by Ron Thomas
It was late afternoon when the hospital car dropped Meggsie a few doors from the charred ruin of Benny’s Fruit Market. The driver, a surly looking fellow, didn’t seem to think it at all strange that the address he’d been asked to drop the patient was clearly burnt-out. Meggsie stood outside the shop for some time, just looking, just remembering. He carried a paper bag containing his entire worldly possessions. Just a somewhat charred fruit and veg shirt, a pair of beaten up trousers with a couple of charred holes, a hospital toothbrush and comb, a couple of hospital meals he’d purloined as he left, and what he stood up in.
The front wall of Benny’s was still partly intact and someone had installed props to prevent it falling. The broken windows had been removed. The sign above the window with its painted-on fruit, that Benito had been so proud of, was charred and blackened. Meggsie shook his head sadly and walked away. He walked slowly around the block to Hopewell Lane. The gates were closed, but they weren’t locked, and the truck had been pushed back into the yard. He had by no means severed his emotional ties with the fruit shop, and stood surveying the damage for some time, but he didn’t go in. For a while, he sat on the running board of the truck and tried to gather his thoughts. The unbidden onset of weariness overtook him. He climbed into the cab of the Thornycroft and within a few minutes was asleep.
In the morning light, he dreamt that Benito had arrived to roust him out. It was early and there was plenty of time on his hands. Plenty of time to let his thoughts wander. In the past, like every boy, something inside of him, something irrational but comforting, had convinced him he was fireproof. This morning, with his world crumbling around him, reality overtook any such thoughts. He quickly came to realise how important riding with Benito to the Haymarket had become to him. Some hours passed before he decided that it was time to take a look around the shop.
The back room of Benny’s was partially burnt, but the fire hoses had finally won out, and they had completed the destruction. It was open to the vagaries of weather. Meggsie wandered aimlessly among the charred, wet ruins, his misery increasing as he saw the ruined tatters of his life around him.
Amazingly, the wire clothes hangers Yosef Abrahams had given him with his clothes were still hanging on the wire line, but only remnants of burnt cloth hung from them. His comb, his toothbrush, the only pair of shoes he’d ever owned were just remnant heaps of misshapen material. There was nothing he could do, and nothing here for him except tears. The clothes he wore, his other clothes, blackened by fire, were his only possessions. Surprisingly, the pile of jute sacks that had been his bed for so many months was only partially burnt. He pulled the bags aside, to find that the jar that held his coins was cracked by the heat, but intact. Even the notes inside had survived. Realising that it wasn’t practical to take the coins with him, he considered leaving them where they were, but decided he would have to find a place to hide them.
His heart was heavy as, for one last time, he scanned the burnt-out shop and turned to go. That was when a momentary curiosity urged him to check for the pistol.
The desk was little more than a pile of ashes and he kicked at it a couple of times before he saw the barrel poking out from under the charred material. The gun was blackened, but otherwise, appeared to be intact. Though he imagined that it would be ruined as a firearm, he idly took it with him. With the coin jar under his arm, he wandered back to the Thornycroft. He put the jar on the driver’s seat, then reached under the dash and found a cloth, normally used for cleaning the windscreen. It was pleasant enough sitting on the running board in the morning sun, and he set out to wipe the black residue off the pistol. He ejected the magazine and spent more than an hour cleaning the weapon up, pushing the rag into all the crevices. Finally, he found a stick, wrapped it in rag and pushed it down the barrel. When Meggsie held it at arm’s length, it looked remarkably serviceable and, diverted him from his troubles for a while. He decided it would be wise to hide it for the moment, rather than to take the risk of carrying it with him. He wandered around the yard looking for a suitable hiding place, and decided the only really safe spot was under the cobbles. Using the truck’s jemmy, he levered up a cobblestone near the fence, and dug a nest beneath it. He remembered there was a corner of a tarpaulin he’d seen in the unburnt corner of the shop. He wrapped the pistol and buried it. There wasn’t room in the hole for the jar, so he took a handful of two-shilling pieces and all the notes, and poured the rest in on top of the pistol, then replaced the cobblestone. Meggsie had no particular use in mind for the weapon, but he felt satisfied as he brushed the dirt back around the cobble to disguise his cache.
All this had diverted him for most of the morning, but when it was all done Meggsie just felt like crying. He didn’t, only because he couldn’t. Tears he badly wanted to shed just wouldn’t come.
The cab of the Thornycroft could possibly be his home for some time, he supposed, but surely someone would take it away, sooner or later. Meggsie had survived the street once, and he’d do it again, if that’s what it took. Meggsie found that he didn’t care much about all that. In his numbed state, Meggsie intuitively knew what was important to him.
Without Benito, the shop couldn’t possibly be home. A sudden, urgent need overtook him. There was only one thing to do, and that was to be by Benito’s side. Perhaps his presence might make the difference. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered at all, and he knew what he had to do.
***
Meggsie discovered that the back of his hospital shirt was black with charcoal marks. Having worn it as he toured around the shop, that wasn’t surprising, but he cursed his foolishness. After some searching, he found the remains of a cake of soap in the cracked wash basin, and spent some time picking the charred specks from it. Although he washed the hospital shirt thoroughly again and again in the running water from the standpipe in the yard, it didn’t come clean. When he hung it over the clothesline, he tried unsuccessfully to convince himself that it didn’t look too bad.
It was afternoon by the time Meggsie returned to St Vincent’s and asked to be allowed to see Benito.
‘I don’t know about that, sir,’ the nurse on the desk replied. ‘Mr Battaglia is very heavily sedated. He wouldn’t be able to talk, you understand?’
‘I still want to see him,’ Meggsie persisted. ‘I’ve been in the burns unit myself for three weeks and I’ve not been able to see him. I won’t go until I do.’
‘Are you his son?’ the efficient nurse asked.
‘No, but I wish I was. He is the nearest thing to a father I’ve ever had. I don’t want to be anywhere else. It doesn’t matter if I can’t talk to him. I just want to be near him. We were in the fire together.’
Her tone changed immediately and her manner became more sympathetic. ‘I’ll check with Doctor Jarvis whether it will be all right. Please wait here.’
Meggsie waited for a long time. For a while, he just stared at the wall and thought dark thoughts. Seeing a pile of magazines stacked on a table in the corner, he wandered over and thumbed through them, finding a copy of Motorsport, tattered and about a year old. Despite himself, he became immersed in the pictures of the great sporting cars, Schneider, Enfield and Mercedes, and the great drivers. Benoist, Chiron and other champions.
The voice was familiar. ‘This is a surprise. I thought that once you escaped, you mightn’t want to come back.’ Meggsie looked up to see Moe Zeller, dressed in a neat, grey suit. Not at all the sort of dress he wore on the newsstand each day.
‘I have to come in quite regularly to have my dressings checked.’
‘I thought I’d come in and see how he’s doing,’ Moe said. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get in more often. What’s the news?’
‘Apparently, he hasn’t talked at all. The nurse said he is still sedated. She should be here soon; she’s just gone off to ask the doctor whether I can see him.’
‘I see.’ The news man sat on the bench beside Meggsie, rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor for some time. ‘It m
ust be horrible for Therese and the kids,’ he suddenly said bitterly. ‘That stupid bastard Guido has got a lot to answer for.’ Moe appeared to be talking to himself, and Meggsie wondered whether he had any knowledge of the day Bruhn visited the shop and Benito had pulled the shotgun. It didn’t seem that Moe was seeking a reply, so Meggsie went back to scanning a story about the 1927 Duesenberg.
The nurse’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Doctor Jarvis says you can go and see him if you like,’ she said. ‘If you want to talk to him, that’s fine. We don’t know whether he can hear you or not, but it can’t do any harm for him to hear a familiar voice.’
‘Can I see him too?’ Moe asked hopefuly. ‘I’m his friend. I’ve known him for thirty years.’ The nurse shook her head. ‘Doctor said just one person at the moment.’ Meggsie wasn’t quite certain whether Moe’s expression was of disappointment or relief. Part of him was dreading seeing Benito in his dire situation, and he could readily understand Moe’s ambivalent feelings.
‘I’ll go if I can’t see him, mate,’ Moe said. ‘News waits for no man. Let me know if there’s any change. Oh, and if I can help in any way, mate, let me know that too, OK?’
‘Of course. Thanks, Moe.’
‘I almost forgot. Yosef sends his best wishes.’
Meggsie was momentarily taken off guard. ‘Yosef?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, Yosef Abrahams. The tailor. I’m sure he’d appreciate being kept up to date. He’s known Benny for even longer than I have.’
‘This way, please, sir,’ the nurse said. As they walked, her heels click-clacked on the highly-polished linoleum and she told him what to expect. ‘Mister Battaglia is heavily bandaged. That’s to help his burns to heal. You won’t be able to recognise him. I thought it best to tell you that before you see him.’
‘Thank you,’ Meggsie replied. ‘Do you think he’ll eventually be well again?’
‘I’m not a doctor, you realise. Mister Battaglia is in a very bad way, but it’s amazing what modern medicine can do. The most that can be said is that we are hopeful.’
***
‘He’s in here,’ the nurse said. ‘I’ll leave you with him. If he shows any sign of stirring, ring the little bell on the table and one of the nurses will come immediately.’ Meggsie stood in the corridor, gathering his courage as he watched her click clack back the way they’d come. Then he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Benito Battaglia was the only patient in the room, which could probably have accommodated four. The bed was centrally placed and the patient was covered only by a sheet. Every visible inch of Benito’s body was swathed in bandages. Even his eyes were covered by cotton wool pads. Despite everything, Meggsie could detect a faint smell of burning. He moved the only chair in the room to a position where he could watch Benito, and took a seat. Only by looking carefully, could he see the rise and fall of Benito’s shallow breathing. For more than ten minutes, Meggsie sat without moving, watching for some sign that might give him hope. Then he gathered his thoughts and began to speak quietly to the inert, bandaged patient.
‘Benito, please come back to me. Come back to us. To Therese, to Alessia and Claudia. To Federico as well. We all need you. I don’t even know if the man I called Dad when I was little was actually my father. You’ve been the only real father I’ve had, and I don’t want to lose you now.’ Meggsie was in no hurry and he stopped for some time, gathering his thoughts.
‘The shop’s gone, Benito. What the fire didn’t ruin, the water did. But we can start again. We can build it up together. I can’t do it by myself though. I’m just a kid. We’d have help. Some of the boys from the Haymarket stopped by to see if there was anything they could do. You’ve got a lot of mates there. Freddie and Jock, Johnno, Percy and Scrubber. They all came to see if they could help you. I reckon they need you too, Benito. We all need you bad. See these flowers and those cards on the shelf? They all came from mates, customers, all sorts of people. There’s a fancy card from Mrs Worthington. You remember Mrs Worthington? She’s the one who gave me the cheesecake. She sent flowers too; those pink ones, I don’t know what they’re called. Moe came to see you, but they wouldn’t let him in yet until you wake up. Yosef Abrahams is waiting for you to wake up, too.’ Once again there was a long silence. Meggsie couldn’t think of anything more to say.
‘You probably want to rest now but, so I’ll shut up, but I’m still here if you want to talk to me,’ he concluded. He sat for another half an hour, hardly moving, lost in his own thoughts. Finding himself drowsing, and not wanting to fall asleep, he went out to the waiting room, looking for something to read. There, sitting stiffly upright, he was surprised to find Yosef Abrahams.
‘Mister Abrahams! I wasn’t expecting you,’ Meggsie exclaimed. ‘Actually, I wasn’t expecting anybody. I’ve been talking to him, but I don’t know if he heard.’
Abrahams shrugged. It was the same expressive shrug Meggsie had seen before. ‘Moe told me you would probably still be here. I had to find out how Benny is. We’ve been mates longer than I care to remember. Thirty years. The nurse told me I couldn’t see him, but I was finding it hard to leave him. He will be grateful that you spoke to him. I’m grateful too. I love him like a brother.’
‘And to me, he’s like my dad. Even better. Perhaps I’d better get back to him. I talked to him for about an hour, but I’ve talked myself out. I just came out to collect a few motoring magazines to read.’
‘You do that, Gilibert. Don’t forget to tell him that I called. There’s always a chance that he might be listening to you. Tell him when he’s ready to get back to work I’ll make him some shirts for nothing.’
‘I’ll tell him that, Mister Abrahams. He’ll like that.’
‘You’d better call me Yosef. That’s what my friends call me,’ Abrahams said on the spur of the moment. He moved over closer, and his expert tailor’s fingers moved to one of the many scorch marks on Meggsie’s fruit and veg shirt.
‘I’m sorry, Gilbert. I’d forgotten that you lost everything too. All the clothes I made for you, I suppose.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m just the man to do something about that, Gilibert. Just stand there for a moment with your arms out while I check your measurements. You’ve grown about a foot,’ Yosef said. ‘That shirt’s tight.’ Then he grinned widely. ‘Looks like you’ve been standing in horse manure.’
Meggsie tried to smile, but humour was hard to find. He did as he was told, and Yosef produced a tape from his pocket. He took no notes, and it was clear he intended to simply remember Meggsie’s measurements.
‘I haven’t got any money, Yosef. I’ve got a little bit in the bank account Benito made me open and some coins, but it’s not very much.’
‘Thirty years I’ve known him! Thirty years! If I can’t do something that my friend would want, what sort of friend would I be? Now, you go in and see him, and give him my love. Don’t forget your magazines.’
***
As he’d expected, Meggsie found nothing had changed in Benito’s room. ‘Yosef sends his love and says he’ll make you some shirts when you start the shop again,’ he said, then sat down and began flicking through the car magazines. Some articles he read, but mostly, he just looked at the pictures. About half an hour later a nurse came in, carrying a large brown paper bag.
‘A man left this for you,’ she said, holding out the bag. ‘The same man that was out there earlier. He came back. He said you must be hungry.’
Indeed he was hungry, and when he opened the bag, the smell of fresh pastry wafted up around him and it was only then that he found how famished he was.
‘The doctor will be wanting to see to Mister Battaglia’s dressings. He will be here in a few moments. We’ll have to ask you to leave while we look at his bandages. Perhaps this might be a chance to go out and get a breath of fresh air. If you go out the front gates and turn right, there’s a pleasant little park, with seats. It’s quite lovely there. I have my lunch there nearly every day.’
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***
Three days later when Meggsie arrived at the hospital, he found Therese sitting by Benito’s bed. She didn’t say anything, but she embraced him, clinging to him for a long time.
‘He stirred a little bit about fifteen minutes ago, but he’s been quiet since then,’ she said quietly. She pulled a large paper bag from under the bed. ‘Yosef Abrahams was here earlier,’ she added. ‘He left this bag for you.’
Meggsie looked in the bag. There were shirts and trousers, socks and a pair of black, shiny shoes in his size.
‘He said to tell you he was more delighted this time. I don’t know what he meant, but that’s the message he gave me,’ Therese said, somewhat puzzled. Meggsie smiled and nodded.
‘I know what he meant,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘That’s all that matters.’
Chapter 24
On Leila’s Beat
In the early hours of the evening, there were people about. Even the light drizzle couldn’t keep them indoors. The corner of Liverpool and Bourke streets was a prime spot, and Leila Morgan had it to herself. There would be more competition for the spot later in the night.
‘Hi, handsome,’ she said seductively to an overweight man with straggly hair. He looked her up and down, feigning interest, then walked on. ‘Arsehole,’ she mumbled under her breath. Her hair was beginning to look rather bedraggled, and she was keen to find another mark and get into the warmth of her room, a few doors down Bourke Street. Leila had a watchful eye on a man wearing a light grey suit, standing on the opposite corner. When he’d turned up some five minutes ago, she’d naturally, given him a wave, but he’d ignored her, and she had assumed that he was probably waiting for someone. He seemed to be agitated, and was shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking up and down Bourke Street, then Elizabeth Street.
A red and cream taxi came cruising down the hill. Seeing the man on the corner, the cabbie pulled his vehicle to the curb and waited to be noticed. Leila thought that perhaps the man had called the taxi, but he just ignored it and kept looking up and down the street. Another man, taller than the first, and dark-haired, appeared from nowhere and the man in the grey suit turned to him angrily. The taller man also seemed angry, and for a moment, Leila was drawn to the pushing contest that ensued. The tall man poked a rigid finger into the middle of grey-suit’s chest and grey-suit slapped the tall man’s arm away. It was all over in a moment. Grey-suit reached into his pocket and pulled out what Leila thought to be a knife, but tall man was quicker. Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Leila could see the flash between the two men’s bodies. Grey-suit reeled away clutching at his chest, took two or three backward steps and fell heavily into the Liverpool street gutter. Within moments, a large black limousine came down the Liverpool street Hill, past the taxi, and the tall man jumped in to the back seat. The limousine accelerated, and with a squeal of tyres turned into Bourke Street. The taxi followed.