr. Waldo Reicher are out on the front lawn every ay, playing chess. Abraham plays a relaxed game, and tries to humour Waldo. Waldo, conversely, fixes himself with eyes glued and gums imparted. No matter the winner, the crescendo of their match is invariably the prologue for an argument.

--Damn you Abraham. You know bloody well that my bishop was one spot to the left. You moved it at your own convenience when I as blowing my nose, Waldo snaps in his old Bavarian accent.

--That's just like you Waldo. Always a conspiracy. Maybe it was the KGB who moved your bishop. Worse yet, have you checked your rook? It's been moved a bloody half acre, or is your glaucoma acting up again?, Abraham answers back in Canadian English.

--Mind your words old man. I'll whoop you with an arm to spare.

--Put down your hands, you imbecile. I'm not going to come
to fisticuffs with an invalid.

Sometimes Waldo has to be peeled off Abraham. It's not that Abraham is a weak man. Even from a sitting position he can fend off blows from Waldo, who gets winded after throwing ten soft punches. When the orderlies come to break up the fight, Abraham says,

--Don't worry about me. I held my own in a couple of wars. I can take care of old Waldo.

Abraham prefers not to answer Waldo's blows with blows of his own. He fears what damage he could do to Waldo, who has suffered through two heart attacks; a man on his last legs.

For his part, Waldo refuses to give into reason, which suggests that he should rest and relax in his last years. But he loathes the forced comfort of the home. Though he attacks Abraham at every turn, everyone feels this is his way of reaching out. He is also a veteran of some wars, and is as tough as nails, though no longer physically strong.

The two men are opposites.

Abraham, at seventy-seven, is strong and physically enduring, and has thick shoulders and a prominent jawline. He is well-postured, thoroughly considerate, and contented. Since his wife died ten years ago, Abraham has delighted in life's simpler pleasures. He has been at Range Road for five years, and everyone there likes him.

Waldo is an obstinate and frustrated eighty-one year old man. He is poorly groomed, and attributes his diminishing abilities to nature. He's been at Range Road for twelve years. No one knows much about his previous life, other than a spouse who died years before, and his five or so children and many grandchildren, who rarely visit. He is hunched in the back, and wears a thick scowl that camouflages his many hurts.

The staff at the home feel they can count on Abraham suffering the brunt of Waldo's frustrations, and that's how they perceive the relationship of the two men. Word is that the two old men are disparate souls, awkwardly joined together by some sort of bond, perhaps of war-time hardships, and now, shared old age.

When Waldo tries to fight Abraham, it is the duty of the head nurse, Mildred Schomberg, to pull him back. She dreads the paper work it would require should he suffer a seizure.


Mildred has been the head nurse at Range Road for eight years. She is a tall and gracious lady, with rosy cheeks and a smile that could soften hard leather. Though mostly amiable, her patience can be exhausted on the drop of an old man's diaper.

She and Abraham long have had an agreement. She says to him:

--You keep on with Waldo like you've been and I'll see to it that there's extra pie for you come dessert time.

She doesn't publicly endure Waldo's moods. She tells him to shape up or ship out, a phrase she figures he's become familiar with in his army days. He usually growls at her.

Waldo feels the whole world is against him, like it was back in WW2, when he was a foot soldier in Hitler's army. Abraham was a Canadian fighter pilot, and, if not for fortune or misfortune, he might have dutifully finished Waldo's bickering forty-nine years ago, while he was on a flying assignment over France, where Waldo was marching.

One day on the veranda, during a rainstorm:

--Do you ever think of the big war Abe?

--C'mon Waldo, it's not becoming of you to be sentimental.

--I want to know.

--I'm an old man, like you. I don't think much at all.

--Answer my question!

--Hell yes. Now shut up!

And this conversation continues on another rainy day:

--You know, it was me you could have been bombing.

--Would have shut you up a long time ago if I did.

--We might have won it you know.

--Won what?

--The war. The big one.

--Waldo, shut up about it before I take back my vow not to put your lights out!

And Waldo fights on, and Abraham always peels the old man off of him from a sitting position.

Mildred dropped by the chess game one day to remind Waldo that he hadn't taken his medication.

--Trying to poison me with that hell candy again, aren't you?

--Come now Mr. Reicher, it's for your health.

--I don't want it!

He threw the chess game in the air with his flailing arms, and got up, ready to fight. Mildred was taken back. The medication was supposed to calm Waldo, but someone had neglected to sneak it into his morning tea, like usual. Mildred wasn't aware of this practice.

--Sit down Waldo. I'll whip you if you hit her, Abraham declared.

--Now Abraham, I'm sure Waldo doesn't want to be violent, Mildred said.

--Waldo, sit down you asshole, Abraham insisted.

Waldo sucked up air and lunged for Mildred. He fell down. Got up and tried again, and again, until it became a running gag. The angry old man had become pooped. An orderly lifted him into his chair, and offered him tea, which Waldo was too exasperated to refuse. He drank his medicine. Meanwhile Abraham roared with laughter. Mildred snickered, then left.

--Making an idiot of yourself again, eh Waldo?, Abraham jibed.

Waldo took a minute to catch his breath.

--I'll win yet, you'll see, he said, gasping.


Everyone at the home wonders why Abraham puts up with Waldo's cantankerous antics. Abraham envisions, painfully, the hundreds or thousands --he doesn't know how many-- of Germans he fired upon from his plane so long ago. He dreads that it could have been Waldo he was bombing. Or anyone else for that matter.

And so, when Waldo behaves particularly badly, Abraham says,

--Waldo, you shape up once and for all, or you'll be living the loneliest last years the devil's ever had the pleasure to witness.

But nothing more.

Still, Abraham wonders in the privacy of his covers if Waldo wants the help of a pitying Canadian ex-pilot.


A hot, hazy, and humid Sunday afternoon round about the middle of August was family day at Range Road. Not just an ordinary family day either. A big and important end of the summer one, where all the relatives who lived anywhere near were expected to attend. They would come to visit, take part in a tour and craft exhibit, and eat from the kosher smorgasbord.

The old people's faces lit up upon seeing grandchildren they had been relegated to eying only twice a year. Everyone, it seemed, had at least two visitors, who, it was assumed, were their offspring. Any more than two were usually grandchildren. They were husked away after a short visit, so that adult matters could be discussed.

Abraham had a host of visitors. Three sets of children and their spouses, and seven grandchildren. By the looks on their faces, it would have seemed that none of them wanted him ever to die. He, in turn, received them most cheerily.

Poor old decrepit Waldo, had had only a handful of visitors in the past couple of years, and he let on like he preferred it that way.

Since Waldo's room was next to Abraham's, and since Waldo didn't appreciate visitors staying long, be it his visitors or anyone else's, he'd begin to bang on the wall that separated his room from Abraham's. Abraham would ignore this rude gesture for the most part, except when it became unending. Then he'd explain to his guests something about his neighbour's having a mental illness.

On this celebratory day in August, near the end of the day, after waking restlessly from a late-afternoon nap, Waldo wheeled himself to Abraham's doorway, hoping to challenge his neighbour to a game of chess. He saw two visitors, Abraham's daughter and her husband, who were enjoying a pleasant conversation with the smiling old man.
--Oh, hello Waldo. Come in here and say hello to Warren and Melissa, Abraham said, as the two visitors turned around to look at Waldo.

--Ahh. You go on with your visiting, Waldo said, without his familiar bitterness.

--So that's Waldo, eh, Warren said, once the old man had wheeled himself away from the door. A multitude of visions of despondent and helpless old people filled his head, and he said to Abraham,

--Missy and I have talked it over Grandpa. We'd like you to come and live with us.

--That's damned thoughtful of you Warren, but I moved in here five years ago to take everyone's worries off me. And for that matter, my worries off them, Abraham said kindly, positively.

--I'm not sure what you mean.

--I mean, there's nothing better for me than to play chess, eat perogies, and smell the flowers in the garden. I'm enjoying myself.

--You sure? asked Melissa.

--Honey, I wouldn't have it any other way, Abraham said, stroking the girl's hand.

A short while later there was a loud clang heard around the home. All the staff ran towards the kitchen. They found Waldo wheeling himself patiently around the cutting table, where a bowl of mixed fruit sat suitably out of his reach. He looked scornfully at the amazed faces. They looked at the enormous steel bowl laying on the floor behind Waldo. He mumbled hoarsely,

--Damn jail. Can't even get a snack.

Nurse Mildred broke from the pack and said patiently,

--Mr. Reicher. You're aware of the rules around here. No clients in the kitchen.

As she went for the wheelchair, Waldo shrieked,

--You can't patronize me any more. I'm not going to let you. I'll have you all shot and killed.

He wheeled himself around to the range where he spotted a butcher knife. Mildred motioned to two orderlies, then she left the room.

She returned with Abraham.

--What in God's name are you trying to prove?" Abraham shouted at Waldo.

--They're trying to finish me, can't you see?

--You've lost your crackers.

--I won't be taken alive. I won't...

The staff stood back while the orderlies kept a firm hold on Waldo. They all stared at Abraham, hoping.

Abraham stared at Waldo until Waldo calmed down.

--You'd all better leave us alone, Abraham announced quietly.

When everyone was gone, Abraham went face to face with Waldo. Waldo hadn't moved an inch since Abraham walked into the room.

--Don't you see? Don't you see?, Waldo whimpered, begging for confirmation.

Abraham put his hands easily into his pants pockets and took a deep breath.

--Waldo old friend, he said in a comforting tone, --before it kills you, you have to realize that the only one out to get you is you.

Waldo stared long and big-eyed right into Abraham's eyes until it appeared he was about to break into tears. Suddenly, he stiffened up, and pulled his dangly legs sharply into the foot slots on his wheelchair. Quickly, his body stiffened, in war-like anticipation. He grabbed the wheels and irately wheeled himself out of the kitchen, past a disconsolate Abraham, who knew he'd failed to get through to the old man.

The staff only stood and watched as Waldo, now determined only to get privacy, rolled toward his room. Once Waldo was inside, a dead thump was heard. Then there was silence, like nothing had happened.

Mildred was the only one who went into Waldo's room, to check that Waldo had no suicidal intentions. She came out in a moment and nodded, and the awe-struck crowd all dropped their shoulders and let out breaths, as if having presumed that Waldo had spent all his energy and was now off to sleep.


The next morning, the mood was reflective and sunshiny at Range Road. Residents grinned from visits they had, and talked about how nice it was to see family and friends. The staff were cleaning up. Abraham stood in front of his full-length mirror, alternately sucking in his gut and letting it out, and examining the difference. Waldo sat at his window, in the heavy old leather chair with the high backrest, his wheelchair cast aside. He stared out at the long road that pointed to domains way beyond the shaded aloneness of his musty room.

The order of the day for the residents was to sit around and drink lemonade, as the intense heat dictated. Abraham was among them, until he noted his friend's peculiar absence. At two p.m., he made his way to Waldo's room, where he found Waldo barely moved out of his early morning position.

--Waldo old boy, why don't you come outside and challenge me to some checkers? he asked.

Waldo just gawked open-mouthed at the window. Abraham went to see what the old man was looking at.

--Do you see a naked lady out there somewhere?, he asked.

Waldo said nothing for a minute. Then he let out a slight sigh. Abraham, who had sat down on Waldo's bed and was wiping the perspiration off his brow, lifted his eyes at the sound.

--They're not going to let me suffer any more, Waldo said, faithfully, as if speaking to a ghost.

--Who're they?

--The good people.

--What in God's name are you going on about now?

--I'll be okay. I don't have to worry.

It was the first time Abraham had ever heard words of redemption from Waldo's. He stared briefly at Waldo, in disbelief. Then he looked out of the window once again. He saw nothing unusual.

--Special for you, Mildred said to Abraham, placing the small plate full of perogies on his t.v. table. --From my Aunt Grace. You can't tell a soul.
Abraham smiled, not convincingly.

--Not like you to be so serious, Mildred said.

--It's Waldo, Abraham said, in a worried tone.

--Did he beat you up?

--He says the good people are coming for him.

--Who are the good people?

--I don't think he knows.

--I don't get you.

--He just sits there staring out into God knows where, looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost is coming to save him from his own private hell.

--All day?

--Yes.

Mildred checked on Waldo several times that day. Each time she went to his room, he sat at his window, same as before, not realizing that someone was there. Each time, she said nothing. She watched the old man carefully, curiously.


The residents retired early that evening. The heat had taken a toll on them. A few relaxed in the common area. The staff cleaned up from supper. Abraham put on his reading glasses, then took them off. With his left pinkie finger, he tried to tighten a screw at the base of the frame. Waldo, who had not moved all day, seemed still to be staring steadfastly out his window. His head was tilted back to where it made a reasonable impression on the leather backrest. His mouth was three-quarters open, his eyes were lightly shut, and his arms rested solidly on the armrests, with all fingers together. The bitterness and angst of his years of stay at Range Road was gone. He was just slightly pale.

Abraham went to see him first thing the next morning. As soon as he looked at the old man, he knew that the good people had taken him away. He stood beside him, and slid his hands easily into his pants pockets. His expression was demure.

--I now know what you meant, was all he said.
He understood that Waldo had gotten the message that heaven was waiting for him. Abraham realized that he should have clued in to the old man's words the day before, but the unanticipated change in Waldo's character blurred his insight. As he stood and stared out the window, all he could think was, Heaven helps those who can no longer help themselves. This thought would not soon leave his head.

Word soon spread throughout the home that Waldo was dead. Some residents expressed good riddance. Others sighed deeply and shook their heads.

--Hell will be a more eventful place now, a maid said to the reception lady.

Everyone knew that Range Road would be a much calmer place.

Mildred was immediately struck by how much less hassle there would be for her now, once the arrangements were made to take Waldo's body from the home. She couldn't help but feel a tiny bit empty, like she'd had her gallstones removed.

Abraham wanted to go for a walk down the road he'd seen Waldo staring at. He wanted to feel a closer connection with something out there. It was not usual for anyone to be allowed to walk the road, but Mildred gave Abraham quick permission.

The combination of thick foreboding trees and muddled shrubbery made Abraham feel immediately enveloped in some sort of magical kingdom. It was heavenly, and healthy-smelling. His nose cleared for the first time in days. He spent three hours out there, just walking on the side of the road, lost in his reflections. Maybe something's out here; maybe someone, he contemplated, but he remained reticent in the knowledge that there are no easy answers. He did, however, believe in an afterlife, and this comforted him.

Some time passed before Abraham stopped to sit on a fallen tree trunk. He looked at a squirrel in the scattered brush, standing erect, with a big berry in its mouth. It's a damned nice place to be, was all that entered his mind, and he was glad that Waldo had found such a restful place to spend time.