Lucas leaned towards me. “You alright?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You seem to be acting a little funny.” He eyed the emptiness I was clutching tightly in my hands.
I released the shotgun back into the thin air it had come from.
“And you’re smiling as though something is extremely funny.”
“Or exciting.”
“Yeah.” He looked at me expecting me to say something.
I coughed trying to get rid of the smile on my face.
There wasn’t much else to see, but the set-up of the rooms, and the facilities – as worn down and falling apart as they looked – made me realise why I had never seen all that many poor people or drug addicts on the streets or sprawled in some dark and dingy corner of the city: the reason was because most of them ended up here being looked after long term and cared for when no one else would.
We walked back down the whining stairs and went through to one of the ground floor wings where many of the older residents lived. The hallway housed rooms on both sides so the only light that made it down here was from the entranceway to the kitchen at the end or the one bulb hanging in the middle.
One of the room doors creaked open and a haggard old face, gaunt and suspicious peered through the gaps of the door. His spindly body almost made an attempt to leave the dark shadows of his room before fearful eyes spotted us and changed their mind. I thought I heard a wheezing escape his throat before he closed the door and the locks were clicked shut.
The Caregiver knocked and called out: “Everything okay in there?”
Silence.
She turned back and smiled. “I can still hear him wheezing.”
“Is he okay?” asked Christie.
“Yeah, he’s just not used to visitors. Some of these guys can get pretty solitary. If they have the health we try to get them out and about every now and then.”
I imagined him scowling like a vampire from behind the door at the thought of being out and about, unless it was out and about in the pitch black of night and hanging from precarious angles off tall buildings.
We passed through a dining area with tables and chairs scattered about in somewhat close approximation. Apparently the residents got three square meals a day plus morning tea and late night supper – a vast improvement on jail meals I was told (though even the three square meals in prison seemed like gourmet to most straight-out-of-highschool tertiary students I had known who could barely even afford two meals a day: “Better to starve and have time to do assignments than work extra hours just so I can eat” Martin had moaned to me once).
“Put it down!” cried a voice from in the kitchen on the opposite side of the room.
There was a clatter of cutlery, pots and pans hitting the floor and a voice crying out “Get away from me! Get away, get away you evil people!”
“Robert!” cried the other voice.
“Oh dear,” said the Caregiver. “Here we go again!”
She took a deep breath with tight lips and marched into the kitchen while Lucas, Christie and I waited at the other side of the dining room.
From behind the walls the Caregiver bellowed loudly “What the heck is going on in here?”
“Robert was trying to steal more cupcakes, as well as a loaf of bread and a block of butter.”
“Robert!”
“It’s not true!” Robert’s voiced cried out with exaggeration, much like a young child being accused of something they hadn’t done.
“Look in his bag.”
“Leave my bag alone! Leave it you slimy bitch!”
“With that kind of language you won’t be getting fed again at all, Robert.”
There was more clattering of cutlery and pots and pans skidding across the floor as Robert came rushing out of the kitchen clutching his bag, hobbling in some kind of drastically crippled escape mode, except that he hobbled straight into a dining room chair with the bag-clutching arm swinging over him and all the bag contents flying in a high arc and landing by the window seats. He saw us, looked behind at the Cook and the Caregiver trying to conceal their laughter, and suddenly started hobbling along the floor towards us on all fours. Before the Caregiver and Cook were quick enough to realise what he was doing, Robert had cornered the three of us and was reaching one desperately clawing hand up, while the other steadied his arching rise from the ground, his pocked face pleading through uncut hair and stained gums “They don’t feed us. They don’t feed us. Please help, please!”
Where was my zombie swatter when I needed it?
Christie practically jumped into Lucas’ arms as he instinctively stepped forward to protect her, but the Caregiver and the Cook had both grabbed Robert’s arms moments before his uncut fingernails had found a grip on any of our clothing.
“Man, did you even get your meds today, Robert?”
“Please! Don’t let them kick me out! Please, don’t let them ditch me like they ditched the girl. Please!”
“Oh Robert, you still going on about that? We didn’t ditch anyone. This is a Men’s Hostel, for crying out loud. You’re getting your wires crossed again.”
They carried him back to his room, feet dragging lazily on the ground.
I looked over Christie’s shoulder at Lucas. “What were you saying about this not being a bad place?”
He raised his eyebrows.
Christie suddenly realised the position she was in and quickly took her arms off Lucas, coughed unnecessarily, ran some fingers through her hair, looked at me instead and forcibly smiled. “Exciting place, is probably how I would put it.”
The Cook passed back through shaking his head. The Caregiver reached us and said, “had enough?”
Christie asked “What did he mean about the girl?”
“Ahh, common enough story. We hear it often, especially among the dealers. Person wants to stay the night at their place after some heavy drinking, but gets kicked out and is left to walk the streets. The dealers we see around here become so callous that they just don’t care about other human beings after they have dealt with them.” She threw her hand up in exasperation. “I don’t know who he’s talking about though; we do not allow any women to stay here. It cannot be done under any circumstances, especially with the type of men who stay here. It’s just a sad reminder that first, don’t associate with those kind of people; and second, it’s not hard to give someone a pillow for just one single night! Is it?”
Christie firmly replied. “No it’s not!”
Alice walked out of one of the offices with another Salvation Army officer, probably the person in charge.
“There’s enough second-hand stuff down in the basement that we can come back tomorrow and start transferring some of it to the Family Store – it’ll help these guys to stop feeling so cluttered up.”
Christie said “Been a good year for donations has it?”
Lucas stepped up beside her. “Wouldn’t it be a good year if people just learnt to recycle for crying out loud?”
Christie turned on him looking annoyed. “Well that’s what the Family Store is for – so people can recycle and reuse!”
The other officer rolled his eyes. Alice smirked and then ushered us all back into the car.
Christie clicked in her seatbelt. “You really like stepping on my toes don’t you Lucas?”
“How can you say that? We haven’t even started dancing yet.”
As we backed out, Christie suddenly pointed to the building next to the hostel and said “see that? That’s where the Bridge Programme is.”
I turned to where she was pointing and saw a brick-built rectangle with trees growing around it. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“You just go around the corner and the front door is there. They’re really friendly. I met the manager last week.”
“Right.”
Alice looked at me through the rear-view mirror. I looked out the window as the car left that place behind.
I told Lucas that I would wait at the Family Store while he load
ed the van up at the Men’s Hostel, that way after unloading I could stay behind and help sort it out with Christie. “I just don’t feel so comfortable over there.”
“Okay then. But they are okay guys y’ know?”
“Aren’t you the one that said ‘illegal is illegal’?”
“As the law calls it. But by that count that would make you a criminal. But I still think you’re an okay guy.”
I felt pretty adamant. “They’re criminals.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not talking about petty crimes by bored teenagers, or unjust laws being broken, or running a red light when you know you can get away with it. I’ll admit, there were some genuinely nice people in there – some very strange ones as well; but those criminals are people who have purposely set out to hurt other people.”
“Not all of them. And anyway, once you look past that, you see that some of them actually are decent people.”
“Even the dealers? Apparently they don’t care about other people and kick them out of their homes.”
Lucas lit up a cigarette. “I can’t speak for everyone.”
Christie walked up to us. “I concur with Mr. Lucas-Anthony here – but not with his smoking habit. I don’t condone the actions that put them away in the first place, but I do condone giving them a second chance, after all, isn’t that the Christian thing to do?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Guess so.”
Christie continued on: “Well David, as an officer of The Salvation Army, I believe that my actions have to be a reflection of those that would be condoned by Jesus, so if Jesus has already shown me the example of helping the poor and giving criminals a second chance, then that is the example I will live by.” She turned to Lucas. “So if you want someone to sit in the passenger seat while you load the van up, then count me in. On one condition though: you have to put out the cigarette.”
Lucas winked at me, dropped the butt, stamped it out, spun around, and headed for the driver’s seat.
Christie leaned towards me. “Hey, in case I forget later on – Charge Up, Friday night. See you there.” With that said she was in the passenger seat of the van and the van was heading back down the road towards the hostel.
I sat down on a wooden seat amongst random bits of furniture and sighed.
Part VI
– Charge Up –
“Oh no. Not these little blighters again.” Alice was halfway through the front door with her head peering in at the kids running around and throwing balls at each other over in the hall.
Christie stood inside the foyer with her arms folded but for one sarcastic finger that was sticking out and waving at her. “Now, now Alice, they’re not that bad. Just remember what you got taught in training college.”
“Gee, Christie, you might have to remind me. It was so long ago I seem to have forgotten.”
Christie smiled as she dropped her jaw. “You love it.”
Alice waved a finger back at her. “No, you love it. I’m just here to help out.”
As the parents dropped their kids off, Alice stood by the desk giving them each a tag that had their name on it so the ones that weren’t regulars would know who everyone was. Even the leaders had their own tag. ‘Wonder-girl Alice’ made up a makeshift one for me that said ‘King David’.
“Isn’t that a little sacrilegious” I asked?
“No, of course not. Sometimes it’s good to be reminded of who we are and where we come from. Sometimes certain situations seem to lead me further back in The Bible and I ask myself ‘What would David do?’”
Run for his life? I could feel my feet itching to move.
She attached the tag to my shirt. “Even as a king, David was a pretty flawed man and he suffered temptation, probably worse than any of us, but he put his faith in God and God came through for him. I try to remember that always, especially on those days when I really feel like I’ve let Jesus down, sometimes in the worst possible ways.” She frowned but tried to smile through it.
Shit, I felt a lump in my throat rise, so I turned away taking a huge breath and moved into the room where ‘Squeaky Clean Christie’ was trying to herd the children into two lines so she could number them off. ‘Lucky Luke’ ended up yelling at them at the top of his voice “Get in line – NOW!!!” Within seconds they were in two lines and Christie was numbering their heads.
Lucas walked over to me grinning madly. “I love this job!”
Christie had split them all into two groups sending each to opposite ends of the room. Alice helped set up a goal at one end using orange cones while Christie did the goal at the other end. Two cardboard batons were placed on the floor in the middle of the room with a plastic ball in between them.
“What’s happening?” I asked Lucas.
“It’s a variation on indoor hockey. Well, basically the same thing but only one member of each team has a go at a time.”
“Right.”
“Wanna play?”
“No.”
Christie looked over at us. “David and Lucas, you go on this team as numbers 11 and 12. I’ll go on the other team as 12 and Alice will be the referee.”
Lucas slapped his hands together. “Sweet!”
I sighed, but followed him to the other side of the room where our group of children were practically climbing the walls just waiting to start.
Alice backed off to one side of the ‘playing field’ and yelled out “alright, everyone ready? What number’s first?”
Screams from all around were fired at her to call their number first, begging and pleading from mouths that had no idea what asking nicely meant. It was sheer chaos of noise.
She looked up at the ceiling pretending to decide which number she should pick first, using her fingers to count them off. This only caused more yelling and pleading. Finally she yelled “the number to go first… is…” (long pause while the children waited anxiously) “…7!”
One boy from each team ran wildly to the centre, picked up a baton each and began swinging madly at the ball barely missing each other in the process. The ball flew into the air with the batons still swinging at it causing it to fire off to the left. The two boys chased after it, knocking it this way and that as they battled to get the ball under control while the rest of their teams looked on in excitement, cheering each team member on and trying to put the other one off. The game took them all over the room, until finally one of the kids got the better angle, took a lunging swing and knocked the ball through the goal at our end. Cries of joy from his team – cries of disappointment from ours. Nuts, absolutely nuts.
The kids took the ball back to the centre, placed their batons down each side and moved back to their teams.
“3!”
And the game was on again with two other team members battling with the springy ball and not paying much attention to what Alice had just said about the off-limit area. This time the kid on my team got the goal. Next up was number 12 which was Lucas and Christie. They battled without much mercy, Christie giving Lucas a good push out of the way which caused cries of illegal play from our team which Alice pretended to consider while Lucas got her back by putting a foot in with the batons, hooking it up over her head like a soccer player and using the baton to push it the rest of the way through the goal. She was left standing in the middle with her hands on her hips, but gave him a good whack on the leg as he passed by on his way back to our end.
“Rather violent game don’t you reckon?”
Lucas laughed. “It’s all in good fun. Kids love the competition.”
This point was amply proven as each kid waved their batons at the ball, girls constantly getting annoyed at the ball not going in the direction they intended, boys not caring what direction the ball went in so long as it went in a direction, and as hard and fast as possible. Some near-misses included lights, microphone stands, the stereo system, service plaques (“always seem to forget those are on the wall” Alice said dryly later on), and in one case, not a miss at all but a di
rect hit: the cross up on the wall. A kid hit the ball so hard that it flew into the air, ricocheted off the cross and bounced through our goal. A great cheer arose with Christie raising her fists in the air and yelling at us “Jesus is on our side!”
Alice hung her head.
Christie went back to psyching her team up some more.
Lucas turned around. “Alright, guys, we gotta get this next goal. No more playing nice - do whatever it takes!”
But the next number Alice called was 11. And I wasn’t prepared for how violent a little six year old kid could be. He ran to the centre, I jogged; we both got there at the same time. We picked up our batons and after his first swing which connected with the ball, he just kept swinging so the baton was batting my legs furiously. I managed to escape suddenly, finding the ball lying to the side of us, so I went after it as he chased behind attacking my legs. I got close to the goal, but all of a sudden he dived between my legs, landed on the ball laughing like a maniac and then started rolling the other way with the ball clung tight to his stomach.
Damn it! Lucas had said do anything. I ran up to our end, stood in front of the goal with my arms hanging down waiting to scoop the kid up. His laughing body rolled right into my arms and I lifted him up over my shoulder and ran down to the other end, depositing his body down between the goal.
My team cheered loudly, his team booed wildly. Christie was laughing uncontrollably.
I felt exhausted.
But I was smiling.
I was smiling a lot.
I was smiling so much that I gave Lucas and every kid in my team a high five. I hadn’t smiled like this in ages. Well, at least since that time I kicked Tinsdale’s ass in a championship race! This felt good though – so good – even if I was too tired to jump all over the room, unlike that night back at the flat during one of our console wars, which culminated in my eventual defeat of Tinsdale – probably only because he wasn’t really a hardcore gamer. But needless to say, I took the win like a true champion!
I Am The Local Atheist Page 9