Stone Deaf

taken from Listening for God by my Guest Author, my Daddy

The County Surveyor lived in Big Timber. He liked the sturdy log houses and wrote a letter asking Father to meet him in town to discuss ordering some logs. The meeting would take place in a back room of the Big Timber Cafe. Here the men could discuss the building project without any interruptions. On the appointed day Father loaded us in the Whippet touring car and we went to Big Timber. At six o’clock we were escorted into the reserved meeting room at the Big Timber Café. The children were told not to make any noise that would distract the men as they did their business.

We were just finishing up our soup ‑ a dish that was served with every meal except breakfast ‑ when a neat little man walked in. The waitress came and took his order. My sisters and I became silent so as not to disturb a potential customer. Slowly we realized that we could have made all the noise we wanted.  We could even slurp our soup, and Mr. Bussey wouldn’t hear us. “He is stone deaf,” someone explained to us.

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When he finished his meal, Mr. Bussey came over and sat at the end of our table.  “I want a set of logs,” he said.  He spoke loudly.  “Can you get some dry ones like they used in John Moss’s house.” “Won’t have any trouble with that,” Daddy said.  Mr. Bussey didn’t hear Father’s reply and thought that Father had not heard him. He spoke louder. “Can you get me some logs like you got for Moss?” Father answered. “We can start working on it in two weeks” Bussey looked rather alarmed.  “They don’t look weak to me.” “No they will be good logs.  Just let me know what you need.”

Again, Bussey didn’t hear Father’s answer and wondered if Bud Ward had heard him.  He raised his voice.  “Need? I need logs, house logs, and some rafters, and joists, and window framing.” “We can do it.” “That’s what I’m going to do.” His voice shook the room.  A waitress pushed open the swinging door and looked at us questioningly.

Bussey shoved a paper across to Father, and mumbled. “He can’t hear a word I say.” Then he shouted at the top of his voice. “I’ll get Blufford Blye to do it. I just want you to get the timber.” Father studied the paper and shouted back, “We’ll get it by the end of the month.” “LOGS, HOUSE LOGS!”  Bussey leaned over, cupped his hand around Father’s ear and shouted louder. “CAN YOU GET ME THOSE HOUSE LOGS?” My father’s face quivered. His eyes opened wide. Then he nodded his head, wrote down some pricing figures and handed to his potential customer. The deal was made. Bussey smiled and turned to Mother. “Better take him to a doctor,” he said, “I think his hearing has gone bad.”

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