c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-26)
Rolf Heigel had been at Evergreen Estates since losing his wife, a job at an engineering firm in Cleveland, and his best friend from Germany, all in the span of a single year. Like many young immigrants after World War II, he came to America full of hope and ambition. His goal was to build a better life for himself, far from the rubble of war and economic hardship in Europe. And at first, he had found a level of success never available in his native land. But as the years progressed, he became bitter about having the fruits of his labor confiscated by company owners and investors. Who only came to buy up troubled assets, before squeezing out quick profits, and then dumping what remained. Eventually, he grew to regret the decision he had made as a child. His adopted land remained foreign and confusing. Full of too many lazy, ignorant people who lacked focus, clarity, and motivation in their lives.
His last possession with any measurable value was the 1980, Schult trailer where he existed as a hermit and neighborhood outcast. There, he survived on a diet of tinned sardines, tea, and crackers. With an occasional addition of fresh vegetables from open-air markets, in the summer. His minimalist routine was a marvel to others along their street. Yet it let him avoid starvation, while leaving enough to pay bills, and occasionally, contribute to his meager savings account.
He might have been revived by the advent of spring, after a hard winter, if conditions had remained as they were for the mobile-home community. But a note in the door, delivered early on a on Monday morning, caused him to lose control. He threw a tantrum that could be heard several lots away, in both directions.
“ATTENTION RESIDENTS – Effective on the first of next month, regular rent will be increased by another $75.00. We realize this may create difficulties for some leaseholders and rent-to-own participants, but it is a necessary step to preserve our good standing as a financial entity. We have been forced to carry the burden of rising costs, for everything from fuel to utilities, to maintenance and insurance. Therefore, it is imperative that we secure this operation if it is to endure. We thank you for your patience...”
Herr Heigel cursed out loud in his native tongue.
“Ach du Lieber! Was ist das? Du kannst zum Teufel gehen! I am tired of being stuck in this horrible pit!”
His anger was shared by many in the park. But within the walls of his own, singlewide abode, it resonated more forcefully. He grabbed a polished walking stick, machined out of steel, and started to thrash furnishings and collected trinkets in his home. The result soon looked like a bombing site from when he had been a young boy, across the Atlantic Ocean.
“GEH ZUM TEUFEL! GEH ZUM TEFUEL! ICH WILL MEIN HAUS ZERSTÖREN! I WILL DESTROY MY OWN HOUSE, AND LEAVE THIS TORMENT FOREVER!!”
Once he had finished breaking up his chairs, microwave cabinet, and antique toys on the entertainment center, he took aim at a window behind his sofa. Glass scattered around his living room. Then, he had to catch his breath. His pulse had quickened to the point of a cardiac event.
“Mein hertz... ach, mein hertz...”
He slumped in a recliner that was threadbare and stained from years of use. A spot his grandchildren once preferred, when visiting. In an age now lost along with his place in the family. He felt powerless and frustrated. But then, remembered a can of gasoline in his storage shed. Something left from days when he was still able to mow his own lawn as an outside chore that offered relaxation along with a feeling of accomplishment.
“Wunderbar! Ich für das verbrennen habe, benzin! I have gasoline for the fire!”
With slight hesitation, he trudged down the front steps, across a walkway to his small outbuilding, and fiddled with the broken lock. Inside, he spied the red, plastic vessel next to a Sears shop vac that had not served any real purpose for several years. He lifted the fuel in one hand, while keeping balanced with the walking implement in his other. Then retreated to his doorway. He could feel that his face had reddened. His skin burned, hot and sweaty.
There was a surprising amount of petrol in the squarish jug. Enough to trace a path from his back closet, through the master bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. He finished with a loop around the living area, and up to the narrow hallway by his furnace and water heater. The chemical stink soon filled his nostrils. But it gave him a sense of relief.
“VERDAMNT DIESER ORT! DAMN THIS PLACE! ICH HABE GENUG! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH!”
A terminal curl of the flammable liquid ended at his porch. He lit a crumpled, brown shopping bag. Then threw it back inside, through the open entrance. The reaction was immediate, and loud. A whoosh of combustion ignited everything with a rapid burst of finality.
The senior immigrant cheered in his original language, by offering a command used by the Deutsche military in olden days.
“FEUER FREI! FEUER FREI! FEUER FREI!”
Reaction from other residents was swift. Sirens sounded as emergency vehicles arrived. Township police and sheriff’s deputies took positions by the office and maintenance garage, to keep order. A woman who had moved to Ohio from Alabama prayed in her driveway. Many spectators took selfies and short videos with their cell phones. One enterprising kid streamed the event via Tik Tok, to gain attention for his own account.
Fireman Randle Tait stationed his crew all around the burning, pre-fab hut. He was tall and confident, and well-trained for such operations.
“Don’t worry old man, we’ll do our best to save your residence. Though I can’t promise much, as these longboxes catch fire so quickly! Once they start to burn, it’s anyone’s guess what will extinguish the flames!”
Herr Heigel smiled unexpectedly, and pulled his knit sweater tightly around both shoulders.
“Nein, do not worry about that shack! Let it turn to ashes, mein freund. Once that thing is gone I am free at last! I am finally, forever, freeeeeee!”
No comments:
Post a Comment