I knew nothing of his background when we first met, and I’m glad of that; I got to know him a little with no preconceptions. His Scottish last name matched my great-grandmother’s and we figured we were cousins way back there somewhere.
Gradually, some of his stories seemed farfetched enough that I wasn’t sure I believed them.
Today I found out how true the one I questioned the most was. I was not expecting that.
His close friend from high school played a flamenco tune that James had taught him to play on his guitar all those years ago, and talked about James’s stage name and how he’d come by it and the travels and lessons and performances.
So that was real. That wasn’t the imaginings of a hard-core homeless man who once threw a major tantrum at me when I emailed him of an apartment opening for those who wanted to come off the street. I’m sure he saw it as me looking down on him, but it was pure naivet’e. He was where he felt comfortable being. In the end, just before his kidneys finished giving out, he did in fact accept moving into a place built to help people like him. That was his offer of comfort to the rest of us.
James was a gifted artist of a gardener. He was hired by someone I vaguely knew who was building a mansion up in the hills who described James as working on his own time and in his own way and you can’t rush him; all you can do is know that it will be glorious when he’s done. Glorious is a direct quote.
During a slow patch for him, I tried to hire him to come copper-spray my peaches against leaf curl disease.
I thought of him this morning as I did that task myself.
I walked into the church this afternoon; I’d met his mom, but surely this was his sister next to her. It was.
While their mom was talking to someone else, I told his sister–who made sure afterwards that Mom heard it, too–that James had refused to allow me to pay him that day when he was done. Said it was his gift to G_d today, that he likes to pick someone to just serve the Lord to and that was that.
Knowing his strong faith, I said, But the Bible says wo to those who oppress the hireling in their wages!
Didn’t budge him. He had done it for love. Always would. Please let him know next year when to come. (I confess I did not. I like to pay people for their work.)
And so I had knit him a soft wool blue cabled hat in thanks. James gasped at it: “I will treasure it the rest of my life!”
His sister said, “Oh, THAT’s where…” and trailed off. She’d wondered…
I did not dare ask how rare it was for her late brother to own and to keep something nice.