AS JOSEF RETURNED to his little house, he was deep in thought, not so deep that he’d forgotten that his wife had left him, but deep enough that he permitted himself to indulge in thinking about her and about the things he’d say to her if she were still at home and things were as they should be. He imagined how proud she’d be of him that he’d landed this job, how she’d look at him with new eyes, full of undying faith and confirmed love. She’d grow sorrowful as she helped him prepare for his morning’s journey, but he’d tell her that it was only for a short time, and if they endured this one hardship their lives would change for the best, their marriage would strengthen, and they’d learn to love what they could not always have in front of them to hold and care for.
But just as soon as Josef stepped into the empty house, his little fantasy was shattered into the shards of vanity he knew it to be. His wife did not possess that kind of strength, and he had not possessed the faith to imbue her with it. He had to put that behind him now and hope that his new experiences would fill him with the perseverance he’d been waiting for. He was determined to make his Uncle Mordy smile down upon him.
“Show up ready for a long walk,” the postmaster had said. If only he had those fine loafers to wear. Nothing would have made Mordy happier than for Josef to write him explaining how he’d begun a new job working for the United States Government and how he was going to perform his duties in the fine leather loafers he’d received for his birthday. But then, if it weren’t for the missing loafers, Josef thought, none of this would have occurred, and he sensed for the first time that mysterious powers were at work shaping the events of his life in Florida.
He knew he had to do something to make his uncle proud, for those times when Mordy looked down from high above and could know that he was remembered by his survivors. He couldn’t wear the loafers, but there had to be something else.
He slept little that night, turning over and over as his mind did the same to come up with a fitting act of devotion for the uncle who’d made all this possible.
WHEN JOSEF RETURNED to the post office early the next morning, Earl was waiting for him behind the counter.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Steinmetz. Lookee here.” He pulled a sack from behind the counter and set it on top. “My wife’s cooked you snapper, and thrown it in this sack with some fruit and vegetables. There’s enough for a round trip, if it holds up in the sun. But anyway, that postmaster in Biscayne ought to give you something. I put a note in to him along with the rest of the mail, tellin him the situation, that that ornery SOB’s been fired and from now to make sure that only you get the mail.”
Then Earl pulled out an official postal sack, emblazoned in blue with the postal insignia, eagle and stars encircled by the words United States Postal Service. At the sight of it, Josef’s heart swelled with pride. He was going to contribute to the very operation of this vast and wonderful country, his adopted home.
Earl embarked on a full description of the postal carrier’s duties and routes, and what he might expect along the way. He gave him the pep talk about how Josef was now a link in the great chain of mail delivery stretching across this great, proud land. Josef listened earnestly. “And as you know,” said the postmaster, “a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Now down here in Florida, that chain is just as thin as a lone man walking the beach for sixty miles at a stretch, and I feel obliged to tell you that that lone, thin link yer about to walk is full of serious dangers, both natural and man-made, evil things that try their dangdest to stretch that link to its breakin point, thereby leavin the great chain of the United States Postal Service danglin free and easy in the wind, allowin any ol’ body to come along and pull it at one end, thereby ringin the bell at the other. And sir, that bell is none other than your true boss, the President of the U-nited States—a man who does not appreciate gettin his bell rung.”
Josef felt grave with responsibility. “Postmaster,” he said, “I am ready to accept the duties of United States Postal Carrier, and I pledge to fulfill them to the best of my abilities.”
Earl couldn’t wait to get home and tell his wife about this, and then have her give him that look, chastising him, yes, but also, Earl knew, sharing at some level in the joke.
“You’re all right, Mr. Steinmetz,” he said. And he meant it. “I believe you’ll make a fine carrier. I really do.”
Then, finally, Earl pulled out one last item from behind the counter. “I almost forgot,” he said. “The shoes.”
These were the official Postal Service shoes, he told Josef. Designed by a team of government scientists for maximum comfort and durability. They had rubber soles and canvas tops and the postal insignia stamped on the side. One size fits all.
Josef had other ideas about this, though. “Postmaster,” he said, “I have one condition to add to our verbal employment contract. I must be permitted to forgo the use of the Postal Service shoes, though I can see they are fine shoes, well-suited to my walking requirements.”
“I don’t understand. They’re free.”
Josef’s face reddened. He hadn’t anticipated any resistance to his idea. “I understand this, sir. But I’ve made the decision to perform my duties without shoes, in honor of my late Uncle Mordy and the fine loafers I never received.”
Earl wasn’t sure if Josef’s words were a sign of hostility, perhaps a bitterness resulting from what Josef still perceived as Earl’s failure to locate the shoes. He didn’t want to press too hard and upset the man.
“Wellsir,” he said, “I remain sorry about them shoes. But I wouldn’t suggest you go barefoot out on that beach. Yer feet’ll turn to soup ’fore you get halfway to Biscayne.”
Still, Josef held firm, explaining that it was a risk he was willing to take, that if he received blisters on his feet, it could only add to the tribute he was paying to his Uncle Mordy, who’d raised him as a son, and whose gift of fine loafers seemed to have been lost forever somewhere between Brooklyn and Figulus.
So the postmaster could only shake his head, thinking, This is one odd feller. He isn’t gonna last two days, and then where will I be? Earl hadn’t figured that his fortune would have a mind of its own, would acquire a death wish so soon after revealing himself. Perhaps, he thought, fortune is like an excessively modest woman who would rather destroy her body than have it exposed to the world. Another question nagged him from the back reaches of his brain: that perhaps he’d been wrong about everything, that this man was nothing more than a foolish young immigrant who was going to kill himself through his own stubborn ignorance. But the events had been too neatly ordered for that, he knew. There must be some purpose to them all. In any case, there was little he could do now. The mail had to run; fate would have to take its course.
Josef loaded himself up with the postal sack, the small sack of Mely’s cooking, and a canteen that the postmaster had filled with water for him. He shook hands with Earl one last time and walked proudly out into the early light.
Earl feared it would be the last he’d ever see of the strange foreigner. That is one odd feller, he thought, trying to laugh to himself, but unable to cover up the feeling that he’d just sent a man to his doom.
That night, when he told his wife all this, about the pride he’d seen in Josef’s eyes as he accepted the postal sack, and Josef’s firm refusal to accept the postal shoes, and the pain he felt at watching Josef leave, she hugged him and cried at the most genuine display of feeling she’d ever seen in her husband. And when she did so, he suddenly saw it her way, and he had to admit his eyes got kind of cloudy too.