1. (Historical Terms) (in Anglo-Saxon England) a member of an aristocratic class, ranking below an ealdorman, whose status was hereditary and who held land from the king or from another nobleman in return for certain services
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world . . .
The Pale Thane
The smell sat inside a person’s nose like old grease. It was the kind of smell that would take a long time to remove from the memory—like washing Vaseline out of one’s hair. You could smell the building before you entered it. If your stomach was stalwart enough you could grasp the door handle and pull only to realize that your fingers contributed to the sweat and grime of countless people. It was a dirty place, even with a coat of new paint—acrylic whitewash for vertical sediment.
The maintenance men cared less about this place than anyone else. As long as enough cash was tossed under the table they would put up with anything.
“The idiot lost another car.” This comment was stirred into their stained coffee mugs along with the cream and sugar. Eyes rolled, guffaws erupted, scorn spat out of their mouths.
“If I had a son like that I would take him out to the desert and leave him.”
Not to be outdone, the largest of the maintenance men added his invective. “If he was mine—and he never could be, a worm like that—I would beat him until he finally stood up to me and fought like a man.” Great hurrahs erupted inside the maintenance garage. The children in the nearby playground paused for only a second recognizing the guttural vocalizations of the centurions.
Everyone regarded the owner’s son in some measure of disdain. The children often ran next to his aging golf cart jeering at him as he dodged barking dogs that had jumped into the fray. Tenants of all races and stations of life held him in contempt because he could never get repairs done quickly enough. Even prospective tenants found little to respect in him. His shoulders slumped forward as if he had been toiling at an ancient computer for many decades. Yet his skin and features betrayed the fact that he had not yet reached thirty years of age.
A prospective tenant would see him first behind a great cherry wood desk with a heavy piece of glass set on top. One soft, white hand lay flat on the glass while the other fumbled in a near-by drawer for a master key always at the ready for showing apartments. After taking someone’s photo identification for “security reasons” he would finally rise from the chair, directing them to the side door where the golf cart stood ready awaiting the potential resident and the driver.
It was a bit surprising when he stood. Sitting in the chair one might imagine that he could have never raised his frame above five feet. Yet he stood easily at six feet with shoulders that could have been broad if he had just pulled them back. Instead they created nearly a half circle, the breadth of his back looking more like the curve of a weathered barrel. His carriage seemed as if it should have been strong, but it was not. When he walked he almost glided, barely picking up his feet. Some felt this was because he was lazy and weak.
When approaching the cart he would direct the prospective tenant to sit next to him. Then with the precision of a race track driver he would dodge potholes and concrete ravines, weaving confidently past building after building as if he had done this a thousand times. And he had. Tenants would stare incredulously at him as he drove by and cast a slightly curious glance at who might be their new neighbor.
Once at the selected building he would lead the visitor over dingy, carpeted hallways lit by dull yellow light. He made it a practice to stay at least two steps ahead of visitors, casting community details over his shoulder like salt for good wishes. He also made it a practice to make as little eye contact as possible during these initial visits.
The closer he got to an empty apartment the more he seemed to find new strength and his voice increased in volume. When the key turned in the lock and the door swung open it was almost as if he was a proud parent—answering questions with a bit of delight and pointing out the features of his tiny, greasy, gray apartments.
The ride back to the office was always a bit quiet. And again present residents would turn and stare with a kind of emptiness that was unsettling. In the office it was apparent that the ploy of withholding identification was really that, a ploy. Smiling broadly for the first time, he would tell visitors that he needed to take some of their information so that he could contact them again. Rarely did anyone surrender their information, and it took some convincing to have their identification returned because he showed a kind of tenacity that was surprising. It was generally in this moment that the deal was broken, for only the most desperate would stay and endure the application process.
Carolita was desperate. The small child wrestling mightily in her arms was preventing her from finding her identification in the bottom of her purse. She plugged the squalling mouth with a pacifier and handed the man her card. He seemed pleased to have obtained such a precious document and quickly tucked it into the key drawer. The ride to the vacant apartment was strange and felt a bit treacherous, particularly because her squirming child could not sit still even in a moving vehicle.
“Are you just moving to the area?”
Carolita did not want to intimate anything about her life. She was sure that this man was nice, but she had to be very, very careful.
“No, me and him have to find another place to live. That’s all.” The baby began to scream and the driver leaned a bit out of the cart trying to reduce the impact of the screams on his eardrum. He thought he avoided the lump of pavement intended to be a speed bump, but he did not. Carolita’s purse flew into the air and the contents scattered out onto the pavement. The cart lurched to a stop, the baby’s head bumped against the cart’s sidebar and more screams of real, but slightly less than serious, pain rang out. They reverberated up and down the canyon of brick and mortar. By the time Carolita finished checking her child’s head she noticed that the man was kneeling on the pavement furtively picking up her things and throwing them into her purse. She heard the dogs and children in the distance, but could not quite understand when she thought she saw panic in his eyes. Seconds later he was back in his seat urging the little cart to move as fast as possible. The dogs and children were nearly upon them now. But the cart had not failed him yet. Once again he was able to outrun them.
Carolita looked over at this man and saw beads of sweat on his forehead. “You afraid of them, mister?”
Without blinking an eye he responded with a simple, dull “No.” She shook her head, attended to her baby and wondered why this tall man was afraid.
Once inside the apartment Carolita let her boy down and gave him free reign. The boy, though small, was strong and rambled through the apartment at will alternating between crawling and walking. Carolita carefully checked the windows. They were clean and flimsy.
“Do you have a second or third floor available? I need that.”
“There are two or three.” What he really should have said was that there were many.
“How much do electricity and gas cost if I am on welfare?”
“You can get State assistance and it will be less than ten dollars a month.”
“That’s good. How much is the deposit?”
“Two hundred and we’ll need a thirty-five dollar application fee, too.”
“That’s o.k. Can I see the third floor apartment now?
”
The valet took the keys with delight as the hero emerged from his chariot. It was hard to tell if the valet was more delighted to meet this man or to drive his car. It was pristine and beautiful, much as the man had been in earlier years. Although he was an aging god he was still god-like. His shoulders were stretched wide by pride and sinew. Years of training and vigilance kept them upright. There were many more like him at the gathering tonight, but he was the most god-like of all.
The sense of power was palpable in the room. Everyone there was either full of themselves or full of regret. But it could safely be said that there were no lack of egos. It fairly seeped out of the pores of every inch of golden, bronze and brown skin in the hall.
The stage lighting was set perfectly to bring the platform to a golden hue, highlighting the magnificently draped backdrop and providing ample