A Vagrant Story (18 page)

“We need four tickets, Rum. If we’re trading booze for tickets we’ll need at least four bottles of whiskey. You honestly think four people will share one bottle of whisky?”

“Why not? I would.”

“Your convictions aside we’ll need to prepare for encountering people of some class.”

“If they’re buying booze from bums how classy could they be?”

“In terms of class you’re in the severe minuses so try not judge people based on your template. These people might be bums too, or they might be desperate drunks - train journeys can be long and boring, someone might just need a pick me up for the ride. Hey, maybe we’ll end up preventing two suicides before the New Year‘s through. They can always buy another ticket.”

“Or their own booze for that matter.” To further demonstrate his unmovable position Rum shut his eyes and folded arms.

Alex leaned in with a startling observation. “As our luck would have it, the off-licenses have to open late tomorrow. The city is dry for one whole evening.” Alex backed out having concluded his starling observation.

“That includes me. So no thanks. The drink stays with me.” As if to finalise his authority Rum clapped his pockets. His eyes startled open when he heard no clinks.

He pulled his pockets inside out, sniffed the floor, then sat up to meet Sierra’s cheeky grin. The girl’s coat bulged with guilt.

Before Sierra could act again, Rum removed his already opened bottle from the table.

“You don’t have to hide that one,” Sierra said. “I’d have taken it if I needed it.”

“I shut my eyes for a second and you pick my pocket. You bitch! You said you wouldn’t rob anyone anymore.”

“I didn’t rob you. This is a donation. Call it payback for all the trouble you cause.” 

“Thanks to Rum’s generous offer we’ll have those tickets in no time,” Alex said. “Think about it, old Rum. You want to get back to the park, well finishing this faster will get us back there faster.”

“Alex is right, keep a positive mind set,” Sierra added.

“Positive. I can break your face with my thumb - that positive enough?”

“He sounds happy,” Alex said.

Rum snatched a plate of food off Alex.

“Thought you were full,” Alex said.

“Go fuck yourself. Rob my drink I can take your food.”

“I wasn’t going to eat the rest anyway.”

“Skinny fuck never eats anything, like some damn anorexic or something. I didn’t want to come on this charity mission but I end up paying for it. If I wasn’t locked right now I’d knock a few heads right now.”

“We’re all very grateful,” Sierra said.

“Yes. Thank you, Rum,” Alex mimicked.

“Shouldn’t have to take this abuse.”

“We know, Rum. You’re a big meanie who’s always gunning for a fight. We get it.” Sierra smiled inward.

The same smile passed around the table, breaking into repressed laughter.

“And now they’re laughing at me. Look at this, you even got the Dud laughing. I’ve had to endure two days of mockery and now this.” 

Henry’s smile flattened to avoid causing further agitation. If the old man burst, he’d likely be the first target.

Alex died down in kind, although his concerns didn’t lie with Henry’s. Despite Sierra edging him on with pokes in the arm, he chose to make yet another observation.

“Tomorrow will be the third day we’ve been doing this,” Alex mumbled. “I lost track of time in there but we lost a whole day in the hospital. We’ve six days left to finish this.”

Sierra took a carefree bite into a rasher. “Six days is plenty to cross the city. We’ve had a few hitches, sure, but from here on out it’s a straight ride. At least it will be once we trade whiskey for train tickets.”

Rum cursed her name in the background.

“The journey’s not the problem,” Alex continued. “Even if we find this guy, we’ve six days left and no plan for dealing with him when we find him. What are we going to say to him? ‘Hey, you might not remember but we robbed you a few days ago and found a suicide note in your wallet. Well shucks, we felt so bad about it we spent the past week stalking you across the city. All to tell you that life really is worth living after all. Did we mention we’re homeless?’” Alex sighed. “For some reason I doubt we’ll find him glowing with Christmas spirit. You know, seat us down with a nice cup of eggnog and have us explain the folly of our ways. He’d slam the door at mention of that whole mugging mishap.”

Sierra dipped her head with a frown. “You’re thinking about this now of all times? What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“I wonder could we tell someone about the value of life when we have none ourselves? Maybe the only way we’ll ever get through to him lays in our own redemption. We hide in places like this to forget about the things we’ve done, so long as we possess the desire to hide we can never go back. John is running from the things he has done – from the things people have done to him. Living with that state of mind he can never be brought back with idle words … least of all ours.”

“And if everybody ignores it, John won’t have a chance to come back. If we’re a day late, he’ll never be brought back. I really don’t know what to tell him. He might slam the door in our faces before we have time for long speeches. He might even call the cops on us. If we just do something before the clock runs out, it might give him pause for thought. A lot of things can change when you know someone cares. Everyone deserves a second chance and if we make it in time we can give it to him. In the end, the choice is his.”

Rum banged fist on the table like a determined judge. It caused a brief shudder amidst all the other tenants in the room. “Second chance? You can’t replace a child. You read the suicide note, you heard the nurse from the clinic. The guy’s mad about his child. This isn’t about redemption or debt issues. His wife took off with his kid and hung him out to dry. We can’t reconnect their broken home. John wants his dream back but it smashed all over the floor. We can’t repair them. In case you didn’t know, miracles are out of our hands.”

Sierra slid back into her seat. Head tilted down, she mumbled cautiously to the others. “I already said I don’t have a plan. If his problem is about debt then that’ll be our key to solving this. If his problem’s redemption, that’ll be our key. If he wants his daughter back … then that’ll be our key. If we do nothing … I just can’t do that, least of all now, after coming so far.”

“Quit being overdramatic. We’re not that far from home. You can always turn back,” Rum said.

The girl descended into a stubborn wave of silence. For a moment it consumed the atmosphere around the table, until Henry spoke up.

“I don’t want to go back,” he said. “I chose to do this myself, now I’d like to stay.”

Sierra’s eyes broadened with surprise. She nodded thanks, and passed her eyes onto Alex.

“Sierra, I’m not saying I want to give up. Nothing’s changed, my vote stays the same. All I’m saying is that we need to start putting more thought into this, otherwise we’ll end up tongue tied at his doorstep.”

“Thank you, Alex. Don’t assume I haven’t put thought into this just because I’ve took a few wrong turns. I’ve been thinking of what I’d like to say to John for a while, it just hasn’t come together yet.”

Alex smiled. “Over time I’ve learned not to underestimate you. I’ll trust you with that in mind.”  

Sierra smiled back. “Let’s try hold off on the thinking for a while. The long train ride will give us enough time for it. I’m dreading the thought already.” She stretched wide.

Alex looked under her stretching arms to see other bums buffing their plates and moving to the bedding area upstairs.

“Looks like servings are over.”

“Fine,” Sierra said, leaning back lazily. “I’ve had more than I can eat. Early to bed, early to rise, anyway.”

“Hey,” Rum intruded. “Aren’t you going to ask for my opinion on all this?”

“Like anything‘s changed,” Sierra said. “You voted no from the start yet you came tailing along anyway. For some reason I doubt you‘ve been touched by the light.”

“Talk like that to me … I could storm out of here right now, you know, leave you all hanging.”

Sierra stood with her plate. “See you in the morning, Rum. I’m going to bed.” 

***

That night they slept on the floor above the cafeteria.

There were no lights for a lights out call to be possible. There were no active workers to call the call. They’d all gone home for their holiday. What remained here was no more a hostel as a rented building for bums to gather, no different than any other derelict building. That is until cleaners come tomorrow and the hall goes back to doing whatever they built it for.

Light cut through the windows from the street outside, brightening the coat of darkness enough to see. This room measured same as the cafeteria below, tables and chairs merely replaced by same green sheathed beds. More bodies lay strewn on the floor than beds in the room.

The scene came alight with illegible whispers and coughing. It perpetuated an eerily ghost like sensation. At least that’s how Sierra felt.

Sierra never made it a habit to stay overnight in hostels. She’d only stayed in one once during her first week on the street. She was ten years old at the time, so with little other direction she followed guide posts to what should have been safe haven. Those same noises buzzed throughout the room back then, ghostly noises that caused her to flee outside in unprovoked panic.

Drenched in rain and tears she ran for shelter amidst trees in Middle park. She planned on staying there to cry the night away, until someone heard her cries. He was a peculiar old man garbed in a classy black suit and plagued by a pungent stench of liquor. Sierra demonstrated a reluctance to speak to the man at first. Gradually he won her over by gathering wood and stones to build a temporary shelter from the rain. And there in lay the beginnings of their crappy little shack of a home in Middle park.

The old man stayed with her through the night, and hasn’t left since.

Time hadn’t changed much. The sounds in this hostel still haunted her, plagued her into a constant state of alertness. This time round she wouldn’t run out crying. Boredom was, however, a killer.

She whispered to the bed beside her, “Hey Rum, you awake?”

He replied with heightened snoring.

Whether faking the long snooze or not, he didn’t show signs of same restlessness as Sierra. He clung to his last whiskey bottle as though defending his only baby. It tilted up and down in tune with his breathing, resting on and off his lips like he’d drink it while dreaming. He’d wake up to find it empty and accuse Sierra of stealing it. He had to be asleep. If he was awake he would have it drunk already.

In acceptance, she rolled over to face the bed on her other side. “So Alex, do you really think this is all a bad idea?” she whispered.

“You didn’t ask if I was awake,” Alex replied.

“You’re always awake. Whenever I have trouble sleeping you’re having more trouble sleeping.”

“It takes me longer than most people. I have trouble turning off my lights, can’t stop thinking. That’s probably you’re problem now.”

“I was thinking about what you said earlier. Maybe you were right. This might be hopeless after all. It’s probably better if we pick up tomorrow and head home.” 

“Quitting won’t solve anything.”

“You’ve changed your tone.”

“I still think it’s pretty futile, but I was just thinking about what you were saying. It was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Everything you were saying about second chances, it was nice. I’d like to live in a world of second chances.”   

“Then can I ask you something, Alex?”

“Depends.”

“Why do you want a second chance?” 

“Can I ask you something, Sierra?”

“Depends.”

“I‘d like to know something about your foster father, John. Why do you feel responsible for his suicide?”

Sierra didn’t answer. She rolled over to the other side and whispered, “Goodnight Alex.”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter 12

It didn’t fully dawn on them until leaving the hostel. Christmas had come and gone with little thought for it. They’d spent so much of the day traversing the more undesirable areas, decorations here carried little sway over them.

The season’s spirit hadn’t entirely left the street yet. One man in a Santa’s suit stood ringing a bell outside the hostel doors. The sign next to him asked for donations to be placed in Santa’s magic sack, left open by his feet.

From a passing glance, Alex swore he’d seen Santa inside scabbing extras from the staff. Another glance into Santa’s money sack revealed a fairly scarce reward. An ill omen for their own plans.

They decided to wait for the last hoard of bums to pour out. If there were any place to hock off second hand whiskey to needy clientele, it was here.