I arrived late at night, too late to meet any of my fellow hostelers. When morning came, I made my way down to the communal kitchen and prepared to cook my breakfast. Two burly and bitter men from Glasgow were there at the stove frying eggs, bread, and tomatoes. They were on a work program where they paid 25 pounds and were sent to some out-of-the way part of Great Britain to work on building bridges or foot paths. They weren't paid but their expenses were covered and they felt it was better than sitting at home on the dole. One explained that they were red brick university grads, which apparently prepared them to do not much of anything.
While we were talking, another of their group came in the kitchen and sat down at the table. He began arranging various stuffed animals and a blow-up penguin in the surrounding chairs. The Glasgow guys got very still and watched me out of the corner of their eyes. The young man introduced himself to me as Ian and introduced the animals as well. I'm southern and I know how to be polite even under the most unusual of circumstances, but I have to say, my skills were tested as I passed the marmalade as each bear requested it in turn, translated by Ian. My rearing prevailed though and I could see the Glasgow guys relaxing, only to stiffen anew each time a new guest walked in.
Ian explained he had also gone to a red brick university, graduating with a degree in biochemistry. There were no jobs though, so he and his bears and the blow-up penguin traveled England and Scotland working on different manual labor jobs. "They like seeing a bit of the country," he explained. I asked how many traveled with him, and he thought it was about twenty this trip. "I try to take different ones each time. I don't need clothes; I just fill my rucksack with them."
After he left the kitchen, one of the Glaswegians lingered for a moment. "Thanks for not laughing at Ian," he said. "He's okay. Those damn bears though . . . "
While we went our separate ways during the days, we came back together during the long light evenings, when we compared lives and played cards. The other guests came to accept the stuffed animals as well, and the bears in particular were often dealt a hand too. One evening the suggestion was made to go to the pub; we got our things and prepared to leave. But Ian was dithering. Which animals should go? Even the Glasgow boys were shuffling their feet in frustration as the time ticked away. Finally I asked which animals were old enough to drink. Ian brightened. Only four of them were and he could carry them easily.
The whole hostel, all eight of us and the four stuffed animals, settled in at a booth and ordered pints all around. We were a varied lot: two Americans, one from Korea, one from Germany, one from France, and three from Glasgow. The Korean and the German spoke no English; the Glaswegians and the Americans doubted what the other spoke counted as English. The French kid spoke it badly. Conversation was difficult, but as the night went on and more pints were ordered, our attention turned to Ian's animals and what they said in various languages. We roared and ribbeted and meowed and barked in our respective tongues until we were howling with laughter. We staggered back to the hostel about 2:00 am, just as the sun was setting.
I was leaving the next day and I had become very fond of Ian and his animals. I asked if I could take a picture of him. "May my animals be in it?" he asked. "I'll only get my very favorites." He posed for me and when I was through snapping the shot, he asked he could give me a bear. "He's not one of my best, but I'd like you to have him." I was touched and accepted him, the white one on the far left. He traveled the rest of my trip in my backpack and sat on a bookshelf for several years after that until my dog got him and chewed his eyes off. I grieved his demise.
I didn't know much about autism then and even less about Aspergers. It was several years later before I realized that Ian was most likely my first meaningful experience with someone on the spectrum. That was a gift; when autism entered my life in a bigger way, the learning curve was shorter because I already understood that those on the spectrum could go to college and be independent and be social. I wonder sometimes what happened to him; he'd be middle-aged now and his animals not much younger. Perhaps he has new ones. Perhaps he tired of them, although that makes me a little sad to think about. Wherever he is, I hope he has meaningful work, protectors surrounding him, and friends that accept him, his stuffed animals, and should he still be around, the blow-up penguin.
