“I’ve heard of it before. I used to run stories on them when I was working freelance as a journalist. Since the original owner died it’s been divided up among a number of anonymous shareholders and been growing since. They’re nothing big though. The company doesn’t even have a name for itself outside this city. It’s all confined and fairly low scale, in retrospect.”
“What was it you said before about caged monkeys throwing shit at each other?” Rum said. “People need hospitals and rest homes, but hospitals make money and so do rest homes. The company wants to ruin these publicly funded industries and replace them with their own special brands. Behind the scenes, they make the public hospitals turn to shit so people will run legs open to their own private hospitals. It’s the same thing all over the city, for every public domain industry created the company sets up a more expensive double.”
“You think these shareholders are that cunning?”
“If a man wants to succeed in business he only has to use his brains and cunning to outdo his opponent, but if has neither then he should focus on ruining their reputation instead. The people behind this company don’t see hospitals and rest homes, all they see is competition. The company has little other purpose other than to make money and that’s all the shareholders see too. A company run by shareholders is as intelligent as a turkey running around with its head chopped off.”
“I suppose it’s not a crime to offer doctors larger pay cheques but don’t you think the government could step in? I mean they are supposed to be running the public sector.”
“Would they want to? Would you? With the private sector paying for the hospitals, transport, and the electrical companies the government now has more money to relocate elsewhere. Of course half the profit gets relocated straight to their own pockets so it’s as good as a bribe. No one can say it’s against the law because they’re the law makers.”
“This all seems a bit above you. Where’d you pick up all this anyway?”
“Here and there. I’ve been to that hospital more than once in my time, every now and again someone brings it up and occasionally I listen.”
“On those sober days,” Sierra said, pacing back to them. “You’re more attentive when you’re sober … and talkative too.”
“Anything to fill the gap.”
“Like now? Can’t say I’ve ever heard you use so many words together.”
“She’s got a point,” Alex said. “How long has it been since your last drink?”
“Been running on the six-pack that was in that bag you found. I lost the last can out in that snowstorm.”
“Poor Rum … of all the times to run out of booze. Now you’re surrounded by people and may actually have to put up with them. How you going to handle it?”
“By staying right where I am. They’re over there and we’re over here. Fine for them, works for me.”
“You’re just going to sit here?” Sierra asked.
“What of it? Not much else to do.”
“We might as well look around. I haven’t been in a shopping mall for years.”
“We’ll be seen, and then I’ll get thrown out like I always do. Besides. You shouldn’t risk seeing anything you might want. Trust me, you’ll see something you want then get all depressed because you’ll never have it. Seeing things that remind me of the past always make me sick in the stomach. Then I try stealing it.”
“That’d be why they throw you out,” Sierra said. “Fine, you guys can sit here till the snow clears, I’ll go for a breeze around.”
“Trust me, it’s a mistake. You said it’s been a long time since you’ve been in a shopping centre. There’s a reason for that and I’ll let you figure it out now. Good luck. Get lost.”
Sierra fogged him off with silence as she vanished into the crowd.
“And you’ll be leaving too, Alex?” Rum said.
“I was sort of enjoying your … lecture.”
“Cram it. I was bored, now you’re boring me so go for a walk or something.”
“Cold turkey side effect number two – sudden change in temperament. Fine. Henry, you coming with me?”
“I … can’t. There’s too many people … I’d rather just stay out of the way. I’m still tired anyway, might just get some sleep here. To be honest I appreciate the lie in.”
“That’s all this detour is worth,” Rum said. “I don’t know why we have to go through this crap, now of all times. When you think about it all we had to do was commute from one end of the city to another. Anyone could do that in a day let alone a week. Now all we have left to do is walk down the street. Think about it, that John guy lives just down the road from here. And we’re stuck here, in a blizzard. How many fucking blizzards have ever hit this city? None. Never.”
“It must be karma,” Henry said.
“Probably something Rum did,” Alex said.
“Don’t care much for karma.”
“Why not?” Alex asked.
“Cause if it’s real karma don’t much care for me. Right now I’ll stick to God granted destiny so a support beam doesn’t fall on my head.”
Chapter 25
They waited and time passed. Time passed more and still they waited. It would come to a time when the chattering rumble of the masses died to scattered whispers, and the roar of wind and beating snow became most vocal of all.
The group divided four ways to pursue their own interests. Sierra continued window shopping until it bored her while Rum did as promised and stayed put, all the while bearing the grim frown of boredom on his face. Alex mingled among those strangers who would let him – few did. Henry stayed sleeping on the floor through the hours. He wound up waking up in a manner customary for those who decide to sleep on floors in the first place.
“Don’t step on me!” he yelled, rubbing his hand.
Woken abruptly he found his clothes drenched by water dripping off all the people forming massive puddles on the floor. So many people had amassed around his chosen sleeping location, many of which had decided to nap on the ground too. They’d likely wake up to the same drenching, yet nobody seemed to be stepping on them.
“Step on them!” Henry yelled in frustration. “Why step on me and not them?” Nobody paid attention to his pleas, at least nobody pleasant.
“Cause you got doormat written all over you,” said a gritty old voice which needed no introduction.
Henry stood to greet the old man. He would have replied in his own shyly informal way only to find himself caught off guard by an unusual facial expression on Rum. It came off as something of a smile for the ‘doormat’ joke he told, yet hung down slightly as if it were there for show alone. It took Henry a moment to recognise the expression, but only because he’d never seen Rum holding a thought in his head before – at least one he didn’t express too soon after thinking.
It unsettled Henry. In all the years he knew old Rum he’d never seen him with a face so troubled. With his liquefied courage stripped from him he must have come face to face with all those restrained thoughts and troubles he had long buried behind a bottle. Rum had become a bum, the expression said he was realising this for the first time.
“Quit staring at me,” Rum said. “And don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I might be a bum but you’re a wuss.”
“Sorry?”
“Forget it. Get back to work.”
“Back … to work?”
“I said forget it. I’m off.” With that the old man walked away with his shoulders held low.
“Weird,” Henry said to himself. “Maybe he is a bit drunk after all.”
***
Sierra roamed around on the second floor, browsing shop windows. She stood before a general goods store window when she realised Rum was correct in his warning.
Everything here she caught fancy to didn’t seem made for her lifestyle and came with a ridiculously pricey tag. All the more shop items she viewed, all the more she began to regret her current social
standing. Throughout her time on the street she’d learned a bum’s life could only prove bearable without having to endure the alternatives.
When she saw families playing in the park, she always turned away. When she saw people buying high priced objects they would never need, she would turn away. And when she saw students her own age modelling new clothes for their friends, she would always look away. Here in this building stood everything she tried turning away from, amassed and stock piled into this one location. And she couldn’t help but stare in disappointed wonder.
Shop windows seemed like pieces of a middle class life framed and put on display. Sierra saw many people walking in to admire it closer, yet she had no reason to. Inside the walls of this shop lay the middle class lifestyle, all kinds of possessions that can define it.
Rum had pinned her current feeling down to a tee. Really, she should have known better herself but failed to resist the urge. At least in future she would know better. Right now she learned never to gawk through the glass, as Rum must have learned before her.
It troubled her to know that the only wall between homelessness and success was a quarter of an inch slab of transparent glass.
“Sierra,” a voice spoke from behind.
She could see Alex in the reflection on the glass. “What is it?” she said without turning.
“You look deep in thought there.”
“And upon noticing this you decided to walk up to me and break my train of thought. Nice.”
“Sorry, I suppose. Don’t think too much. They say it’s bad for the mind and we’ve too much time on our hands to spend it thinking.”
Sierra closed her eyes in frustration. “The weird things you say … I’d like to keep on thinking right now so quit trying to give me a headache.”
“It was just a suggestion. Some people can overload like that.”
“People don’t think enough, how could they ever overload on it?”
“You’re right. I’ve never been one to trust expert opinion anyway. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Please do. Catch y’later.”
Alex nodded his understanding and drifted slowly back into the crowd. He’d never known Sierra to be the irritable type so he took the treatment as a minor breakdown, or lapse in judgement. Besides, for the amount of times he’d ignored people while wrapped in thought, he couldn’t be one to judge.
Alex stopped walking to look around over the heads of the crowd. He stood taller than anyone on this floor and could get a bird’s eye view simply by standing upright. He appeared to be picking up some curious glances for that reason alone. Even in a mall full of shabby laymen he stood out from the rest. On this thought, a familiar face in the crowd caught his eye.
He saw a man standing by the escalator who appeared to be trying to get through the crowds, doing so with little force and plenty of patience. The man wore a brown swathe coat and cream pants to match, and his brown hair lay buried beneath a woollen cap.
Alex preyed closer to reconfirm the recognition. He kept his pace cautious and slow should this man recognise him in turn.
They had met once before, quite briefly, in the thick mist of a church graveyard. But when the man took one look at Henry he ran panic stricken out the gate in such a hurry as to leave his bag behind.
At this point even Alex had to congratulate himself on the identification, though he’d rather hoped on keeping the bag. He did make a promise to return it and a deal was a deal. Now he need only give the bag back without alarming the man.
First things first Alex checked to see if there was anything he needed inside. Nothing but scrap paper and the leaflets Sierra threw inside. Nothing important. He didn’t feel like emptying them out here so he left them there.
The man had since given up in his endeavours to pass the escalator, instead sitting on a nearby bench.
Alex took his chance, inconspicuously nearing him one step at a time. Reaching within arm length distance, Alex placed the bag on the floor and kicked it under the bench to the man’s feet. When he reacted, Alex quickly slinked away and watched from a distance.
The man at first startled at the sudden re-appearance of this familiar bag, glanced about for another owner before diving straight into it. First item he pulled out was the receipt of house slip, which he smiled for. Then he mulled over all those leaflets with an air of curiosity. He paused on one of them, which Alex couldn’t make out due to random group of nattering people getting in his way. Whatever the man had seen in the bag it got him standing with a strong show of thought. He pondered there a time before heaving the bag over shoulder.
A curious spectacle followed as the man returned to the crowded escalator without pause, pushing and slamming people aside to form a tunnel straight down. Reaching the bottom he didn’t stop to look back but merely kept going, straight for the entrance and out to the storm.
The wind whooshed in with the door he opened, and silenced after other people hurried to close it.
Alex stood along the second floor railings overlooking the fiasco. “Maybe it’s his lucky bag,” he said to himself, sighing for the loss of it. Nothing forced him to return it save conscience so in retrospect the deed was an utterly pointless one, as he figured any truly good deed should be. Maybe that sheer pointlessness brought him to do it. If karma were an angel watching over him, he’d certainly gained some credit. With any luck it would aid him in his final spree to the finish. For that instant it made him feel unstoppable.
The instant ceased and Alex succumbed to sudden light-headedness. He fell into a hunch, clutching the railing for support. He began coughing roughly, forcing it down to avoid drawing attention. It didn’t stop people from looking so to avoid their notice he rushed shambling to the nearest bathroom.
He collapsed through the doors and again atop the sink. Removing hands from mouth he found blood on them. Perhaps psychologically, the sight triggered a second coughing fit from which he nearly collapsed.
It eased almost as quickly. Like a man woken from a dream he stared up into a mirror to find his face paler than it had been. He expected as much. His skin always became a little paler following each bout of coughing. This would be his fifth and strongest one so far.
Up until now he’d only managed to hold it back thanks to the pills given to him at the hospital. They gave him one case of pills and he had long run out already.
It would only be a matter of time until the next fit. He could only wait. In the meantime he did what anyone would. He splashed his face and returned casually outside.
Fortunately nobody in the crowd appeared to be looking at him. Those who had noticed the coughing seemed to have forgotten the moment he left their vicinity. He’d made the right move running into the toilets. And the wrong move when he walked straight into Rum.
“You throw up?” Rum asked. “You look sick, like you threw up.”
“Just tired. So you decided to shift your-”
“You see Sierra anywhere?”
“She didn’t seem in the mood for company.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Alex paused to take note of Rum’s dim, hanging expression. He looked highly alert yet stuck half asleep, like a man waking into a long due hangover. No need for metaphor that’s exactly what it was.
“Speaking of looking sick … You sure you should be walking around like that?”
“Like what?”
“Well … sober, I suppose.”
“Sober?” he said. “Sober … is that what you think of … Forget it.”
“I just meant…”
“I know what you meant.”
“And you’re arguing?”
“I can’t argue. That’s the problem.”
“Look … I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry, Rum.”
“That ain’t my damn name.” He began turning away. “I’m gonna go find Sierra.”
He didn’t intend to, and if he did he’d likely give her the same treatment. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his
sorrows in case he spilled it on anyone. He tended to have a mouth to run when drunk and a conscience to leak when sober. The first could be forgivable but the latter unforgettable. He’d lost enough pride this week without looking like a wuss.
These were the things Rum thought of as he scampered through the crowd. The constant thinking, while doing little for his sanity, did help him deal with those most abundant eyesores, some people called them families. And in this place, they were everywhere.
Mothers and sons. Fathers and mothers. Mothers and daughters. Brothers and fathers. Families. Rum hated to see families all banded together in their little co-existing units. Sure he’d seen them on the streets, passed them regularly. But he never had to hear their petty arguments. He never had to look at them for more than a fleeting glance.
He could avoid these things on the street, not in these closed in walls. He hated families. Every one of them, no matter how different, reminded him of one family, a mother and son gunned down due to the arrogance of one wretched old man. He shook this thought away the moment it hit the front of his mind. As with the booze, he began seeking out distractions to purge the thoughts.
In his wanderings Rum found himself standing at the base of a large notice board. There was an advertisement for the new private hospital being set up in the city. In the poster’s lower right corner the company’s logo had been printed. It was small, designed to avoid the eye while still creating presence. Most people wouldn’t notice that little ‘c’ surrounded by a hexagon shield, but Rum knew where to look. The symbol on the poster helped transform him into a well to do person. It once offered hope, dreams and the ambition to take it all. He did just that.
A long time ago this logo allowed him to conquer everything he targeted. The logo allowed him to take everything, until it took the lives of a loving wife and a baby too young to know better. This is the logo that ruined everything. This is the symbol that made him the man he is today. If not for this logo he wouldn’t have to hide away down here in the gutter.
In his melancholy he found his eyes dropping to a different, smaller poster bearing a different symbol. It was a crucifix. The words on the poster ranted on about redemption while begging for donations. A mixed message likely to turn the competent away. Rum, however, paid more note to the address line.
A Vagrant Story Page 24