A Vagrant Story (21 page)

“The priest was there that day! That makes our little trial of fate look like crap.”

“The priest was the older brother of the baby who died. They got to talking. They talked about fate. My brother joined the congregation and from there, eventually became a missionary. My brother’s the one with the story, I just copied it, changing what suited me. I couldn’t even come up with my own sorry sob-story.”

“Why did you even need one in the first place? We didn’t give you any reason to lie to us, did we?”

“Not you. Everyone else gave me the reason to lie. I remember, before I became homeless people would come over and talk to me, but I never had anything interesting to say to them. I couldn’t tell jokes. I couldn’t give them a story. I couldn’t even understand half of their jokes. They always went away. People never stayed with me for long. I wasn’t interesting enough, and I could never relate to people.”

“So you told us that story to keep us interested, so we wouldn’t leave you.”

“I had been homeless for a while when I first met you, Sierra, and Rum. Before then I’d spend all day walking around the streets on my own, going through bins, robbing cakes from windows, and watching television through shop windows. I felt like a rat no one wanted. Then one night I met the three of you.”

“I remember, you had your face buried in a pie when Rum appeared over you and asked for some.”

“Demanded some.”

“That’d be more accurate.”

“That night I stayed with the three of you. I enjoyed myself. Then at some point the question of our past lives came up. The ball started rolling until it landed on me. Rum said he gave up after his wife and son died, Sierra grew tired of being passed around foster homes, and you were conned out of your writing career by some corrupt agent. I didn’t know how to follow those stories. Mine seemed so pathetic in comparison. I was afraid if I told the truth you’d all laugh at me, that I’d wake up the next day to another, ‘well, goodbye Henry. Nice knowing you.’ I didn’t want to go through that again, least of all on the streets. So I blurted out the first story that popped into my head.”

“You really believe we would have left you?”

“It’s not like I really knew the three of you back then. Most people I meet look for any reason to drop me. I was selfish, but I needed to be.”

“If a man lives with nothing, then selfishness is godsend.”

“You seem familiar with the idea.”

“Sometimes you remind me of myself when I was younger, if not a shorter version.”

Henry smiled and Alex smiled back as though there were no more words to share. They took this moment to appreciate the silence of winter wind and gentle snowflakes tipping to the ground. No distant car engines or busy streets intruded on its sound. No more weeping from that other man either. In fact, the crying stopped so suddenly it drew their attentions over.

The other man was standing hunched in a kind of disbelief, staring at Henry with wide eyes. He appeared ready to tackle Henry straight on, until his sights fell warily on the larger man standing by his side.

Henry and Alex stared back with equal imprudence. They waited for this man to announce his intentions. Nothing came, so Alex spoke up.

“Can we help you?”

The man stayed staring a moment, soon shifting backwards as if those words came too slowly to his ears. He flung a damming finger at Henry.

“You! You followed me here! I won’t let you finish me off!” he roared, promptly falling into retreat. In his haste he left behind a devastated trail of toppled gravestones and awkwardly footed footprints.

Both Alex and Henry waited a moment before commenting, if only to let the occurrence sink in.

“Friend of yours? Looked like he knew you,” Alex asked Henry.

Henry shook his head. “Didn’t look like anyone from Middle Park.”

“What a strange fellow.”

“Look at that,” Henry said. “He left his bag behind.”

“Yes, that he did, Henry.”

“Someone should tell him.”

“Yes … someone … should.”

The bag quickly became encased in fresh snowfall. The pair figured if someone were to leave it there the contents might indeed become damaged. Only a sloppy rogue would leave it for waste. Alex, on the other hand, was of the more considerate branch of rogue. He’d merely check the contents with the intention of protecting it from damage.

Judging by how swiftly Alex ploughed into the bag, Henry viewed him as more the other sort of rogue.

“I thought you said you never steal from people?” Henry stated.

“I’m not stealing, I’m going to look after it until we see him again,” Alex replied.

“Really? Because you look a little invested there.”

Alex pulled out a six pack of beer. “A present for Rum, maybe? I suppose we owe him one for the whiskey.”

“That wouldn’t exactly be classified as, ‘looking after it’, now would it?”

On a second ramble through, Alex found a single sheet of paper. About ready to toss it passively aside, he chanced a more thorough inspection. “It looks like some kind of payment receipt.” He read from the page. “Receipt of payment for, such and such a property - the address lines blacked out. Amount paid – 50,000 dollars. Then it goes on with a bunch of complicated numbers, but no names. It looks like some kind of sale agreed receipt.”

“Fifty thousand dollars for an entire house? Someone must have died in the place,” Henry said. “If there are no names on it then it can’t be important. Right?”

“I don’t know. It looks like the sort of thing you’d store in a shoebox until you need it. Receipts are usually worth something, especially when it comes to a house sale.”

“Nothing we can do now, though.”

“You haven’t been listening to me, Henry. I already told you, I’m going to give the bag back to him.”

“What!? How? Please … tell me you’re not planning on tracking him down too. One’s enough, thanks.”

“If this piece of paper really is important, then we’ll leave it to fate to guide it back, like it did for your brother. If we don’t see him again, well, at least we get a new bag out of it.”

“And you’ll remember his face if you do see him?”

“Since when do I forget a face?”

“That’s true. So will this man be getting his six pack of beer back when you do meet again?”

“This receipt might be important to him, so he needs it back. The beer is bad for him so we’ll be doing him a favour by taking it.”

“I see.”

Alex tossed the cans and receipt back to the bag. Slinging the carrier bag over shoulder, he paused for Henry’s next directions.

Henry nodded toward the graveyard exit gate, indicating they should be on their way. It was getting a little too chilly in this place. Even from here the streets outside appeared more inviting than this ominous graveyard scene.

The pair making way back toward the entrance, Alex picked up on a certain awkwardness emanating from Henry. “Something the matter?”

“Please don’t tell the others what I said here. Even if they already suspect I don’t entirely want them to know. Rum makes fun of me enough without all this.”

“I understand. And don’t worry about Rum, something tells me he’ll have to deal with his own demons soon enough.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Rum spends so much time jammed up in Middle Park he’s bound to run into someone he used to know out here in the big city. When a man hides away like Rum hides away, then there’s definitely someone out here he’s hiding from. It’s a big city and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so he’ll have plenty of chances to meet them.” Alex paused. “Time we got back to Sierra and Rum. With any luck they’ve finished hustling the punters.” 

***

Sierra and Rum didn’t have much luck outside on those church abiding streets. Down here however, in these lower depths known as the subway there came many an eager hand.

Much to their surprise, the first buyer didn’t wear rags and carry a familiar foul odour they’d become so accustomed to. He wore a suit, a tie, and big thick glasses. Rum and Sierra didn’t need to approach with an offer. He came to them after overhearing their dilemma. The only condition was for Rum to sample it first for quality assurance. He did so rather obligingly then received one train ticket for his troubles.   

The second bottle went to a person more familiar. She was an aged bag lady who happened past with a trolley containing three plastic baby dolls, a heap of garbage wrapped over them like warm blankets. From the looks of it that’s what she intended it to be. She paid with cash enough for one ticket, simultaneously assuring them that this dire liquid wasn’t for her to drink. No. It was a gift for her three little young ones. She walked away, uncapping the bottle to shower whiskey over the dolls.

Rum and Sierra waited until she moved to the other end of the station floor, disappearing behind a large support pillar. Self deluded ramblings whispered out from her spot, until a train tore by to silence it out.

“Two more to sell,” Rum stated.

“One more. Remember, we sold one back at the hostel. You probably didn’t notice because you didn’t help in the slightest bit.”

“Sounds about right.”

“We’d be done by now if that stupid Dud didn’t decide to slack off. And I can’t believe that git, Alex second guessing me like that.”

“Them’s the breaks. Welcome to my world.” Rum grinned wide. “This is sort of nice to see, though.”

“What is?”

“You acting all crazy instead of me. I was starting to think those two were normal and I was the freak.”

“Don’t compare this to your tantrums. This is nowhere near your level. Mine will pass.”

“Once the gate opens it ain’t so easy to close.”

“I doubt you’ve ever tried.”

“Nah, this way is much more fun.”

“Almost thought you were about to pass a bit of solid advice. Nope. It’s just plain old you.”

“You seem a bit frustrated there, Blondie.”

“I’m not frustrated, you’re just frustrating.”

”Speaking of which…”

Rum referenced some tireless shouting pouring down from the stairwell access point. It sounded like a man on his mobile phone, trying to reserve a plane flight for some undisclosed location. He froze with embarrassment upon entering the station floor. All eyes were already locked on him in anticipation for the source of the ruckus.

His tone slackened at once. Seating on a waiting bench he sobbed into desperate pleading. He told the receiving end he needed to be home before New Year to see his wife and kids. The muffled voice of the operator reverberated to anyone who cared to listen in, it apologised then hung up with an abrupt click. The man placed the phone away. Weeping into cupped hands, he mumbled a few coherent words.

“I need a drink.”

Rum and Sierra’s eyes flared for the bright light bulb igniting at the front of their deep, dark minds.

Sierra grinned wide. “And bottle number four goes to…” 

The irate man took it with less hesitation than the previous two. Rum offered to safe test the drink but the man snatched the bottle with swift veracity. He needed this, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Following a quick slug back he handed over his own day pass and retired back to the bench.

Sierra hopped with thanks, and hurried to the machine to purchase the remaining tickets. With everything prepared, she turned back to Rum.

“Now we wait for Alex and Henry. Hope they get here before the train does.”

Time ticked slowly. They kept track of time by counting the number of passing trains, which seemed to come at regular five minute intervals. The train they needed wouldn’t come for another while yet. Being bound for the far north end of the city reduced its urgency due to the low number travellers going so far.

The wait wasn’t entirely uneventful. The chosen three who purchased the whiskey didn’t move on from here. The bag lady uttered mystic curses in the rear corner of the platform. It seemed her three babies grew tired of whiskey so she decided to drown it on herself instead. The man in the business suit lingered about on jelly legs. He would walk away only to appear soon after to hassle young girls waiting for their trains. The angry man, now not so angry, lazed on the bench, occasionally sitting up to thank them for this marvellous reward. The three combined to create a notably drunken ruckus. Sierra and Rum had transformed the station into something of a Saturday night circus.

This was the scene Alex and Henry came upon after descending the stairwell. Alex paused to take it all in then looked at Sierra and Rum.

“I see you’ve been busy.”  

Sierra flashed four train tickets like a winning hand of cards. She held out spare change in her other hand. Putting them away, she noticed the bag on Alex’s shoulder.

“You’ve been busy yourself I see.”

“This? Someone left it behind in the graveyard. I’ve been looking for something to carry my things so I said what the hell.”

“Listen to this guy,” Rum said. “At least when I rob something I come out flat and say it. Admit it, you stole it. Looks like high and mighty Alex can’t talk no more.”