“It must have been tough, especially since your shop burned down right when you tried getting back on your feet.”
Henry nodded, sniffing his grievance.
“Stop lying, Henry. You never stop lying.”
Henry gazed up at Alex in mute surprise. “I already said I was sorry for lying. I told you, I had to come-“
“You never owned any shop, Henry. There was no fire. Nobody died. And that’s not how you became homeless. That story is so full of holes even Rum guessed it was a lie.”
“No! I did … I really did.” Henry turned solemn before Alex’s unwavering expression. “Even Rum guessed? How did you figure it out?”
“More like how did we prevent ourselves from blurting it out. The most obvious reason was your age. You were twenty four when we met you, too young to have your own business.”
“It’s possible.”
“Improbable. Secondly, with no intended offence, you’ve no backbone. Even the sloppiest of entrepreneurs need a backbone. From the day we met you didn’t seem like the person who would even consider tackling competition, let alone starting your own company.”
“It’s possible. Maybe that’s why I went bankrupt.”
“It’s improbable. Thirdly, you obviously got your dates confused when telling us when your parents died. They died when you were aged twenty, you became homeless age twenty three. There wouldn’t be enough time for you to plan, establish, and run your own company within a three year period, not to mention let it fall to ruin. You became emotional, you slipped up and gave the wrong date. Sierra caught this mistake too, that’s why she prevented me from calling you on it.”
“It’s possible. I could have had contacts to help me.”
“It’s still improbable, Henry. Lastly, when you told us about the fire in your shop, at first you said ‘she died’, then you changed it to ‘he died.’ Normally I’d pass it off as a slip up, but not in this instance. It’s just improbable.”
Henry stared vainly into the tombstone. “Sierra knew too? She even let me go on saying it? I thought I was careful.”
“Well then?” Alex asked.
“What?”
“What really happened to you? Why are you homeless?”
“Nothing. No reason.”
“You’re not going to tell me.”
“That’s how it is. Nothing happened to me. That’s exactly how all of you knew I was lying, because I looked like a nobody … just some damn loser.”
“Henry…”
“Want to know the truth? Just ask Rum. He was right. I’m worthless. I’ve never accomplished anything in my life. Right up to my parents’ death I spent all my time reading comics and playing games. I never took responsibility. I’m lazy and inept. I never wanted to leave my comfort, but I got smashed right out of it when my parents died.” Henry froze. “Standing there, watching their coffins being lowered, I realised I really was alone - a loser with no hands on my shoulder to ease my troubles. There was no one left to look after me. I couldn’t pay rent. They took the house. Off I went.”
“What about your brother?”
“He … went away shortly after the funeral. He was around twenty seven then actually, and he’d been through a few hard times before then. He said he needed to get away from everything, he said trouble followed him around.”
“Did he … blame himself for your parents’ death?”
“No. Death just seemed to follow him around. It started when he began working in a launderette. It was in a good location and bound for success. When success did come he got promoted to store manager, a real sweet job: easy on the back, good pay, and good to have on a resume.” Henry sighed. “But the wrong kind of people took notice of their success. Robbers showed up in droves to raid their cash registers, it happened almost monthly yet my brother stayed. Then one robbery went wrong, very wrong. A customer interfered and bullets started firing. Two people died - a mother and her baby. My brother froze, he watched the few seconds as the baby gasped blood till death. Her eldest son, a ten year old, held them both until the end.”
Alex watched Henry’s face. It stayed still without a twitch, so too his words poured out clearly, void of usual stuttering. A great deal of emotional investment hung in his story. He recited it clearly as if he gathered this knowledge from the official crime report. At last, Henry spoke truth.
“I can understand, his wanting to get away after something like that.”
“He didn’t leave after that, although he should have. A few years later, after managing to pull himself back up, he decided to open up his own store using the insurance from the launderette robbery.”
Alex nodded understanding. “But his new company caught fire, and someone died. So that story wasn’t a total lie after all. It really did happen.”
“He became low on funds so he requested help from an outside investor. The investor was notoriously known for exploiting inexperienced entrepreneurs, but he had nowhere else to turn. Turned out, in exchange for aid my brother wound up having to hand half the business over. Straight away, the investor started cutting back to save funds. The guy turned the place into a total fire hazard. You could drop a match on the floor and the place would burn down. He even started all these crazy money making schemes, little side endeavours designed to exploit people who didn’t know better, desperate artists, things like that. My brother hated the guy, but he was completely at his mercy.”
“Could sound like someone I‘ve met,” Alex joked.
“When the place did inevitably catch fire, the investor became trapped somehow. My brother never told us how exactly. My brother always said he should have saved the man, that he should have pulled him out when he had the chance. But he was afraid. He always told me, if I ever find myself in that position, try and help. Do something. Don’t live in regret. That’s why I ran into that burning building like I did. Even though the guy trapped inside wasn’t the one we were looking for, I don’t regret it. Beyond the advice he gave me, my brother never really spoke to us about the event. The police were convinced someone else was there that night, but my brother never testified to that. So they abandoned the case as an accident - now that old building lies in ruins, falling down somewhere. It’s just another public eye sore, a pile of rubble.”
“The sins of the past are engraved in stone.”
“Philosophical … cool. My brother started to become like that right up until he left.”
“Where did he go?”
“Africa, on missionary work.”
“Touched by God, I suppose.”
“A priest actually.”
Alex blinked. “Come again?”
“It started eight years after the incident in the launderette. For the 8th anniversary my brother visited the church the woman who died belonged to when she was alive. When he finished praying the priest inquired as to why he looked so sad. He told the priest, ‘A very sad event took place ten years ago today, so I’ll be sad today.’ The priest understood. He replied to my brother, ‘This is a sad anniversary for us both. Ten years ago my mother and little brother died in a launderette robbery, and I remember your face.’”
“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 interes
ting 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. S
he 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.
A Vagrant Story Page 15