After the Snow (13 page)

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Authors: S. D. Crockett

BOOK: After the Snow
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“Got to wash a bit,” the girl say. “I know the woman.”
She go to a door in the wall. Bang on it.
The door open up. A round-faced woman stick out her head in a cloud of steam.
“It’s me Cath,” the girl say.
The woman let us in. I duck under her arm.
“This a friend of yours?”
I don’t say nothing. I aint gonna tell the smiling round-faced woman that I don’t really know this girl with her milky eye. Just making the most of the warmth in the long windowless room. Look like a proper wash day, with vats of boiling water on the stove, vats full up with rags and the smell of hot soap in the air.
No I don’t say nothing cos I still been thinking about what happen to Mary and how I got to get back to the hills and find my dad and get Geraint and stuff like that. And the woman aint interested in me really. She got that helpless look on her face people got who been kind and doing some good thing.
Come shining right out.
“You look like you could do with a wash up, Cath. Take that basin and get yourself a bowl of hot water. Over there.”
In the corner there’s a steaming urn full of hot water, and the girl fill a metal basin from the shelf. Take off her coat. I can see her red scrawny hands dipping in that bowl of good hot water.
“You too, young man. You’ve got blood all over your face.” So I got to go over and wash my face. It been good to feel it warm on my skin, on my hands. I put my face right in. Wash away the blood and dirt. It been a good feeling.
“You’ve got yourself in a wee spot of bother laddy, haven’t you?” The woman talking to me.
I wipe the water off my face with my sleeve.
“Don’t say much for a boy who’s obviously old enough to get his own baby and who’s got himself a nice fur coat from somewhere,” she say.
“He’s shy,” say the girl, giving me a stare.
“Aye, well that’s no crime. That’s no crime right enough. And get yourselves down to the shelter. No place out on the streets in this cold. No place at all.” Then she look about like someone watching even though there aint no one here except us. “Here, take this.” She take a sliver of soap out of a cup and wrap it in a rag. “Don’t go telling anyone or I’ll have half the women from the shelter around here. And that’s where you should be, down at the shelter. Come on, you’ve got to leave now before someone finds you here.” She push us toward the door. “Off you go now and God bless you. God bless you.”
Sound like Magda—thinking soap so precious and spouting on about God like that.
The girl pocket the soap. The woman hustle us out of that good warm room and the noise from the crowds of people in the church—the noise and the smell and the cold of it—hit me straightaway.
“That blind old cow in there. Look, she didn’t even notice I got a whole bar of soap.” The girl pull a big square block of soap out her pocket. “I can sell this down the Arndale and get some grog for us both.”
“Why do you want grog?”
“Something to do.”
“Aint it better to get something to eat?”
“You don’t want any grog? That’s all right by me.” She pocket the soap. “I’ll have it for myself.” She laugh then, rubbing her arm and shifting around on her feet. She got a proper nervous look about her all of a sudden but kind of excited, which I aint seen before. Looking around all the time.
“I don’t think you shoulda take that soap,” I say.
“Yeah, I know. But you want to eat don’t you? Give me your coat—we’ll get good money for it up the Arndale.”
“I aint gonna sell my coat. It’s all I got to keep out the cold.”
She look at me.
“I risked a lot to get that coat away. Why do you think I helped you? You think you’re better than me cos you’ve got a home up in the hills where everyone’s got fur coats and plenty to eat?”
“No. It aint that.”
“Some people say aint no stragglers left”—her voice turn mean—“just stealers who take their old people to die up on the mountains in the snow. That’s what they say.”
“Well we aint eating each other or chasing after hungry kids.”
“Well it’s just what they say.”
“No straggler been half as wild as the people I seen in this city.”
But the girl aint listening really, rubbing her arm and shifting on her feet.
“Why do you think I helped you?” She grab at me. “You should give me your coat to buy grog.”
I push her back. “I aint selling it!”
She get a proper mean look in her thin face then.
“Suit yourself. You won’t last a day.”
She spit it out. Turn into the crowd.
Then she’s gone. Between the dirty stiff sea of legs and canvas and rags in that great tall building.
Seem like you aint gonna get nothing for free here. Not even a friend.
The girl don’t come back.
I slink about that building trying to find her among the people scrabbling over scraps of blankets and old shoes.
But she aint there.
I get myself wedged down against the wall where no one gonna notice me. I can keep a lookout too. No one gonna see me down here.
I fall asleep.
Someone knock into me and I wake up. Don’t know where I been for a moment. But it don’t take long to remember.
There aint so many people about no more. Evening come on already and hunger burning inside me. Someone shouting.
“Come on, everyone out!”
But I aint got nowhere to go. Girl aint come back. I’m glad I aint given her my coat at least.
A sound behind make me turn. It’s the wash woman with the round face. She come bustling out the door, big coat covering up her pink arms. She got a key and been locking the door. I come up close. Tugging on her sleeve.
“What am I gonna do?”
For a minute she aint understanding me. Then I see her face remembering.
“You’re still here? I told you to get down to the shelter before it’s full.”
But I aint got no clue where the shelter is.
Her face look blank. But I know she got a good heart if only she gonna take off that great canvas coat she been wearing like a shield.
“Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me. What am I supposed to do about it now? You aren’t the only hungry child on the streets. God knows I’ve got my own problems right enough. You’ve got to go now. We’re shutting up.”
She’s right. A big man standing at the door shouting how it’s time for the service. A few old men hobble toward the door.
The woman’s about to turn, but then she look down. She put her bag down.
“Look, this is all I’ve got, and God help me for giving it to you. Here.”
She got a little jar out of her bag. It been filled with milk.
“You can have this. Are you on the opium too?”
“Opium?”
“The madak. Like the girl, Cath.”
“No. I aint.”
She look right in my face then. “I’ll buy your coat from you, give you a good price. If you want.”
“I aint selling it.”
The woman look down. “No, right enough. And I wouldn’t sell it for all the money in China if it were mine either.”
“Where can I go?”
“I don’t know, lad. If I knew where we all should go I’d go there myself. The shelter will take you. I’m sure of it. I can’t help you more.”
I slip into the shadows and crouch down with the milk.
All the people who been handing out clothes and ladling soup all day, all those people come out from the dark corners now. They got tired faces too, those men and women, but they come out silent and sit on the benches, looking down the hall. And a man get up and climb some stairs around a pillar. He stand up on a little platform.
“Friends,” he say.
I gulp the milk down. Good and creamy.
“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?’”
The man on the platform look about at those sorry tired people.
“‘When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall. Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident … .’”
Someone cough.
“Remember those words, my friends. In these bleak times. Of whom are we all afraid? Just as it is winter now, the summer will come. It may not be long, but the sun will shine a little and wash away our cares as it washes away the dirty snow and ice … . ‘The
merciful man doeth good to his own soul, but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh!’”
Sound like he gonna give those tired people a lesson from the way he talk. But they murmur like sheep together in a barn. He spout on about a man helping someone out on the road where he been riding. I mean it been the kind of thing anyone gonna do really but his voice drag on about being what he call
a good Samaritan,
about snow and ice and forgiveness. It been a good story right enough. But all I been thinking of is my empty belly and what I’m gonna do this cold night and how it been funny that some people got jobs feeding other people and some people got to take their charity and others just take things from others without asking. And me, I don’t know what I am.
The people hang their heads down, saying words under their breath … .
Give us this day our daily bread … . forgive us this day our daily trespasses … .
Just like Magda. She say the same words every night, with my dad, shuffling under the bedclothes, saying, “You need a coat not a prayer, so get in, woman. You’ll freeze if you don’t get in.”
But I know why Magda say her words. Same reason as me. I say my words up on the Farngod cos sometimes you get to want someone to listen to you, want something to be out there in the cold windswept valley with death crunching about in the crisp snow. Something more than wind and snow. Reckon it aint much different for all these people, just they aint got no hares to catch and no dog to talk to. Just that man standing up in front of them
trying to get them less frightened of all the gruesome things they probably got on their minds.
I finish the milk now.
The round-faced woman look back over her shoulder at me and sort of smile.
The lesson been over. I got to get out of the church I guess.
Being out of the wind all day make me forget the weather. Make me forget that everyone on the street probably want to knock me on the head just for my coat. I been pretty thankful for sleeping in that church all day for sure.
The big doors close behind me. The snow all trampled down outside where the people been standing about. A kind of smog over everything still hanging down in the cold air in between the tall dark buildings. And the smell of the city bad and deep, burning my nostrils with its foulness even in the cold dark. All the shutters closed and snowflakes starting to fall, big flakes, dropping down slow.
The wash woman tell me how to get to the shelter. Don’t reckon I’m gonna remember it all. She say it been
a long walk
. “Up to Corporation Road,” she say. “Ask someone if you get lost.” Don’t reckon I’m gonna be too keen on asking anyone anything.
Wish Mary was here.
Aint too many people out on the street this time of night, just an old man hunched over carrying a bag. Shuffling along.
He don’t look too dangerous. Don’t look strong enough to rob me. I aint really got no clue where I been heading. Cos there aint no trees or rocks or valleys to tell you where you been. Just those tall dark buildings every side all look the same to me.
I walk a bit faster. The old man turn a corner up ahead and I jog along trying not to slip. All of a sudden out of a pathway between the houses a gang of boys rush out—just as that old graybeard shuffle past. They get all about him shouting. Something hit him in the back and he fall down. I been scared and pull myself flat against the wall. But they aint seen me. The old man shouting out scared.
Get away. Get away with you!
He put his hands up to cover his head. His bag spill out and a few potatoes roll onto the snow.
But the kids aint interested in the potatoes, they just having fun. Laughing, cuffing at his head. I hope they don’t see me in my good warm coat.
The gang run on. They got other things on their mind for now.
The man scrabble about in the snow for his potatoes. When he see me come over he cower down.
“Take them. Take them. Yes, yes. Just take the food. Take the food.”
“I aint gonna hurt you.”
The old man look up from the ground. His eyes scared. I see he don’t trust me. Not one bit.
I bend down, find his potatoes, put them back in his sack.
He got up on his feet now. I hand him the bag.
“Here. See, I aint gonna hurt you. Just want to know the way to the shelter.”
He hold the bag. Pausing. Waiting to see what I’m gonna do.
“You’ve got to get back on Corporation Road. Yes. Got to go back and up to Redbank. If you want the shelter you’ve got to get
to Redbank.” His face is thin, a wispy bit of gray stubble covering his lined cheeks.
“Is it far?” I say.
“Is that a dog-skin coat there?” he say, reaching out.
The man’s glove rest on my sleeve.
He look down at the stitching.
“A real old-time coat, isn’t it. Isn’t made for show. But a good skin. Where did you get it, boy like you out on the streets?”
He look into my face.
“I make it,” I say.
The old man glance up and down the street. Mutter to himself. Chin pressed into his chest.
“Mmm. You can come back with me and share a few potatoes around my fire. If you want. Nearer than the shelter. Much nearer.Just me and my wife at home. Just the wife. What do you say to that?”
I don’t know what I think to that. Old graybeard looking at me from under his hood. Eyes don’t look at me hungry—but it been hard to tell.
I feel the dog spirit. Running through the snow with his pack. Back up into the hills. The dog sleek, his fur shining, his nose wet. He stop. Look back at me over his shoulder.
Seem like the dog slipping in and out of the dark corners of this city. Never know when he’s gonna be nipping at my heels. He aint been too keen on that girl Mary. No. He aint been to keen on being here at all.
Out in the cold dark, you’ve got to follow your guts, Willo.
Further off the rest of the pack stop and howl.
If you don’t come now, you’re on your own.
The old graybeard look at me. Waiting.
“You come with me. Come with me. Have something to eat around a warm fire. Mmm?”
The old man’s voice sound good.
Follow your guts, Willo!
But that good warm fire sound too much like home.
“I aint gonna sell my coat,” I tell him.
“No! No! You wouldn’t want to do that in this cold. Come on. Yes, yes, a nice warm bit of stew.”
Old man looking at me kind of reading inside my head. “Quick though. It won’t do to stand around on the streets for too long. It isn’t far. Mmm, not far at all.”
He start off down the road, beckon me with his hand: “This way, not far, not far.”
 
 
That old graybeard say it aint far but it been a long walk with his feet shuffling slow along the icy streets.
“Here we are. Yes yes.”
A great tower stretching up into the sky. The sharp smell of smoke heavy in the air. Outside a group of kids hang around a pile of burning rubbish. They don’t pay us no mind though.
The old man lead me past them, up some steps. Into the great dark hole that been the doorway. There’s a smell of cat piss and a stench of things decaying under that mountain of brick and concrete towering above us. Just dark steps rising up inside, our feet
echoing up them as we fumble along, hands feeling the way on the wall.
“Be careful now. Mmm, careful on the stairs now.”
Far above us in the guts of this old-time building a door slam shut. Footsteps echo on the stairs. Every now and then we come to a landing. The smell come right out of buckets of slop standing outside every door.
He see me stop. “Never mind that, never mind.”
I aint too keen on coming in this damp smelling building. That’s for sure.
A cat come hissing out from some dark corner and shoot down the steps in the darkness. A woman snoring on the stairway and we pick around her. Filthy-smelling woman got grog on her breath. And then the feeble light go out. We been in the dark good and proper now. The old man stop. I can hear him breathing ahead of me.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Yes yes, just be careful. Got to be careful on the dark stairs. But it isn’t far now. No, not far now.”
Careful not to trip on one of those slop buckets I follow the sound of him struggling up the steps, stooping over, huffin’ and puffin’. Finally he stop and pull a key from his coat and fiddle in the darkness at a door. He open it up with a click.
“It’s only me, dear,” he say into the darkness.
The room smell of breath and onions. A huge window along the far wall. Aint got no boards on it or nothing. The night sky look like a picture so bright in the darkness of the room through that
window. Cos when your eyes get used to the dark you see the night aint so black like you think it is.
Up here you can see the whole city spreading out down below. Snow-topped roofs and smoke smudging the buildings and houses that melt out all around til the skyline and the city disappear in the shadows of the clouds with the moon glowing out behind them. Same old moon gets up over the barn on a clear night.
The old man fiddling around in the corner. I can hear him trying to get a strike on something. He been muttering to himself. From the back of the room come a voice.
“Jacob. Is that you back already?”
“Yes yes, my dear. It’s me.”
“Did you get the potatoes?”
“Oh, yes, got the potatoes, won’t be long, dearest. Just getting the stove going. Got a boy too. Mmm, a boy.”
The old man place the candle in front of a cracked bit of mirror and the flame struggle to life. In the corner of the room is a bed piled up with blankets and pillows and in it an old woman, just her head and hands poking over the blankets. Staring at us. Her eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“A boy, Jacob?”
“Yes yes. Very kind boy, helped me but with nowhere to stay on this cold night. Cold thin boy. Mmm, very cold night.”
“Why have you brought him back? He’s going to rob us for sure.”
“No, no. Not going to rob us, are you?”
“No,” I say.
Above the bed is a shelf of books and an old clock ticking.
The old man Jacob stir up a little fire in a stove by the window. Fishing lumps of coal out of a bucket.
Every spare inch of wall got basins and buckets hanging off it and bags and bits of rope and old metal wire and all manner of things. Above the fire been a rail, hanging from ropes in the ceiling, a woolen sweater draped over it, just like at home. Jacob take off his gloves and coat all stiff and damp and let down the rail above the fire. He hang up the coat and put on the sweater.
“Come a bit closer, boy. I can’t see you over there,” the old woman croak from the bed.
Jacob shuffle over. Push me toward his woman.
“Look at his coat. Look at it,” he say, holding the candle up.
The old woman sit up against the pillows. “What are we going to do with a boy?” Her hands all thin, just skin and bones.
“Now don’t pester him, my dear. He’s hungry as a dog. Aren’t you? Hungry as a dog.” The old man light a candle by her bed and shuffle back to the fire, clanging at pots.
The old woman look at me. “What’s your name?”
“Willo.”
“The coat, Elizabeth. Look at his coat. He says he made it himself.”
The smell of the stew cooking up on the stove torturing my hungry guts but I pull my coat over my head and pass it to the old woman reaching out with a gnarled hand and I sit down in the warmth of the fire.
Those two old people got my coat between them. For some reason they been mighty interested in it. Peering close at the stitchwork and turning it inside and out.
I been looking about their room. Hard to see much in the tatty light of that tiny candle. There’s a door beside the bed. In the corner a chair. A basin hanging on the wall. A little table bashed together from some boards with a scrap of material hanging over it. Same sort of thing Magda do at home. She got to be making any useful place so you can’t go putting a cup or plate on it without a warning that it’s
gonna get dirty
and she
aint got all day for washing.
“You say you made this coat yourself?” say the old man.
“Most of it. Got a bit of help with the pattern.”
“It looks like a hare lining and—dog on the outer layer?”
“Aint gonna get cold in that coat,” I say.
“Mmm, I don’t doubt it. Don’t doubt it.”
He ladle out some food onto tin plates.
“Perhaps you can tell us what you’re doing here?” say the old woman. “With a fine coat you say you made yourself.”
I can’t speak cos my mouth been full with hot potato stew.
“Mmm, straggler coat for sure, my dear, for sure,” say Jacob.
I swallow. The fire warm my back and my belly been full with hot food, and I feel that my eyes gonna fall shut even if I don’t want them to.
Don’t reckon these old people gonna hurt me. I hear the old man fussing to his wife.
“He’s too tired to talk now, dear.” A cushion been put under my head and a heavy blanket over my body. I hear them talking,
Jacob moving about the room quietly, but my eyes stay heavy and closed whether I like it or not. Sleep crawling up my body. And it feel good. The floor against my shoulder. Been the first night I been full and warm since I left the mountain.
“We’ll ask him tomorrow … .”
It’s the last thing I hear Jacob say. I breathe down deep and heavy with a picture of Mary in my head. A picture of Mary with her tangled hair, pulling the covers up on that old rat catcher with her crooked finger, lips parted, smiling down at me.
The city been stranger and crueler than the fairy stories Magda tell where Jack climbs up a bean stalk and witches make houses out of bread. Really. And I reckon I fall asleep right then cos I don’t remember nothing more, just wake up with the blanket over me and the fire rustled up new as the light come flooding in through that great big window the next morning.

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