Three Questions
He asked me three questions…
1.) Do you have extra food and water on hand?
Yes
2.) Do you have ammunition?
Uhh, some, yes.
3.) Do you have a dog that you do not socialize with anyone?
Ok, what the hell is going on here?
This was one of the first conversations with my new neighbor, Pedro.
Pedro had the look of cold weathered time in his eyes. He had fled Ukraine as a young man and settled in Argentina for a decade. While there, he became the pastor of a small church. The church grew, and Pedro became well known in town.
Things changed drastically when he discovered his wife had a lover on the side. After a “dispute” with the other man, Pedro became a wanted man. With little time to pack or say goodbye, he grabbed a little cash, a change of clothes, and his pistol, then boarded a plane for the States, disappearing into the night.
And here I was, carefully answering some questions that I had no idea of their intention.
We walked around the back of his house, where I was greeted by the snarling teeth of a chow chow. If you know the breed… cute and fluffy, but also deadly. I presumed this was the aforementioned dog. I kept my hands close to my sides.
“Here it is.” Pedro pointed at a brick building, maybe ten feet by ten feet.
“I used all my savings to have it built.”
I began to plot my escape.
He opened the door.
It was a bunker.
“I had it built in ‘99, just in time for Y2K.”
Well, that was a phrase I hadn’t heard in some time.
Inside was the kind of setup you hope your neighbors don’t have: shelves of canned food, ammunition, and a small cot. He gave me the tour. I carefully and cautiously edged my way back toward the front lawn.
Over the years, however, Pedro and I became friends. I would provide him with scrap metal, and in return he would give me reconditioned hand tools or drywall screws for remodel jobs.
We sat on five-gallon pails in the front lawn hidden by the pines. He shared stories, and I listened.
He was very protective of his daughters. Let’s just say boyfriends didn’t visit often.
Once, when his girls were eight and ten, they wanted to go for a walk down the road alone. Pedro told them to wait a minute. He ran in the house and came back out with “protection” for them….
A loaded 357 handgun.
The girls could barely lift the thing. He instructed the oldest to tuck it into her waistband. It wouldn’t stay.
Eventually, he realized this wasn’t his best idea and sent them off with two cans of bear spray, and explicit instructions to “spray anyone that looks at you.”
He would beat on the scrap metal with old ball peen hammers until dark and curse in a mixture of Ukrainian and Spanish.
Our talks centered around life, death, and God. He would speak often of the time in Argentina before the “dispute.” I never asked for details… I had an idea.
We spoke regularly, but as he got older, he also grew sharp-tempered. Like that dog in the backyard, he would show his teeth. The girls grew up, got married, and started lives of their own. Eventually, we sold our place next door.
The last time I saw him, I dropped off some old mower blades and junk tin. He didn’t look up right away… just kept striking the metal, slow and steady. When he did glance over, our eyes met for a second. Then the hammer came down again.
Now, when I think about him, I still hear the faint, metallic rhythm. the thing is, time has had its way with me too. And…his hammering doesn’t sound as angry anymore. It sounds like someone shaping his world the only way he could… one strike at a time. Maybe that’s all any of us are doing.
What’s new, you ask?
Well, the Valleyscapes exhibitions are officially in the books. It marks my third solo exhibition… and what a blast it was to both make and share these paintings. I’m deeply grateful to everyone who came out to the shows and to those who purchased artwork, prints, or books. Thank you.
In the coming weeks and months, I’ll be releasing exhibition books from my first two solo shows:
Learning to See: An Artist’s Journey with Michael T Smith (2024)
Storms (2024/2025)
Learning to See includes a collection of essays, quotes, and poems, while Storms takes readers on a poetic journey through a storm… each page holding a single line of verse.
Stay tuned.
Talk soon,
Michael
P.S. In the meantime, head over to my instagram account to see the latest paintings or head over to Michaeltsmith.com to learn more.
I appreciate the balance of open-eyed realism, non-judgementalism, and compassion in your storytelling.
One strike at a time or stroke of the pen or brush thanks for sharing