It was a low, small car, and the young woman struggled to her feet. The young man had already opened the passenger door of the car. I followed him outside, wearing only my trousers and a thin white t-shirt. We’ll take it, he interrupted, darting out the door to the car. I have a small, corrugated aluminum pole barn behind the motel. It wasn’t a perfect idea, but what idea is? I told him that I did have one place where they could stay for half the price of a regular room. I don’t know what came over me, but when I looked in those eyes, I felt great pity for the young travelers. I saw two huge dark eyes staring back at me through the windshield from the passenger seat. I looked out the window and saw a rusty old Honda Accord billowing exhaust in the frozen air.
#Deliver us the moon gasping for air full
They would pay full price, he said, for somewhere, anywhere, warm to lay their heads. He pleaded my mercy and said they were willing to sleep on a cot in the laundry room. Headed to Chicago for an important official appointment at the consulate about visas or something, they had been driving for two days. She was nine months pregnant, he went on, and they had traveled up and down the highway for hours trying to find a room where she could be warm for the night. His girlfriend, he told me, was waiting in the car. He was soft-spoken and polite, with a thick Spanish accent. After a few awkward moments, he finally spoke. He just stood there, looking numb and frostbitten and pathetic. I told the young man, with a scowl on my face, that I meant what I had said earlier: no vacancy means no rooms. In my business, I meet people with secrets, and I have learned to keep my distance and to refrain from asking questions. I tried my best to remain polite and calm, but when I am awakened, I am sometimes curt and unsympathetic. I was startled to see the same familiar young face, this time more grim and pale. I rose from my slumber and passed through the narrow door to the office. I returned to my chai.Īn hour later, as I was drifting to sleep in my chair, another ringing of the bell. He apologized for troubling me and walked out the door into the bitter night.
I told him bluntly that we were full for the night. Instead, it was a new face, a young man with a desperate look in his eyes. I got up slowly, assuming it was one of my patrons needing an extra bar of soap or having trouble with their television set. The icy prairie winds whistled outside my window. I brewed a pot of chai to warm my shivering bones. I had retired to my small apartment next to the motel office with great satisfaction. All twelve rooms in our inn were full for the holiday travel season.
And I need to tell you a story.Īs night began to fall, I lit the “No Vacancy” sign for the first time in months. I operate a small motel off of Interstate 55 about an hour southwest of Chicago.
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