The early morning sun was only an hour past it's rising, yet the people on the train platform were boarding with their suit cases. One family, gathered around a young man who was off to the university and leaving home for the very first time. A working waterman family from Maryland's Eastern shore, they had taken the families boat across the bay to Baltimore, and now stood on the platform of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad. They had put on their Sunday best for the special occasion. Nobody in the family had ever been to a higher education facility before. Indeed, they had only emigrated from their native Ireland not that many years before. Now they stood around the young man in the gray suit and wished him well.
First was his father, a craggy faced old waterman that had fought with the Easter uprising in his native land. He grabbed his youngest son and gave him a fierce hug, slapping him on the back and giving a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak through his suddenly choked up throat. He stepped back and the young mans mother gave him a long embrace and kissed his cheek. While doing so, she passed him a small tissue wrapped package to open later. The young man nodded and slipped the little box into his suit jacket pocket.
Next was his older brothers. Both gave him a bear hug and a slap on the back and told him to make them all proud.
"Funny thing, we always called you the quiet one since you never really spoke much. Now I guess your the smartest one of us all laddie. I guess you were just listening to everything said around you and learning while we were running our gobs." his older brother Mike said with his thick Irish brogue.
All the boys still had a marked accent, but the youngest had the least of all. In fact, he'd proved to be a natural mimic of language. With his family he still had the Irish brogue thick on his tongue, but with locals he had a trace of the mix of the old English and southern that was the accent of the Eastern shore. When taught German by a man from Berlin, the young man spoke with a Berliner accent. When he took French lessons from a teacher that had come from the north coast of France, he spoke with a Breton accent. He had become such a master of language that he'd got a scholarship to a prestigious university as a language and foreign culture student.
Then it was time to board the train. The conductor was waving the flag for the engineer, and a huge cloud of steam came from the locomotive as it prepared to pull out of the station. A last embrace by his mother, and the young man stepped aboard as the train gave a lurch and rolled along. They waved until the train was out of sight, and rolling through the Baltimore yards bound north to New England. They young man found a seat and then thought of the little box his mother has passed to him on the train platform. He took it out, and with some difficulty untied the knot that held the ribbon. He'd left his own pocket knife home as it was too large to carry in a suit of an academic. Inside the box was an almost tiny jackknife and a note from his mother. He studied the small knife with care. The jigged bone scales were a rich deep reddish hue, and the blades were flat ground and razor sharp. It was a stylish little knife, almost like a piece of pocket jewelry. But it was so small the young man had doubts about how effective it would be. All his life he'd carried a large single blade clasp knife with a bail to attach a lanyard so it would not be lost over board. He'd grown up through his teen years working on crab and oyster boats, and was used to what he called a man's knife. This tiny knife from his mother seemed like a toy. A very pretty toy, but stll a toy. He unfolded the note.
"My dear son,
This is the very first time any of us has been away. Even when we left the old country, we all stood together on the ship and watched it sink out of sight on the horizon. But now you have a different path ahead of you, and I don't know where it will take you, or how long you will be gone from us. But this gift is to go in your pocket, and when you are far far away from us, all you have to do is slip your hand into your pocket and hold it. Know then that you are never that far from our hearts. No matter how far you go from us, touch the knife and we're with you in spirit. Your Da and brothers, and herself as well, will always be there.
Your loving mother."
The young mans eyes misted up, and he blinked to clear his vision. Then the conductor was coming down the isle.
"Tickets, Tickets please." he called out.
The young man held up his ticket and the conductor punched it, then looked at the note and little knife in the young mans other hand.
"Ah a little gift to see you off, lad?" the conductor asked.
"From my mum. It's a pretty little thing, but I don't know if I'll use it. It's so tiny compared to what I've been carrying."
The conductor looked at the small knife in the young mans hand.
"Well, it looks like a very good Case to me. Hard to beat a Case knife, and I wouldn't worry about the size." he said, taking a small pen knife out of his vest pocket and holding it up for the young man to see. "Why this little slip of sharp has been with me for twenty years now, and it's done everything I've needed as far as cutting goes. And it leaves room in my pockets for other things. Remember son, a knife doesn't have to be big, just sharp."
The conductor patted the young man on the shoulder and moved off down the car punching tickets and answering questions. The young man thought about his words, and sheer cool logic of them. "Doesn't have to be big, just sharp" resounded in his mind, and he vowed not to forget that. He felt the edge of the main blade agains, feeling how it grabbed at the ridges of his thumbprint, and how the point was almost needle fine.
"Okay little knife" he muttered to himself, "we'll give you a try for a while and see how you do. Who knows, you may even be useful."
First was his father, a craggy faced old waterman that had fought with the Easter uprising in his native land. He grabbed his youngest son and gave him a fierce hug, slapping him on the back and giving a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak through his suddenly choked up throat. He stepped back and the young mans mother gave him a long embrace and kissed his cheek. While doing so, she passed him a small tissue wrapped package to open later. The young man nodded and slipped the little box into his suit jacket pocket.
Next was his older brothers. Both gave him a bear hug and a slap on the back and told him to make them all proud.
"Funny thing, we always called you the quiet one since you never really spoke much. Now I guess your the smartest one of us all laddie. I guess you were just listening to everything said around you and learning while we were running our gobs." his older brother Mike said with his thick Irish brogue.
All the boys still had a marked accent, but the youngest had the least of all. In fact, he'd proved to be a natural mimic of language. With his family he still had the Irish brogue thick on his tongue, but with locals he had a trace of the mix of the old English and southern that was the accent of the Eastern shore. When taught German by a man from Berlin, the young man spoke with a Berliner accent. When he took French lessons from a teacher that had come from the north coast of France, he spoke with a Breton accent. He had become such a master of language that he'd got a scholarship to a prestigious university as a language and foreign culture student.
Then it was time to board the train. The conductor was waving the flag for the engineer, and a huge cloud of steam came from the locomotive as it prepared to pull out of the station. A last embrace by his mother, and the young man stepped aboard as the train gave a lurch and rolled along. They waved until the train was out of sight, and rolling through the Baltimore yards bound north to New England. They young man found a seat and then thought of the little box his mother has passed to him on the train platform. He took it out, and with some difficulty untied the knot that held the ribbon. He'd left his own pocket knife home as it was too large to carry in a suit of an academic. Inside the box was an almost tiny jackknife and a note from his mother. He studied the small knife with care. The jigged bone scales were a rich deep reddish hue, and the blades were flat ground and razor sharp. It was a stylish little knife, almost like a piece of pocket jewelry. But it was so small the young man had doubts about how effective it would be. All his life he'd carried a large single blade clasp knife with a bail to attach a lanyard so it would not be lost over board. He'd grown up through his teen years working on crab and oyster boats, and was used to what he called a man's knife. This tiny knife from his mother seemed like a toy. A very pretty toy, but stll a toy. He unfolded the note.
"My dear son,
This is the very first time any of us has been away. Even when we left the old country, we all stood together on the ship and watched it sink out of sight on the horizon. But now you have a different path ahead of you, and I don't know where it will take you, or how long you will be gone from us. But this gift is to go in your pocket, and when you are far far away from us, all you have to do is slip your hand into your pocket and hold it. Know then that you are never that far from our hearts. No matter how far you go from us, touch the knife and we're with you in spirit. Your Da and brothers, and herself as well, will always be there.
Your loving mother."
The young mans eyes misted up, and he blinked to clear his vision. Then the conductor was coming down the isle.
"Tickets, Tickets please." he called out.
The young man held up his ticket and the conductor punched it, then looked at the note and little knife in the young mans other hand.
"Ah a little gift to see you off, lad?" the conductor asked.
"From my mum. It's a pretty little thing, but I don't know if I'll use it. It's so tiny compared to what I've been carrying."
The conductor looked at the small knife in the young mans hand.
"Well, it looks like a very good Case to me. Hard to beat a Case knife, and I wouldn't worry about the size." he said, taking a small pen knife out of his vest pocket and holding it up for the young man to see. "Why this little slip of sharp has been with me for twenty years now, and it's done everything I've needed as far as cutting goes. And it leaves room in my pockets for other things. Remember son, a knife doesn't have to be big, just sharp."
The conductor patted the young man on the shoulder and moved off down the car punching tickets and answering questions. The young man thought about his words, and sheer cool logic of them. "Doesn't have to be big, just sharp" resounded in his mind, and he vowed not to forget that. He felt the edge of the main blade agains, feeling how it grabbed at the ridges of his thumbprint, and how the point was almost needle fine.
"Okay little knife" he muttered to himself, "we'll give you a try for a while and see how you do. Who knows, you may even be useful."
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