A Vagrant Story (19 page)

Sierra and Alex gave all they could, waving bottles and calling out slogans. They pulled a few interested eyes, most shrugged and walked away with a repeated dismissing wave. This happened until a fifth time when a wallet came forth with an offer of cash. Alex noted the family photos within bore the wrong man’s face but the exchange passed happily all the same. One bottle went for the price of a ticket.

All through the process Rum sat idle, watching from the sidelines. If anyone he knew saw him hocking whiskey cheap he’d never hear the end of it. Even after seeing one bottle shift he maintained his indigenous reluctance. He assured them the remaining three would go nowhere.

Henry did try his best, but quickly became reduced to no more than a speed bump for the eager to leave crowd. Now he could relate to those charity greeters from yesterday.

In time the last crowds sieved out, hurried on by cleaners spraying hoses as if chasing cats from an old building. The main doors slammed shut with a lock. Bustling noises from the crowds faded to whatever directions they divided into. The four stood alone on an empty sidewalk, waiting for someone to say those four precious words.

“I told you so,” Rum said.

“At least we sold one bottle. I wasn’t too hopeful to begin with,” Sierra replied. “Maybe Santa Clause wouldn’t mind a sip. He’s had a long night, after all.”

“Isn’t there some moral code about selling booze to Santa?” Henry whimpered.

“Should have grabbed him while we had the chance,” Alex said. “Santa took off after sirens sounded from a block over. He forgot his sign.”

“That’s so sad,” Sierra said. “We could have blackmailed him.”

“What happened to no more misdeeds?” Rum asked.

“I said no more mugging. It’s not like he’s legit anyway. I can rob criminals.”

“That was my position,” Rum said.

Sierra began strolling away from the hostel. The others followed.

“Guess we’re back on the streets,” she said. “Everyone gets one night of comfort only to be thrown back out. What’s the point in only doing it for one night?”

“To humiliate us,” Rum said. “Treat us to a good time then snip it all away. They’re letting us know they can help us anytime they see fit. It’s a joke.”

“You might be a bit paranoid there Rum,” Alex said. “I know a good shrink. I could always call him for you.”

“I’m sure you know plenty of shrinks, all of which blacklist your number now.” 

None the less they carried on without direction, making effort to pawn the remaining bottles to whoever happened past. Not all took the offer in good grace. Most of those people backed down when confronted by Alex and his raw battle beaten face. Those heavy bruises lightened to a less noticeable pink. The coldness of snowfall helped too.

So it happened with great aid from the early morning chill, the group eventually succumbed to fatigue, settling on a black street bench. Sierra insisted the break was for planning purposes only, though she yawned with morning aches.

“This place is dry,” Alex said. “This is a church community, in any case an aged community. Even if grandpa needs a morning fix I doubt he’d buy from a bunch of dirty bums.”

“Then what do you propose, Alex? Everything being so obvious to you and all,” Sierra said. “It’s not like we can just shower ourselves clean under drain water or anything.”

“Not us … him.” Alex pointed at Rum.

Rum startled stiff, caught rapid with a finger up his nose. He took it out and flicked the bit away.

“I hate to say it but if Rum cleaned a bit and shaved his beard he might appear trustworthy to the eye - more so than us anyway,” Alex said.

“Shove it. This beard tells the story of my life. It’s been my mark of freedom since coming to the streets. It goes – I go.”

“You once tried living in a dumpster. One night Len traded you a sandwich for it. You moved back in with us. Wow what a life story,” Alex said.

“Shove it.”

“I do remember you looked sort of fetching back when you used to shave,” Sierra said.

“That beard can come off?” Alex asked.

“When Rum and I first met when I was a kid, he used to go crazy trying to keep the hair at bay. You should see a bum trying to shave with a piece of broken glass, it’s quite a picture. He used to care about the way he looked, but after his favourite suit took a turn for the worst, he lost the will to clean.”

“I’m standing right here. Quit talking about me in third person. And that was a quality suit. A man can lose his taste for fashion, seeing something like that pawned for a third the price.”

“It was dreadful, looked like you came from a funeral. You never took it off. You looked so pathetic, constantly wearing the same tattered suit day in day out.”

“Easy for you to say, doubt you ever had anything good to hold onto. It was mine. Felt good holding onto it.”

“Not that it would do any good,” Alex said. “I suppose even if we could get a suit to make you look respectable, we can’t do anything about that personality of yours.”

“See, whole plan wouldn’t work anyway. End of story,” Rum replied.

“You’re not offended?” Alex asked.

“Whatever ends it fastest.”

“That’s what I assumed.”

“I don’t think it matters much anyway, from the look of this area we’re not going to find many willing participants.”

Adding weight to her statement, two laughing children ran past as a golden Labrador chased behind. Their mother pursued in passive worry, warning them not to wander too far. The commotion faded into distance in tune with a chiming church bell. It rang three times then stopped dead.

Henry laughed to himself. “They still haven’t fixed that bell. It always stops after the first few rings.”

Sierra weighed him with a prying gaze. “Hey Henry, you used to hang around down this end of the city, you know any place to find people in need of a little pick me up?”

“I’m not so sure. It’s not really the kind of place for that.”

“Every place is the place for that!” Rum joked.

“You’d be proof,” Sierra replied.

The church bell rang a forth time, and continued thus.

“They fixed the church bell?” Henry noted. He paused for thought as if re-configuring his previous declaration. “The church … is located mid-centre of this area. We can go there. Wrecks always take refuge in the central area of wherever they’re staying.”

“Well that’s true,” Sierra agreed.

“And it’s near the subway station as well.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Alex said, standing from the bench to lead the group into motion. “We should at least check where the station is first. Only subway I know is back at central park. To hell if I’m walking back there. Henry knows his way around, he can lead us to one.”

“Me … lead?”

“That’s right duddy, you’re the leader,” Rum said. “Now you better be sure about this or else we’re throwing you out of the group. Sick of all this walking crap.”

“But I only think it’s … At least I’m not so … I was just throwing it out there really. Now I’m not so sure.”

Alex sighed. “Lay off him, Rum. Henry, he’s just trying to mess with your head. Relax.” Alex stopped walking to usher Henry up front. “Kind of hard to follow you when you’re back there.”

Henry scurried up front, triggering Rum and Sierra to their feet. Alex strolled second with Henry pointing the way.

Each one moved with a stiff reluctance. Even living rough they rarely awoke at such shallow hours. The monotony of crunching snow underfoot rang like icing on the cake.

The streets flowed on with many familiar sights one expects to find along a city sidewalk. Cars stormed past with little regard to others of slower pace. They bustled by and by, some shouting, some honking, some shouting back. Dog walkers came most abundant at this early hour of day. Being beside a local park as they were it seemed a popular place for it.

Their current pathway wrapped around the outer edges of a forested park. Beyond that outgrown foliage they could hear children laughing in play, and smell hotdogs from some unseen stall. Babies cried, dogs barked, and mothers pleaded brawling kids for obedience. Just another bullshit day in the city.

Fortunately for those within the perimeter of the park, a black rail fence lined the whole length of this sidewalk. It prevented misfits from partaking with anything other than the senses. To compare those festive sounds from over the fence with those of this drivelling outer world could drive a man to leap the fence and raid the hotdog stand. Now they could relate to a few bums they’d met.

More they travelled, the more Henry chirped on and off about the places he used to know, the locations that still stood and the ones now gone. He continued naming sweetshops from his childhood and places he would play with his brother. The information spewed from his lips until one in particular. 

“I haven’t been here in four years. I stopped coming here after…”

“After?” Alex inquired.

“After my parents died. Wasn’t much reason to go to church here anymore, except to visit them. I suppose everything changed after that, or maybe everything was changing before then and I didn’t notice. My head was always clouded … in other things.”

“You must have been too busy dreaming up that business plan of yours,” Sierra said.

“Business? You mean my shop? No, I was only twenty when my parents died. That was four years ago … Actually, I guess it would be five years today. I wasn’t even thinking about starting anything. I didn‘t start setting up the shop till I was twenty three.”

“You’ve been homeless for two years now since your shop burned down, that makes you twenty five,” Alex said. “You were twenty when your parents died and twenty three when you set up shop. If you weren’t thinking about opening a shop one year before you did, then what did you do, wake up one morning and decide to invest all your money into a business without research? Hate to say, but no wonder you went bankrupt.”

Henry shrugged inwardly. “That’s not it. After my parents died I moved to the north end of the city. I took it as an opportunity to rethink my life. So I decided to open a shop and start anew. I told you this already.”

“The north end of the city?” Alex probed. “That’s a long way from Middle Park. Why move all the way down?”

“I … Easy access I guess. I knew there’d be more opportunities for a bum like me around Middle park. Besides, I’d probably have been the only homeless person up that end of the city. I really wasn’t thinking straight after the fire.”

“So you hopped on a train then came straight down this end?”

“No! I thought I told you all this before, I wasn’t the only one to suffer in the fire. It was a stupid accident. Two other people got trapped. One of them died.”

“I finally get it now,” Rum spoke from behind.

Henry stopped walking to hear him speak.

“That’s why you ran into that burning building before,” Rum continued. “You wanted to correct your mistake.”

Henry wheeled round to continue strolling, if only to hide face. “At the time I didn’t really think about it. I guess it must have motivated me to rush in like that. I … was there when my own shop went on fire. I knew the person was trapped but I didn’t do anything. I had a chance to help her but I chose to run away. She died when I could have saved her. I suppose, I didn’t want to go through that again.”

“People get scared at times like that. It wasn’t your fault,” Sierra said.

“I know, but I still think I could have done something.”   

“So that’s it,” Rum stated. “I always figured the fire left you bankrupt and you didn’t have a choice in becoming homeless. You didn’t go bankrupt. You cracked from the guilt and slinked down to the gutter. Guilt brought you here.”

Henry halted, facing Rum with a curious frown. “What? No. The insurance company wouldn’t cover me. I didn’t have enough money for repairs. Without income I lost my home.”

“So you don’t feel any guilt for what happened to that person! For what happened in your shop?” Rum bellowed.

The echo of Rum’s words panicked Henry into moving. Only this time he moved less like a leader and more like prey backing from a predator. Rum seemed to take great offence from his indifference.

“I … feel bad about what happened. I really do. But it had nothing to do with me. I was a victim like the others in that building. I didn’t kill that man, the arsonist did.”   

Alex propped up with renewed interest. “Arsonist? You said it was an accident.”

With a wave of her hand, Sierra suggested Alex should back down. Alex obeyed the suggestion as much as Henry used her sympathy to avoid the question.

“We’re nearly there now,” Henry said.

A statement evidenced through their surroundings. Statues of saints decorated the inner path, some for prayer others for fountains. None stood behind a fenced enclosure or accompanied by anti-vandalism signs. Back in Middle Park those features seemed forever joined.  

The buildings around took on a more archaic, humble appearance. They weren’t painted but left with the colour of whatever stone used to build them, most were grey while others a mixture of orange and white. Front gardens spilled into the neighbours’ lawn, and many did so without walls to split boundaries. There appeared to be no set standard in their layout or design, an atypical characteristic when compared to other districts with their rushed boxlike structure. Cars half buried in snow stood as the only reminder of this modern century.